Love as a Verb: Parenting Beyond Gender Boxes

A heartwarming "we care for all children and families" sign, on a background of an inclusive flag, at my kids' doctor's appointments the other day.

As a doula, childbirth educator, and gender-inclusivity consultant, I think about babies and parents all day long—but I also think about the kind of world those babies are stepping into.

And as we close out Trans Awareness Week (Nov 13-19^th), I want to offer expectant and new parents a reflection that goes beyond headlines and politics and lands squarely in the heart of parenting:

If your child—or your child’s best friend—were trans, what would you want them to feel from you?

Most parents say some version of the same thing:

Loved. Safe. Seen. Respected. Supported. Free to explore who they are without fear of disappointing us.

At its core, that’s what this week is about: building a world where every child grows up knowing—deep in their bones—that they are loved for who they are, not who we imagined they would be.

It’s not about politics. It’s about parenting with intention, and making love an action word.

Whether your child is part of the small percentage (1-3% of the U.S. population) who are trans or nonbinary—or whether they’re cisgender or if their gender identity is still unfolding—the way we talk, the signals our homes send, and the compassion we model shape the world they inherit.

Why this matters in pregnancy and postpartum

Pregnancy and early postpartum are actually beautiful times to consider these questions. You’re already imagining the parent you want to be. You’re already fiercely protective of your child’s dignity and potential. This is simply an extension of that care.

And because I wear many hats—including supporting LGBTQ+ birthing families as well as working with schools and workplaces to build gender-inclusive cultures—I see every day how much children’s wellbeing is shaped by the environments adults create.

It always comes back to families. Here’s what I know:

• LGBTQ+ birthing parents deserve care that feels safe, affirming, and respectful.

  
  

• All families deserve tools to parent with clarity, curiosity, and confidence.

  
  

• And all children deserve a world where their full selves are welcomed—not judged or policed.

  
  

Expectant and new parents are in a powerful position to help create that world. The norms your child grows up around—the things they overhear, the way you respond to difference—become the foundation of their empathy and their sense of belonging.

Let’s take a moment to open our minds and hearts.

There’s a lot of fear swirling around this topic—so let’s ground ourselves in facts, not fear-based misinformation.

A few common myths about trans kids (and what the research actually says)

Myth 1: “Kids are too young to understand gender.”

Reality: Children learn about gender from the moment they enter the world—and research suggests even before.

They absorb cues everywhere: pink vs. blue (a totally made-up cultural construct—see this fascinating history), who gets praised for what, who’s told to “toughen up,” who’s allowed to be gentle. Kids learn the rules long before they can verbalize them.

Most people have a deep, enduring sense of their gender identity. For many, it “feels obvious,” which is why it’s hard to explain. Children often know this about themselves very early, even if they don’t yet have language for it.

Some children feel aligned with the gender they were assigned at birth. Others don’t. Both are normal human experiences. And when trans kids receive support for social transition (name, pronouns, clothing), their mental health outcomes improve dramatically.

Gender doesn’t suddenly “turn on” at puberty—it’s part of how children understand themselves from the beginning.

Myth 2: “Gender diversity is new or unnatural.”

Reality: Gender diversity—and diversity in sexual orientation—has existed for as long as humans have—across continents, cultures, and history.

Indigenous communities, ancient civilizations, and cultures around the world have long recognized more than two genders. The binary has never actually been a binary (though if you’re like me, that was not something you were taught growing up!). And the natural world is full of gender and sex variance too—species with fluid or non-binary sex characteristics, role changes, and adaptive behaviors that don’t fit neat categories.

And importantly:

Being trans is not a disorder.

Every major medical and mental health organization is clear on this—but so are trans people themselves, and we must take their lived expertise seriously.

When someone tells us who they are, we believe them.

Someone else’s identity is not up for debate; that’s just basic respect.

The harm trans people experience isn’t because of who they are—it’s because of how society responds.

Gender diversity is part of the natural complexity of being alive.

Myth 3: “Being trans is a trend” (or kids are doing it to be cool).

Reality: If you look honestly at the bullying, rejection, discrimination, and violence trans youth face, the idea that someone would come out as trans to earn “cool points” is… frankly, bonkers.

If anything, kids face tremendous pressure to be cisgender and heterosexual. Not the other way around.

There is also no credible evidence of “social contagion.” What is happening is that more young people feel safe enough to express who they’ve always been — and more adults actually know what gender diversity is. That’s something worth celebrating.

And while we’re here:

Inclusive bathroom policies have not led to increases in assaults or safety concerns.

Schools and municipalities with gender-inclusive bathrooms have seen no rise in incidents.

Zero.

And inclusive bathrooms actually make everyone safer.

Meanwhile, trans people face significant danger when excluding them is sanctioned.

Being yourself is not a trend. It’s a human need. So is going pee.

Myth 4: “Most trans people regret transitioning.”

Reality: This one's almost laughable, if the costs of this belief weren't so devastating. But: NO! Regret rates for gender-affirming care are among the lowest of any medical intervention—less than 1%.

For comparison, the following have 10-20% or higher regret rates:

• Back surgery

  
  

• Knee surgery

  
  

• Harry Potter tattoos

  

  
  

And among the very small number who do detransition, research shows the majority do so because of external pressures, lack of acceptance, safety concerns, or family rejection — not because they suddenly “realized they weren’t trans.”

Regret is rare.

Rejection is far more common (Half of all trans kids are rejected by their families….can we please change this??)

And affirmation is what saves lives.

But this isn’t only about trans kids. It’s about all of us.

I want to name something clearly:

Creating a more gender-inclusive world isn’t something we do for trans kids alone.

It’s something that frees every child — and every adult — from the narrow boxes that limit us.

In my consulting work with men and boys, I often ask:

“If we lived in a world with fewer rigid gender expectations—a more gender-inclusive and gender-equal world—how would that benefit men and boys?”

Their answers illuminate how deeply this matters:

• “Pushing back on stereotypes is liberating—it takes so much pressure off men and boys.”

  
  

• “A gender-inclusive world gives men more choices, more possibilities, and more freedom to live how we actually want.”

  
  

• “A world with fewer gender constraints is a world where men can finally just… be themselves.”

  
  

This isn’t a political idea—it’s a human one.

And it applies just as much to:

• a cis boy who can cry without shame

• a cis girl who wants to lead and take risks

• a trans or nonbinary kid who wants to live without fear

• a father who wants to show up more as a deeply connected caregiver

• any family that wants emotionally whole, curious, confident children

When we loosen the grip of rigid gender norms, everybody breathes easier.

So what does this mean for expectant and new parents?

You have enormous power—not to shape who your child is, but to shape the environment that allows them to thrive.

You don’t need perfect language or a background in gender studies. You just need:

• Love that makes room.

  
  

• Curiosity that stays open.

  
  

• Compassion that outweighs fear.

  
  

• A home where differences aren’t “issues”—they’re truths.

  
  

• A commitment to raising a child who knows their worth is unconditional.

  
  

If you want help making your home, school, or workplace more gender-inclusive—or if you’re an LGBTQ+ parent seeking affirming birth support—I’m here for that. Send me a message.

And for those of you already doing this work in your own beautiful ways—teachers, caregivers, parents, young people—I hope you’ll share what you’re learning too.

This isn’t a one-expert project. It’s a collective one, built from lived experience, creativity, and community wisdom.

Every child deserves a world big enough for their whole self.

And every parent deserves the community and tools to help build it.

Planning for the Unpredictable: A Snapshot of Birth Support from a Vermont Doula

Picture of three people smiling, in surgical gear, preparing to head to the OR. Doula Laura Pascoe (me, left), my client's partner, and my client. Shared with permission.

I don’t often have photos of myself “in action” as a doula—mostly because when I’m supporting someone through labor, I’m fully in it. My hands, heart, and attention are with the birthing person and their support team, and if a camera is out, it’s me helping them capture moments. (If you’re a client and ever want to snap a photo for me, please know I’d welcome it!)

But this one is special.

It was taken during a birth that didn’t unfold the way my client had hoped. And yet, she left the experience feeling grounded, proud, and emotionally intact. Why? Because she knew, every step of the way, that we had explored every pathway available to her. She remained an active, informed participant—not a passenger being acted upon.

And that is the center of my work as both a doula and a childbirth educator:

Birth planning isn’t really about predicting birth. It’s about preparing for the unpredictable.

Why this matters so much to me

My own first birth did not go “to plan.” After more than 24 hours of intense labor and hours of pushing, I consented to a cesarean. I was grateful for a healthy baby and to live in a place where this wasn’t the end of my story—but I also grieved the vaginal birth I had hoped for. I struggled to immediately connect with my baby (did I mention how exhausted I was by the time she finally arrived??).

I replayed the “what-ifs.” I wondered if there was something I could have done differently.

And yet, I also felt profoundly empowered.

How could those things coexist?

Because I had a birth team—my midwife, my doula, my partner, my dad (yes, my wonderful dad attended both of my births), and even my two cats (one of whom sat on people’s backs while they offered counterpressure)—who ensured I was an informed, respected, central participant in every decision. Nothing was done to me. Everything was discussed with me. Consent wasn’t a form; it was an ongoing conversation.

I felt respected, cared for, and heard. That changes everything. (I later wrote a book chapter on why consent and shared decision making in childbirth matter so profoundly; it appears in Consent: Gender, Power, and Subjectivity—a volume that also includes a chapter by my badass philosopher sister, Dr. Jordan Pascoe.)

Back to this birth, this family, this moment

This client had more than enough strength and resilience to have the birth she desired: an unmedicated birth. She went into labor spontaneously, just as she hoped, and navigated a full weekend of early labor—sometimes called “prodromal labor” (and if you look it up and see “false labor,” please tell the internet to catch up—there is no “false” or “failure” in birth—ever).

When exhaustion set in, she adapted. We had prepared for this possibility; she’d told us ahead of time, “I want an unmedicated birth, but if this goes on a long time, I’m open to an epidural.” So when that moment arrived, I reflected that back to her and her partner. The plan had shifted, but she was ready.

Client struggling through an intense contraction with the support of her loving partner. Nurse in the background doing all the amazing behind-the-scenes work! Picture taken by Doula Laura Pascoe. Shared with permission.

We spent hours moving between rest and movement, quiet and conversation, laughter and problem-solving. We rotated through Spinning Babies techniques, body balancing, positional changes, comfort measures, and a lot of intentional waiting while her body and baby tried to find their way. Meanwhile, her partner was delightful—gentle, funny, steady, so loving toward her. They shared stories, I learned some excellent local family lore, and we found ourselves laughing together in those small, unexpected moments where the room felt lighter.

Her midwives and nurses (we had a few shifts to rotate through!) were so amazing—wise, patient, collaborative. It was the kind of team that makes birth feel sacred, even when it’s messy and unpredictable.

Through it all, my client remained steady. Resilient. Clear-eyed. She even cracked jokes and found silver linings. Like a badass, obvs.

And then, after hours and hours of trying everything available to us… the cesarean reality was staring at us. We talked about it honestly. We joked that we had “thrown a Costco-sized box of spaghetti at the wall.” And it was true—we had tried everything.

She knew it.

They were both was bummed, but they were also ready to meet their baby.

And that clarity made the next steps more grounded, even though they weren’t the ones she’d envisioned.

Even as her birth diverged from her hopes, she knew she still had agency. She knew her voice mattered. She knew she could ask questions, slow things down, or change direction. She knew her preferences were honored, even when they had to adapt. And critically: she knew that what was unfolding was not her fault.

That is the power of shared decision making—not eliminating unpredictability, but ensuring that when the path changes, you aren’t lost. You’re still at the center of your own story. And any feelings that come up are perfectly valid, simply because they are there.

What really stays with us

Babies and bodies sometimes have plans we can’t see. Sometimes we understand why; sometimes we don’t. But the lasting memory of birth isn’t usually the exact sequence of events—it’s how we felt.

Were we respected?

Were we cared for?

Did we understand what was happening?

Did we feel heard, even if the path requires adaptation?

This client did. And witnessing her clarity, resilience, humor, and tenderness with her partner was such a privilege.

If you’re preparing for birth…

My work as a doula and childbirth educator is rooted in evidence, compassion, shared decision-making, and helping you find and honor your own intuition. It’s not about achieving a specific outcome—it’s about helping you feel steady and informed no matter which path your birth takes.

It’s about ensuring your consent is honored, your voice is central, and your emotional wellbeing and sense of dignity matter.

And this is especially important in a country (the U.S.) where women and all who can become pregnant/birth are routinely gaslit, dismissed, and denied autonomy; where misogyny and racism shape too many clinical encounters; where postpartum support is an afterthought; and where we expect parents to perform superhuman feats with almost no structural support. Where parental leave is abysmal (I have a lot more to say on this—later!)

All of that to say: it’s way more than “healthy mom, healthy baby” could ever capture.

We deserve better.

You deserve better.

And while these problems are deeply structural, I want to be clear:

I am continually impressed by how hard our local hospitals in the Upper Valley of Vermont and New Hampshire and the midwives, nurses, and OB/GYNs who work at them center birthing people within the constraints of that system. I see the compassion, the patience, the collaboration, and the genuine effort to create respectful, person-centered care. The individual humans caring for families here are remarkable—it’s the broader system around them that needs changing.

And if you’re a future client…

If you ever want to take a little photo of me during your birth (with everyone’s consent, of course), I’d treasure it. These glimpses into the sacredness of doula work are rare—and meaningful.

Doula Laura Pascoe (aka me), enthusiastic-tired, in my surgical gear, taking a shameless selfie :)