Interview with Lianne Simon, Author of "Confessions of a Teenage Hermaphrodite"

"You see, like the main character in my young adult novel, "Confessions of a Teenage Hermaphrodite" I have a genetic condition called Mixed Gonadal Dysgenesis and was raised, for a time, as a boy." Quote from Lianne Simon's website. Click here to read more

Amazon Link

Today's blog post is dedicated to learning about, Lianne Simon, author of her Young Adult novel, Confessions of a Teenage Hermaphrodite.

Ms. Simon is a Christian, housewife, and author. She also has a rare genetic disorder that left her with a sexually ambiguous body. She believes that God has called her to vulnerability and open dependence upon Jesus Christ as a starting point for sharing with the church about intersex.

Where are you from?

My dad's parents owned a dairy farm near Plainfield. That's a bit west of Chicago. My cousins and I ranged as far away as Oswego. We lived in Joliet for a while, but moved to Springfield when I was nine. I've lived in seventeen states and a couple of other countries.

Where do you currently live? And tell us a little bit about your life right now.

My husband and I live in the suburbs on the north side of Atlanta. As you know, he sustained a head injury this spring and was in critical care in the hospital for quite a while. A few weeks ago he returned to work, so he's back out in the stress of Atlanta traffic. 

Your Website tells us a little bit about your intersex condition.  When you disclose to people about your experience with Mixed Gonadal Dysgenesis (MGD) what do you say to them in laymen’s terms so that they understand?

Mixed Gonadal Dysgenesis is a rare genetic condition in which some cells have a Y chromosome and some don't. That led to confusion during my fetal development. My heart, kidneys, adrenals, and thyroid were all affected. It gave me a pixie face. I've got some spatial deficits that prevent me from learning dance or most sports. And my gonads were confused as to whether they should be testis or ovary. They started out with some testicular function—enough to give me fairly masculine-looking genitals, but not a male gender or puberty.

At Easter with Tea Set

Age 3 in the middle

Age 9

This is a multi-part question:

As an intersex person myself  (I was born with Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome), I find the reactions from people whom I disclose to be compassionate, for the most part, and people generally are interested and want to know more.

Has that been your experience as well when you disclose to someone? Is the disclosure experience, in a public forum, different than when you disclose one-on-one? If different, how so?  Is the disclosure experience different when telling a church congregation? If so, please explain:

Wow. First, understand that it's not something that comes up in everyday conversation. So when I do disclose, I tend to dump too much information.

When I told my husband-to-be, he dismissed it as being less important than his diabetes. It neither excited nor disturbed him. (Can you guess that's one reason we married?)

The first friend I told seemed hurt, like "why are you telling me this?" The second friend acted like I'd told her I had freckles. Two different pastors appreciated that I'd opened up to them.

I've had a few interesting reactions from trolls. Mainly things like "intersex doesn't exist" or "you should be the gender indicated by your chromosomes (or some other single sex parameter)."

Over forty years, I've only ever told one employer, and that was when applying for a security clearance. No major issues from that.

I would have to say that, for friends, it's better to let them get to know me before saying anything. When disclosing to strangers, I try not to give them any reason to associate "intersex" with "strange." Some people at the Wild Goose Festival dressed in outfits appropriate to a renaissance fair or cosplay. That would have been fun, but it might have given someone the wrong impression. My friends know how child-like I am. Even if that's from my condition, I don't want to give people the idea that all intersex people are this way.

I'll have to let you know about a church congregation. I spoke at the Wild Goose Festival, which was a liberal Christian event, and they reacted much like PFLAG did.

How has being an intersex/MGD person affected your spirituality and what is your spiritual message?

When I was young, all I knew was that I was the smallest of my peer group and had a cute pixie face.

Lianne with bow tie second in from right

I first went to a Vacation Bible School when I was seven or eight. I wanted to be a good girl and obey my parents, but I didn't understand much about the Gospel.

When I was a preteen, my health improved and my father decided it was about time I started acting like a boy. My brother was tall, and strong, and handsome. How bad could that be? But I felt like Pinocchio—if I tried hard enough—if I was good enough, maybe God would make me a real boy. And since I wasn't, I must have some deep-seated moral fault. Maybe it was that I still harbored dreams of being a wife and a mother.

Age 12

When I was seventeen, I still wasn't very good at being a boy. I'd lost the top of my singing range, but still had no muscles, no body hair, no facial hair, etc. Not even my best friend believed me when I told her I wasn't gay. But this Christian boy loved me enough, in spite of it all, to befriend me, to share the Gospel with me, to answer my objections, and to lead me to faith in Christ. As a new believer, I assumed I could become this boy everyone expected. What happened instead was the shell that allowed me to function socially crumbled. I had to face the world on my own.

At eighteen, I thought getting away from my parents would help, so I went to a college far away from home. I moved from a supportive family to a boys' dorm. The boys made it clear I wasn't like them. And one proved he could do whatever he wanted to me. I came close to dying by my own recklessness. Christ had given his life for me. He didn't want me dead—he wanted me to live for him.

At that point, my entire life revolved around gender—wanting to be a boy or a girl. Living meant doing something to put that issue to rest, one way or the other. So I went to an endocrinologist. Up until that time, my mother had handled my medical care.

Anyway, he said that testosterone and anabolic steroids would give me a deep voice, facial hair, shoulder width, muscles, body hair, and a raging sex drive. But I liked my body the way it was—at least most of it. And, after living with boys in the dorm, I wanted nothing to do with becoming more like them.

The doctor thought my two most pressing issues were anorexia and depression. Estrogen would help me gain weight and would get rid of the hormonal cause of my depression. He said I wouldn't have any trouble being accepted as a girl, especially once I got breast development. So  I went on estrogen and talked my mom into changing my legal status to female.

Legal Female Status on Passport

You recently gave a presentation at the Wild Goose Festival in North Carolina. What was your message? And how was it received? What kind of feedback did you get?

I did. I started by asking if anyone in the group had a teenage daughter. I asked the mother to imagine that her sixteen-year-old hadn't gotten her period yet. So she sent the girl to a specialist who diagnosed her with Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. She had XY chromosomes, but a mutation on her X chromosome kept her body from processing male hormones. Although she had female-typical genitals, she had testes in her abdomen instead of uterus and ovaries.

I told another mother that she had a newborn. The baby looked male between the legs—at least at first glance. The doctors diagnosed the child with Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia. That was a medical emergency—the child would need to take steroids her entire life. Any medical procedure or injury could turn into a crisis. The doctors recommended feminizing the genitals, but she refused because they were only a cosmetic issue, and they had just told her how dangerous surgery was for these kids. I told her that the same hormones that made her child's genitals so masculine had also affected her brain. She was tomboy who might have masculine interests lifelong, and she might be attracted to girls.

I told a gentleman that he had a newborn with ambiguous genitals. The doctors said there was a good testis and a bad ovary in the baby's abdomen. They recommended raising the child as a girl. They were the experts, so he went along with them. The doctors removed the child's gonads. They removed her clitoris. And they lined a vaginal canal with a skin graft. Two or three years later, his child starts insisting he's a boy. The doctors said to never let his daughter know what was done to her. They said he should never doubt her gender. All the child knew was that there was something so shameful about him—or his body—that you couldn't even talk about it.

Then I shared my condition and history with them, and Megan talked a bit about how eunuchs/intersex were treated in Biblical times and how intersex could be considered something good.

The audience asked some questions. A few hung around to talk. Everybody was polite.

Why write “Confessions of a Teenage Hermaphrodite” for Young Adults?

My husband and I used to visit Phoenix every summer. The last time we were there, we drove out the Apache Trail to Tortilla Flat and back. The next morning I woke up with the need to tell a story, to write a book. I became so obsessed that my husband let me quit my six-figure job to start writing full time.

Confessions is based on my childhood and stories other intersex adults told me about theirs. I'd also spent more than ten years answering inquiries on behalf of a support group for the parents of intersex children. I wanted to do something to help them.

What is your desire for readers to get out of your book, “Confessions of a Teenage Hermaphrodite”?

Some of my motives were pure selfishness. I wanted to show people the surreality of my childhood—what it's like to grow up between, to live over the edge. And God had been pushing me toward increased transparency and vulnerability. Confessions is something people can read that might explain my heart better than anything I could tell them.

What has your feedback been from parents and young people who have read your book?

Most of the feedback I've gotten has been positive. Especially from young mothers. Confessions is different than other young adult novels. It's a deeply emotional book with strong fantasy elements.

Some of the negative feedback is a reaction to some of the risks I took with writing style. The protagonist is childish. The protagonist refers to herself in third person. Some of the things that happen are unlikely. Yes. Most of the criticism are true. But that's my life—I often look back in disbelief.

What is your message to parents of children born with Mixed Gonadal Dysgenesis? (Or, parents with children born with an intersex condition?)

Keep calm and let your kid have a childhood. Even if it's fanciful. There's no rush to conform to male or female stereotypes. Or boy or girl norms.

Keep calm and let your kid have a childhood. Minimize visits to doctors and therapists. Make a distinction between what's medical and what's cosmetic. Hook in to a good support group.

Keep calm and let your kid have a childhood. Don't let your child's intersex condition be their life. You still have parenting responsibilities. Intersex is no excuse for being a brat.

Keep calm and let your kid have a childhood. Help them integrate their condition with who they are. They can handle knowledge better than they can handle secrecy.

Keep calm and let your kid have a life. Not everyone in the world needs to know the details of your child's condition. Not even all of your Facebook friends. Your child may appreciate the privacy later.

What is your message to the medical community when treating and working with families and parents with children with MGD or intersex conditions?

Act to maintain a child's options.

Treat the patient not the picture. 

Listen.

Who cares what gender the original physician(s)

thought the child should be?

Ask the child in a situation where they're likely to respond with the truth.

Understand that for every rule there are exceptions.

Will you be writing your own autobiography/memoirs about your MGD experience or your life in general?

Not until I believe anyone would be interested in reading it. I'm happy to accept Confessions as fictional memoir.

Can you tell us about your next book?

The working title of my next novel is Samantha's Baby. Samantha and Melanie have always been BFF, so when Samantha decides to marry Trevor, Melanie agrees to act as a surrogate mother for her intersex friend. When the lab mistakenly uses Samantha's gonadal cancer biopsies for the ICSI (intra-cytoplasmic sperm injection), Samantha becomes the biological father of Melanie's child.

Is there a support group for parents and people with MGD?

-- AIS/DSD Support Group 

-- SUCCEED Clinic in Oklahoma City

Thank you so much, Lianne Simon, for allowing me to interview you! Zollie.

Click here --> for Lianne Simon's Website

(Click book jacket graphic to enlarge)

To purchase:

Click here --> For Amazon Link

Click here --> For MuseIt Up Publishing Link

*****

Excerpt

I didn’t have any clothes fit for an elfin princess, so my cousin Kaylah let me borrow some hand-me-downs one of the Fair Folk had given her. She shook her head as she held a white velvet skirt up in front of me. “I don’t care if that old book says the Kirkpatricks are faie. Your face is bean shìdh, but the rest of you is brùnaidh.”

At five I was only a little taller than my two-year-old sister Alicia, so the clothes were way too big for me. “Please, Kaylah. The brownies are elves too. They’re just not as tall.”

“All right, then.” Kaylah safety-pinned the white velvet skirt to my slip, so the waist stayed up under my arms and the hem brushed the floor. The satin sleeves of the woodland green blouse hung down past my fingertips. She wrapped a silver lace belt around my waist twice and made a bow in the back. A spider-silk flower went on my shoulder. I sat down so she could tie the ribbons of starlight ballet slippers around my ankles. “There you are!” She clapped her hands together. “Princess Grace herself doesn’t dress any finer than that.”

Fancy clothes weren’t all an elfin princess needed to be dressed for a party, so I sat facing my reflection and waited for my maidservant to finish. She stood behind me in the wall mirror, intense concentration twisting her face. I grinned as she pulled the soft foam rollers out of my locks and fluffed, brushed, teased, and sprayed until my hair was perfect. It wasn’t very long, but the color was pretty, somewhere between ripe pumpkin and the gold of the earrings she clipped on my ears.

Face full of wonder, Kaylah held a glass vial before my eyes. “There’s a river so high in the Mountains of the Moon that the water turns silvery-blue.” She pulled the stopper out of the shiny bottle and dipped a small brush into it. “I’m going to paint your nails with moonlight. Sit still until it dries.”

In the mirror sat a beautiful elfin princess—golden hair aglow, large emerald eyes, small red mouth, and rosy cheeks sprinkled with freckles. She was the happiest elf-maiden of the realm. I stood, grabbed a handful of white velvet on each side, curtseyed to the lady in the mirror, and spun around so my skirt would fly.

“Pretty!” shouted Alicia, one finger in her mouth.

“Both my girls are beautiful.” Kaylah bent down and kissed my little sister on the cheek.

“Are you ready, birthday girl?” She grabbed my hand and held it high. “Your court awaits you, my lady.” I spun around on tiptoes, a lovely ballerina, my shoes sparkling like stardust in the night sky.

Jimmy the Pirate swaggered into the kitchen, wooden saber at his side and a black patch over one eye. Alicia danced in her little pink tutu and a pair of angel wings made from coat hanger wire and crinoline. Gladys was dressed like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, red shoes and all. She had even brought Toto, a stuffed toy animal that might once have resembled a dog. Kaylah wore a tattered pair of bib overalls, a gingham blouse, and an old straw hat.

They had all chipped in and bought me a present. Kaylah must have wrapped the package because the edges and folds were all straight. I pulled the tape off, careful not to rip the paper. Inside was a new Raggedy Ann. A squeal of delight burst from my lips, and I hugged the doll to my breast. “Sofie! I’ll name her Princess Sofie!” I scooted over on my throne, set her on the seat beside me, and straightened her dress.

Kaylah winked at me, set my birthday cake on the kitchen table, and lit the candles. I blew out all five with one breath and grinned at Jimmy. They say you shouldn’t tell anybody your wish, but he already knew I wanted to be his wife.

The pirate grinned at me, eyes flashing, and waved a saber over his head. “Yar! Cut the cake!”

Kaylah was the one who baked my birthday cake. I think she got the recipe off a Hershey’s Cocoa tin. Anyway, she made the yummiest chocolate cakes. I cut Jimmy a ragged chunk and passed him his plate.

“Princess, you’re making a mess.” My cousin, gentle as always, cleaned the frosting off my sleeve and cut slices for the rest of us.

I was halfway through eating mine when I heard the front door open. Ooh! Dad was home early. Seeing the little princess would make him sad. My fork hit my lap, chocolate cake and all, and bounced to the floor. Arms trembling, I sprang up, thinking to run away.

“No, Jamie. It’s okay. Today’s your birthday.” Kaylah grabbed my arm and gently pushed me back down into my seat. “He should see how pretty you look.”

Kaylah was only twelve, but she’d pretended to be my mom ever since she was seven. My real mom home schooled Kaylah, and me, and my brother Scott every morning. In the afternoon, while our moms worked, my cousin, and Alicia, and I played together. Scott didn’t hang around with girls, so he went to his pal Joey’s or played kick-the-can outside the old schoolhouse on Polk Street.

I didn’t have a magic ring to make me invisible, so Dad found me as soon as he strode into the kitchen. His eyes—those deep wells of disappointment—locked on the elfin princess and sucked the life out of her. “What’s going on?”

Kaylah stepped between me and Dad, saving me from certain doom. “It’s Jamie’s birthday, remember? The kids are all wearing costumes for his party. We were reading Old Scottish Fairy Tales and he wanted to dress like an elfin princess.”

I peeked around Kaylah’s waist, hiding Sofie behind my back. The air around my father seemed to crackle with lightning, but he only nodded and smiled at me. “I got you a new softball. After your party, let’s play catch. Okay, sport?”

So my dad played catch with the elfin princess, tossing her the ball underhand from a few feet away. I missed the first one; it went right between my outstretched arms. The second rolled off my fingertips. The third bounced off my hands and hit me in the face. Boys seemed to learn right away, but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to catch a ball. I shut my eyes to hide my frustration, but the tears were too many.

“I’m sorry, Jameson. Are you okay?” Dad knelt down and hugged his little princess tight, but the disappointment in his eyes hurt her worse than the ball had. Scott said I threw like a girl, but all the ones I knew played catch better than me. I got hurt when I played boy games. Every time. That’s one reason I preferred playing with Kaylah and Alicia.

Dad led me back inside. While he searched for the ice pack, I sympathized with the princess in the mirror. Her face resembled a raccoon’s now, with a dark half-moon under one eye. Poor girl. Another black eye. Won’t you ever learn?

* * * *

A knock on the door meant it was almost bedtime. I put Barbie into her case and picked up my little china tea sets. Alicia began gathering the Lincoln Logs that were scattered across the floor. “Mom knows,” she said as she slid a box on the shelf.

“What?” I collected the dolls, and stuffed animals, and all and put them into the closet.

“That you don’t play with your cars.”

Every morning before Dad left for work, I got my Matchbox cars out of their carrying case. After breakfast Mom home schooled us. In the afternoon I played with Alicia and Kaylah. When Dad got home, I packed the cars back into their case. Seeing me put them all into their little slots made my dad smile. Like he thought I’d been playing with them the whole day. After supper Alicia and I read or played with dolls in our room.

My sister touched my shirtsleeve. “If you’re an elfin princess, how come you always wear boy clothes?”

I glanced into the mirror. The elfin princess wondered why, too. “I don’t have any dresses, you know. Kaylah’s old clothes are only for dress-up, and they’re too big anyway.”

Alicia hugged me like I was her little sister. “You can wear mine.”

I glanced at her and shook my head. “I don’t want to wear somebody else’s clothes.”

“Mom says we’re supposed to share, and besides, we’re twins.”

Alicia was my best bud ever, but sometimes she said goofy stuff. “We can’t be twins. I’m seven and you’re only four.” I picked up Sofie and put her on my bed so she could sleep with me.

Alicia held her hand above my head and slid it toward hers, like she was measuring us. “We’re the same size and we’re sisters.” She bobbed her head as if that settled everything.

We stood next to each other in the mirror. Alicia really was as tall as the elfin princess. Our hair and eyes were the same color. She was human and me part elf, but we were both girls. Not twins, though. When I shook my head again, she pouted. “Jamie, please. I want to wear jeans.”

She had some cute corduroy overalls with a flower sewn on the front, but no blue jeans. What could I do? I hugged her and said okay.

She squealed and ran to my dresser, where she picked out a pair of jeans. Then she ran to the closet and found a blouse like the one she was wearing. A minute later we were giggling and jumping on my bed, dressed like we were identical twins or something. We scrambled to get ready for bed when someone knocked on the door again.

Mom stared at me for several heartbeats before she tucked me in, but she didn’t say anything about Alicia and me wearing matching nightgowns.

* * * *

The doorbell rang a third time. I glanced at the bathroom door, wishing Kaylah would hurry. Alicia peeked around the corner as I took another step across the living room. “You’ll get us in trouble,” she whispered.

“What if it’s Aunt Elizabeth?” She’d be mad if I didn’t let her in.

“Kaylah said never, ever answer the door by yourself.” She shook her head in emphasis. “Never.”

A fist pounded on the door, insistent. What could I do? I turned the handle and pulled.

The tall lady on the porch smiled and leaned close. “You must be Alicia. Is your mother home?”

Never, ever talk to strangers. That’s what my mom always said. “No, ma’am. My name’s Jamie. Mom’s not home.”

Alicia poked her head around the corner, and then ran to stand next to me. “We’re twins.” She tugged on the sleeve of my dress, beaming. “See. We have the same clothes.”

I stared at my sister. She always insisted we dress alike. Our hair was even cut the same. In her mind, that was enough. That was okay, I guess. We liked each other better than any real twins I knew.

The lady studied her notebook for a moment, frowning. Then she shook her head. “Our records indicate a nine-year-old boy named Jameson and a six-year-old girl named Alicia reside at this address.”

Always helpful, Alicia said, “Jamie used to wear boy clothes.”

“Who’s there?” I turned to see Kaylah approaching, her face pale. Was she sick?

The lady held out a hand. “I’m Stephanie Pollock, from the school board.”

The elfin princess pulled up the hood of her forest green pea coat and braced herself against the wind. North Carolina winters didn’t chill to the bone as fast as the bitter cold of northern Illinois, but after a year in Miami, my blood ran thin. I studied the house, all strung with Christmas lights, and imagined my father waiting right inside the front door. For years I’d been afraid of him, or at least afraid of making him sad. For months my anger had smoldered. His displeasure would still cause me pain, but not like before. Some part of me insanely expected him to be proud of his little princess for refusing to further sully her honor with Things Boys Do.

I opened my Bible and read in the dim afternoon light, sheltering the book against the wind. All the calculations based on genetics, gonads, genitals, and gender came down to one thing—how to play the hand I’d been dealt. The chief end of Man was to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, but thus far my life had been consumed by questions of gender. I longed for God to make something out of what remained.

“Lord, please make Dad see that I’m a girl. Help him understand how much it would mean to me if he told me it was okay to be his daughter. Please grant me favor in his eyes so I can go stay with the Gillespies.” The little princess dabbed at her eyes. She didn’t want to walk in with her mascara all ruined. I wiped my eyes again and started up the drive. “Please give me the courage I need to stand my ground. Please grant me peace, Lord. Thank you for making me Your child.”

As I walked up to the house, one of the garage doors opened. A moment later our Skylark backed out into the turn-around area. Dad got out and began walking back toward the house, leaving the car running. His head swiveled my way when the gravel under my shoe crunched. “You should be inside, honey,” he said.

His tenderness threw me until I realized he had mistaken me for my sister. Even in the twilight he should have at least noticed my height. Way too short to be Alicia. 

“It’s Jamie, Dad.”

“Jameson?” I stood still while my father studied me. “Have you no shame?” Disgust filled his face and his voice.

Shame? Me? What about your stupid list? I bit my lip hard and counted heartbeats, trying to hold back my anger. “No, Dad. I gave that up when I started on your list.”

A short, sharp bark of a laugh burst from my father’s lips. “Right. I can tell you’ve been diligent. Dress like a whore. That was item seven, wasn’t it?”

Godliness with contentment is great gain. Peace and warmth flooded me. I was still frightened of my father, but some tipping point had passed. In a softer voice I said, “I did more of the list than was right. Would you ask Alicia to go to bed with someone?”

“She’s not a boy.”

My father professed to being a Christian, but even an unbeliever should have seen the hypocrisy in expecting your sons to be promiscuous and your daughters to be virgins. “Neither am I!” I didn’t exactly yell, but Mom would have slapped me for the tone of my voice.

Dad only stared, anger smoldering in his eyes. “I should never have allowed you to go to school before having surgery and at least a year on testosterone.”

Surgery? You can’t be serious. “Dad, I—”

“No, Jameson. As of now you’re grounded. Ask your mother to give you a buzz cut and find you some decent clothes. You’ll stay home until we get this straightened out. I’ll find you another doctor.” He nodded as if everything were settled. “We’ll get you back on track.”

“No, Dad. I’m a girl. And I’m not going to talk to any of your stupid doctors.”

Dad didn’t lose his temper, but his face grew taught. “Do as I say and go in the house. Now.” His voice was even, but his eyes burned.

Lord, please grant me courage. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No, sir.”

Smoldering blue eyes studied me as he pulled off his belt. He’d strapped my brother once. I’d forgotten why. Scott had run off and joined the Army afterward. He had never come back.

Sad emerald eyes battled Dad’s blues, raining pity down on this stranger with the belt. My dad would never punish me for being a girl. I met his stare for as long as I could, but when the tears started, I squeezed my eyes shut and waited, legs shivering.

The breeze picked up, rustling the branches and chilling me. The evening was turning cold, but my cares and fears drifted away on the wind. I might not embrace the pain, but I would bear it.

Lord, please reconcile us. Even now.

# # #

End Excerpt

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