Ale:
Why don’t we start with names, pronouns, age, and where are you from?
Sus:
My name is Sus Jones. My pronouns are they/them. I’m 40 and I live in Lawrence, Kansas, by way of Oklahoma.
Ale:
So why don’t you tell me how you heard about the project and what made you want to participate?
Sus:
Yeah, well, I saw it on Instagram. What drew me to it is that I’m trans and I am both a parent and work in reproductive health, so I think the intersection of those spaces is really exciting and fun, and I like to talk about it and share it and everything.
Ale:
You are a parent, right? I want to talk about your parent journey and also your gender journey. How do those two things connect? When did they happen? Did they happen at the same time? Whichever you want to start with.
Sus:
Gender for me started off first when I was a kid. I was very clear on who I was. I remember having an inner dialogue of, “I’m not a girl, so I’m gonna try playing with boy things.” I had my stuffed animals and my dolls and whatever, “but I’m gonna try playing with trucks.” Then I was like, “I don’t really like this, and so I guess I’m not a boy either.” I really loved having my hair short, and I loved being called “him” or “he”. Then I think I hit puberty in Middle School and just kind of put that aside. I was trying to just fit in with whatever world I was in. I regularly got made fun of for being a boy wearing weird girl clothing, not the other way around. I got married really young, which is kind of not necessarily how things are now in the Midwest, but all the people that I knew [at the time] were getting married right out of college, so it wasn’t weird.
Ale:
How old were you when that happened?
Sus:
Almost 22. We waited to have kids for a while, though. We traveled and did all kinds of stuff, and I had my first kid at 28. I think at some point after getting married, I realized more and more that my sexuality was not just hetero, but it didn’t necessarily impact anything at that point. I got pregnant, and being pregnant felt so good. It was the first time I was in my body in a real way–these parts of me are functioning. I felt like I had superpowers.
I loved being pregnant. I loved labor and birth, and I loved nursing too. I think where my gender kind of plays into that is how I really took on the gender norm of wife/mother, which I had kind of been taught throughout my life. Overgiving, self-sacrificial, and just very nurturing. I felt like I fit into that almost too well, to where I ended up burning myself out on it, losing myself, and not having a sense of self at that point.
“I was writing when I realized that was the moment, probably the first moment in my life when I’ve chosen myself over anybody else…I really see that moment as the first real step in me refinding myself, both gender wise, but also in my marriage, being able to have the path and the courage to choose myself. I wanted to be happy.”
Ale:
So while you were in a pregnant body, you felt amazing, you identified with the gender association between care and being a “mother,” but it was a lot
Sus:
Yeah. It ended up swallowing me. Then, having a child was difficult. It was really, really hard on me and on my marriage. It was after my first that I started doing birth work, and I started studying to be a midwife.
Ale:
Was it giving birth and having your kid that made you feel like this was your calling?
Sus:
It was confirmation, but I had known prior. When I gave birth, my midwife was tucking me into bed, and I felt ready, and I felt like I truly wanted to do this. She settled me down, had me take a little rest, and the comfort was what attracted me to the idea of wanting to do this now forever.
Ale:
It sounds like you had this perpetual role of care for others, but what shifted your perspective was being taken care of yourself.
Sus:
I got pregnant with my second child when my first was four. And it was definitely some of the hardest years of my life–until the end of my marriage, which was six or seven years later. It was definitely something that was, well, that’s probably not something I should say.
Ale:
You don’t have to share, but if you feel like it rounds up your story–
Sus:
It was a ‘me’ decision to be pregnant with my second child. When I was giving birth to them, their birth was really difficult. I was at home, they were 11 pounds, and they were born with their arm behind their back, so they got incredibly stuck.
And I had this idealistic vision of what my birth was going to be like–having the people that I loved around me. I had my midwife, whom I had worked with for my first child, who I also had apprenticed with through the years, and then two of my other midwife friends, and then a best friend of mine. I wanted them all there, but I felt like “you all just sit in the corner and let me do this.” I also had my friend Cole come. Cole was there to hold my first child through it all, but also gonna be there just in case we needed to call my new baby’s spirit back into their body.
So my baby’s head came out, and then it felt like waiting forever for their shoulders to come out. They didn’t come. Two of the midwives worked and tried to get them out. They had to really, really deeply manipulate the baby to get them out, and it was excruciating. Most babies that get stuck are about three minutes from when their head comes to when their body comes, it’s three minutes of work. One midwife had her whole hand inside of me, working to get my baby’s arm in front and out. I then had this moment where I was in probably the most pain I’ve ever felt, to the point where I stopped caring. I said:
I don’t care if my baby dies.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I’m done, I have to move.
I said out loud, “You have to let me move. You have to let me move.” In this moment of stress and pain, one of the midwives had actually gotten my baby’s arm and was able to get a hold of it, but then needed me to flip over in order for her to maneuver it further. Debriefing afterwards, that midwife told me “that was your body knowledge, knowing that we needed to move.” For years, I was looking back at that like there was something deeper than me knowing that. I was actually working with Shym’s [current co-parent] sibling through some stuff, and I was writing when I realized that was the moment, probably the first moment in my life when I’ve chosen myself over anybody else. When I say that in my body right now, I feel not just like the grief, but like the release, and that’s what led my baby to come out. It is also what made them able to find themself. It was me being able to say “no” and “me.” I really see that moment as the first real step in me refinding myself, both gender wise, but also in my marriage, being able to have the path and the courage to choose myself. I wanted to be happy.
“I know I talked to my friend about it because I remember she and I were, I don’t know if we were talking about masturbating or sex or something, and this was before I started T or anything and I was like, “I really just want someone to jack off my tiny penis,” and she was like, “You’re trans.”
Ale:
It’s almost like your body and the universe are telling you, if you do this, we will reward you.
Ale:
Do you remember what you two talked about?
Sus:
We met then, they left, we texted each other very randomly, and then at some point we connected a little more and moved to phone calls. They moved back, and we started hanging out. Leading up to this, I had been doing some light exploration of my romantic and gender queerness, but still felt very stuck. Then Shym took a photo of me.
Sus:
I think my second kid was maybe a year and a half old when Chris and I split up. Then Shym and I met around that time. Shym was a co-facilitator of an anti-racist book club that was online during COVID, and I joined. We had some interaction there, and several months later, I reached out, asking if they would want to get coffee or go for a walk sometime, “I’d love to chat with you about birth.” They responded with “um, actually, I’m kind of full in the friendship department right now, and I don’t know if I have space for that. I’m getting ready to move or leave.” I was like, “Okay, well, here’s the things that I wanted to talk about, and we’ll catch up with each other whenever.” And they were like, “Oh, let’s go for a walk.”
Ale:
Oh, I would love to see that if you still have it.
Sus:
Yeah, we can show you later. But Shym took this photo of me and said, “Oh, you look so androgynous in this,” but questioning if this was a compliment, I said, “Thanks.” My arm looked really beefy, and my chest looked really flat, and I saw myself for the first time in a long, long time. Then they posted some questions on Instagram: “Here’s to my cis friends, how do you know you’re a woman or how do you know you’re a man without using masculine or feminine body parts?” And my answer to that was literally because someone told me. Then it was like a mic drop–done moment. I cut my hair because I had short hair for most of my life. I went to the thrift store, aesthetically trying to find myself. I was trying to get rid of the people-pleasing in me, that kind of stuff that I think I had overlaid along with motherhood, being a wife, and everything.
Sus:
When I told my kids, my youngest was two and a half, and we were sitting at our little coffee table eating breakfast, when I told them that I’m nonbinary, and I’m gonna start using these pronouns, my oldest was like, “okay, cool,” but my youngest was like, “Wait, what does nonbinary mean?.” I responded with, “it means I’m not a boy or a girl,” and they were like, “me too, no way.” I tried to support it, but it took Chris a little bit of time. As time went by, they were consistently vocalizing “I’m not a boy. I’m not a boy or a girl,” and at some point, I don’t even know how many years ago, they told me I’m they/them.
Ale:
I mean, I feel like so many of us are people pleasers, or even chronic people pleasers. Then, adding the aspect of being a mother/caretaker and how closely related that is to femininity. It must have been damaging. All these elements you have been conditioned to associate with yourself.
Ale:
How does that feel for you? Like, in relation to your own gender?
Sus:
You know, in some ways, I’m so proud of my parents for supporting me through getting to dress and be and act however I want to act. And I get to take it a step further and give them language and give them representation and encourage them to keep exploring.
Ale:
I want to go back real quick to something. When you were talking about giving birth to your youngest kid, you were talking about these feelings that I feel like I associate with a lot. For once, feeling like you’re choosing yourself and doing something that just feels good to you, and getting really good results out of that.
That to me resonates with talking to people about their and my own experience of transness and gender. The moment you start making certain choices about who you want to be, how you want to be perceived, it really just feels so rewarding. But also scary. I just kind of want to make that connection there, and whether you realized how those things connected.
Sus:
Yes, definitely. When I went back and realized that this was that nugget, that beginning for me of uncovering myself, and uncovering my gender. I think I identified as a shapeshifter for a really long time. I think there’s benefit and beauty to that. I realized once I did find myself that it was just the mechanism to find belonging. And I think what you’re saying is that when you find the belonging in yourself, then there’s so much alignment that happens around you, because you’re attracting the people that want to belong with you, and you’re going to the environments where you bring that belonging.
Ale:
I’m just curious. How was your previous partner at the time? How was his reaction?
Sus:
We got a divorce before I started really doing much exploration. The first step for me was disentangling from him. I know a lot of people can do that exploration with their partners. I was not myself, and I needed a lot of space to be able to do that. I think he knew I was queer. When I finally told him “I want to get a divorce,” one of the first things he said to me was, “Is this because you’re gay”? I was like, “I mean, we all know that.”
Ale:
Yeah. How do you know that this person in front of you is not gonna be a trans person two months from now, right?
Sus:
He’s a very soft, emotional, sweet person, but most of the exploration and work I did deeply was on my own, with friends and other support.
“That feels like my biggest work as a midwife, helping people read the signs that their bodies are giving.”
Ale:
Do you want to tell me a little bit about the community that you had around you at the time, your friends, and how they played a role?
Sus:
It was like deep COVID times. Chris and I split up, and we moved into separate places in January of 2020. So there was a lot of online support, and one of my best friends moved to western Kansas. She and I were like Marco Polo-ing the whole time, like hours a day, ridiculous amounts of just sending deep dives back and forth. I also had my sister and my two cousins, whom I’m really close to. Also my best friend that lives here and she’s cis and straight-ish but we’ve been friends since we were 18 and she’s very queer adjacent.
Through those years, it was just kind of different groups of people that would come and go. Cole is the one who lived in western Kansas, and she lives back in Lawrence now, but we like to have a very tight soul connection, but we don’t talk much anymore.
Ale:
When you had moments of gender discovery, did you have anyone to talk to about your trans experience with kids?
Sus:
Most of my queer friends didn’t have kids. This was another piece of it. Kate is a dear friend of mine, and we’ve been friends since we were pregnant with our first. She was actually someone who got divorced and started dating women before I did, and I don’t think I talked to Kate much. I talked to her about queerness, but I didn’t talk to her about gender. I really think most of it was just writing. I wrote so much and I was taking these online courses on how to queer my practice–my midwife practice. I was learning about gender inclusive care and reproductive loss for queer families. A lot of the exploration that I was doing was kind of for my midwifery practice, but it was me, you know. I know I talked to my friend about it because I remember she and I were, I don’t know if we were talking about masturbating or sex or something, and this was before I started T or anything and I was like, “I really just want someone to jack off my tiny penis,” and she was like, “You’re trans.”
Ale:
It’s such an internal process. Sometimes it just feels very private, and no matter how much you talk to people, it’s not until you’re ready, until you really know that you could engage with it. How long have you been on T now?
Sus:
Two years and I got top surgery this last November.
Ale:
How do you feel?
Sus:
Great. I still feel like I have boobs in the most wonderful way possible. I didn’t know that this is what I wanted–to have just like, teeny, tiny boobs that could pass as not boobs.
Ale:
When I talk to trans people who have given birth, sometimes it is a very mixed experience. There are experiences that just the thought of pregnancy could lead to extreme dysphoria, but then you have experiences like yours, when you’re like, “Oh my God. Being pregnant was amazing.” How do you feel about it now? Is that feeling still there?
Sus:
I don’t have a uterus anymore.
Ale:
Did you get a hysterectomy?
Sus:
Yes, I got one, but it wasn’t for gender reasons. I have a genetic mutation that can put you at higher risk of uterine cancer. I had mixed feelings about getting rid of it, you know, how will I be a midwife, and how will I follow the cycles of my world? And then as soon as it was gone, I was like, thank God. I liked having a uterus and having boobs that could produce milk. I felt like I had this power where, if I needed to, I could feed people, I could carry life. Now I’m moving out of that part of my life where I have this deep, in my bones, desire to be pregnant. It’s almost like I’ve put that chapter behind me, and it’s also wrapped up with the mother-wife thing.
Ale:
It goes back to this caretaker instinct.
Sus:
Yeah, when I think about being pregnant, or when I’m with pregnant people, or when I’m in a room with someone giving birth, I feel it all in my body.
Ale:
You get the sympathy cramps?
Sus:
Yeah, I had a birth early Wednesday morning, and I felt period cramps all night. It’s wild because I haven’t had it that bad in a long time
Ale:
Is so cool and wild how our body remembers. How long ago did you get your hysto?
Sus:
A year and a half ago, so it was a year before my top surgery.
Ale:
So you started T, got the hysterectomy, then top surgery.
Sus:
Yes.
Ale:
So, how would you feel to be pregnant now?
Sus:
I would carry a baby in a heartbeat.
Ale:
It sounds like you’re very in touch with your pregnancies and your body – how does that inform or play a role when you get to work with queer and trans folks?
Sus:
It’s interesting since I so deeply came to my gender through pregnancy and birth. I think it helps me support people getting into their own bodies, but I think even just having a midwife who doesn’t fit a gender norm can help people approach pregnancy as not just a feminine thing. Most of my practice and most of my work with people, regardless of who they are, but especially queer and trans people, is like trusting yourself, trusting your body, learning to listen to the signals. I think for so long, we’ve been told that our bodies are wrong, even cis women were taught that “our bodies are wrong, are dirty.”
That feels like my biggest work as a midwife, helping people read the signs that their bodies are giving. Listen to their gut and listen to whatever it is that’s inside of you. Not only does that help you learn the signs so you can get pregnant, but to also be in touch with what’s going on during your pregnancy. It helps people become better parents because when you’re listening to yourself, then you’re really also listening to your children.
For Doula services in Kansas, visit Companion Midwifery.
