Sam Dayze

Sam Dayze (33 - he/him). Parent to Starren (10 - she/her), Finnick (5 - she/her), and Shelter (3 - he/him)

Mobile, AL | New Orleans, LA

“I’ve had one miscarriage. My partner has had two. All of our pregnancies have been through at home artificial insemination. She was pregnant with what was going to be our first child when we were on our way to Orlando with friends. We got in a car wreck, and she miscarried the day after. It was hard, and we stopped trying for awhile. When we were ready to try again, we decided we’d both try to conceive. I conceived right away, but I miscarried at around 6 weeks. We found out she was pregnant a week later. I had so many emotions—excitement, fear, jealousy. My loss definitely sent me into a pretty deep depression it was hard to work through, and it was gut wrenching to reconcile that with the happy we’re-having-a-baby feelings I was also experiencing, and it was even harder to let go of the fear that we were going to lose this one too. But then she was born, and all was well. When our oldest child was two, we decided to try again, and my partner miscarried around 6 weeks. It was devastating, for her especially. We tabled having another baby for another two years, and then she still wasn’t ready to try pregnancy again, so I carried that one...and I spent the entire pregnancy scared I would lose the baby, at first because I’d had a loss before and after that because I developed a high risk condition.

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

I was sexually abused as a child. I always hated my body, because it was used against me. I self harmed. I didn’t want people to look at me or notice me. So my clothes were always oversized. I still struggle with binge eating disorder. I was the person wearing a jacket in 97 degree weather. Having kids forced me to be a lot more cognizant of all of that, and to do the work to process it, because I didn’t want them carrying the same baggage. I’m a lot more appreciative of my body now. This body was used to hurt me, but this body also crafted two babies, carried one to term and through birth, nursed that child for three and a half years, fed a few others through milk donation, and fed my third child who I didn’t birth. I’m especially proud I helped feed our third baby. He was born at 31 weeks via cesarean, because my partner developed severe preeclampsia. Between her and me and many milk donors, he got the human milk he needed to thrive.

Parenthood, especially parenting Finnick, also helped me understand my gender and start doing things for my body that made it feel more ME. Researching things for her—first when her presentation was consistently gender non-conforming from the time she began talking and reaching for clothes and other things on her own, and again when she was “not a boy, just a Finnick!”, and then again when she said she’s a girl and changed her pronouns to she and her—helped me put words to things I’d been feeling for years but didn’t have the language for. I started shopping a little differently, wearing my hair differently, adjusting my language, and feeling more ME in my body. In June I had surgery. My insurance wouldn’t cover top surgery, but they covered a reduction, and I asked my doctors to please take off as much as possible, and adjust the areola size and position...when I woke up and looked down, I just felt such profound relief I cried. I still do sometimes. This body fits who I am so much better now. I’m still the jackets in July guy though.

What was your postpartum experience?

I was sick when I was pregnant with Finnick. I had hyperemesis. I developed a heart arrhythmia. It was a never ending round of midwife appointments, high risk OB appointments, cardiology appointments, electrophysiology appointments , and multiple ER trips and hospitalizations, all between working full time and parenting a 5 year old. I was exhausted and full of anxiety, but I was also dealing with all of these feelings of nothing about my body or my self feeling right anymore. Discomfort with some aspects of womanhood wasn’t new to me—my kids call me Nova, because my partner was Mom, and none of the mother words ever felt comfortable or right for me. But pregnancy is when I first really started verbalizing that I didn’t feel altogether female. I was so overwhelmed I didn’t have time to think of what I expected postpartum. My energy went to coping with my fears surrounding delivery because of my health, but none of them came to pass. I had the quiet, unmedicated vaginal delivery I wanted with our midwife, backed by the high risk obstetrics team, that we as a family didn’t get with our first baby, who was born via emergency cesarean.

But while labor was a breath of fresh air after a miserable pregnancy, postpartum was...it was difficult. Unlike our oldest baby, Finnick cried, for hours on end. I remember listening to Demons by Imagine Dragons on repeat, or sitting in the bathtub with her cradled in my arms, with the water running and her whole body submerged except for her face, or wearing her in a carrier all day and night, because those were the only things that helped calm her down. I struggled with nursing in the beginning. She had jaundice, but it was so slight they discharged us home and had us come back every day for heel sticks, thinking it would resolve with frequent nursing and summer sunlight.

At eight days old, she was finally hospitalized with dehydration and a bilirubin of 23. I felt like a failure. Sleep was rare. At two weeks old, the pediatrician told me she was still losing weight. Again, I felt like a failure. So there was home healthcare and lactation consultants, and trying to figure out the problem, and finally at over a month old, she got back to her birth weight. I had to return to work at six weeks postpartum because I ran out of paid sick leave and couldn’t afford unpaid time. When I went to work and she got my milk in a bottle, she started refusing to nurse. And I felt like a failure again. We worked through that with sweat and tears, and then sometimes I’d have to leave a shift on my lunch break just to hold her for 20 minutes and nurse her while my partner sat in a quiet room because the baby had been screaming all night.

At three months postpartum, I had a cardiac ablation because medication still wasn’t controlling the arrythmia that didn’t go away post birth. I had complications involving defibrillation, and I returned to work a few days later because I couldn’t afford not to. After surgery, my milk supply tanked...and I felt like a failure again while I worked through that. It was just...hard. And isolating. And exhausting. And someone was always touching me. And it was never quiet. I constantly felt like I couldn’t breathe through the anxiety. I loved nursing but hated my chest more than ever, and I’d hated and resented it all my life already. My dysphoria bloomed, but I didn’t fully understand what it was or how to quantify it for a few more years.

Seeking out a purpose helped me cope. My pregnancy struggles taught me that many people don’t have supportive bedside care and advocation for their emotional needs and their birth plans, much less while managing high risk conditions. I had support a lot of people don’t get, and yet I found myself still lacking some of the care and help I needed. There aren’t enough midwives. There isn’t enough pregnancy, labor and postpartum support. There isn’t enough queer competent care. So I made a plan to go back to school and be some of that support for someone, and now I’m a labor nurse at the same hospital in which my kids were born.

Things got better over time. My milk supply went back up. I found a parenting support group. And we reached out to family for help. People from the group or a few family members would keep Finnick for a few hours at a time so we could breathe. My father in law came over and rocked her on his chest all night more than once so we could get more than 2 hours of sleep. At six months old, she started crying less, though things were still tough for her, and we didn’t know why. And when she was two we learned her 4th trimester struggle was because she had sensory processing disorder and was overwhelmed by all the things, and now we know she is autistic as well, as is my partner, and possibly me. Occupational therapy and learning how to help her navigate this world and accommodate her sensory and communication needs made a world of difference.

What is your truth?

You’re not failing at this. It’s hard. It’s really hard, and we have nothing in place to ease that burden. We have no pregnancy or parental leave. We have little access to the full spectrum of healthcare. We have no reliable safety nets. We have unhealthy work expectations and low wages. You are not failing at parenting. The system we have in place is failing you.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

Because there are times I feel invisible, and I want to be seen. Because I am still doing the work of getting comfortable in my body, and I always will be. Because ash’s photos bring me joy. Because I want people to know it’s ok to struggle with pregnancy and parenting, and to not love every aspect of either. Because there are other parents like me out there, and I want them to know they are loved and they are valid, and it’s okay to not know the words for yourself or to discover them at any age or to just be a person without words or labels.

Rae D.

Rae D. (37 - they/them), parent to Logan (4 - they/he - pictured), and Leo (4 - he/him)

Oak Park, IL

Rae shares -

“I got pregnant the first time we decided that I would try to be a gestational parent. My older sister Adrienne died on July 12, 2013. Logan was conceived on October 23, 2013 about 3 months after her death. I had not seriously thought of being a gestational parent until her death. My due date was July 16, 2014, just a few days after the anniversary of my sister's death but Logan was born 3 days early on July 13, 2014.”

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

I see my body in a more positive light. Even when I feel insecure regarding my size, or whatever it is I remember that my body was strong enough to create life. I remember the tiny human whom is looking at me for guidance and sees how I treat myself. I had top surgery 8 months prior to getting pregnant, and this also increased my positive image and gave me the courage to gestate.

What was your postpartum experience?

When I gave birth to Logan, my spouse was 8.5 months pregnant with Leo. I had lots of help within our house - my mom, spouse and nephew. My mom had moved in a month prior, so she was very good at making sure I ate good food, drank enough water, and when I was up with the baby in the early mornings she would hang out and be a comfort to me. I was having a hard time adjusting with being responsible for a tiny human, and also feeling like I needed to be more help to my spouse who was due any day. It felt overwhelming to feel like I was having to choose between taking care of my spouse and taking care of our tiny human.

I felt very isolated because I was scared to discuss with everyone that I wanted to be my kids Dad, but everyone was still calling me mom/mama. My close friends and family knew that I had top surgery before the pregnancy and that I had no mammary glands and would not be able to breastfeed. My spouse and I had been meeting with lactation consultants regularly throughout our pregnancies to have a breastfeeding plan for my spouse to breastfeed both children. We understood the benefits of breastfeeding but one thing I did not expect was the societal judgement and guilt that I would feel for not breastfeeding. "Are you breastfeeding?" I was been asked this question on a daily basis since Logan was born. “Nope,” I would smile and reply, “baby is formula fed.” Most people just say okay, but some feel as if it is their great enlightenment to tell me how great breast feeding is for babies. I totally agree it's great, but I don't think it's a cure all. I am lucky enough that my wife was able to provide breast milk to Logan after giving birth to our son. What an amazing bonding experience for the both of them. I love that Logan had the chance to be able to breast feed with their other parent.

I did feel some guilt when Logan was just about to be born in regards to not being able to breast feed. They were quickly subsided by the fact that he was such a good baby. We couldn't possibly be doing anything wrong by not breast feeding. We did have some donated milk for them as well but we ran through that very quickly as babies drink so much milk and we couldn’t keep up with exclusive breastmilk. We also didn’t think it was anyone else’s business what we fed our children, as long as they are fed and healthy.

I did not know the stigma I would face in regards to not breastfeeding. Nor did I know the general public would make it their business whether or not I breast fed. Now if you are a friend or family member who has asked me, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to the grocery clerk or the barista. I also didn't realize how it would impact our care in postpartum. Now the funny part is, I didn't realize this until after my wife gave birth. There was someone in her room every 2 hours to check the baby, make sure he is eating, make sure he is latching etc. When it was me I think they came in once during the night. We told them about her projectile vomit which they attributed to Logan just being born. We did a lot of research and had good support to get Logan to learn to breastfeed. I did chest feed daily with a supplemental nursing system attached to my chest. This involved a tiny tube attached to my chest that Logan had to work really hard at sucking to get the smallest drips of milk or formula to come out. We did this in ten minute increments so that their face muscles would learn to work hard and develop like a breastfed baby’s do. It was also a wonderful skin to skin bonding time for us both. A lot of people doubted that Logan would be able to transition from the ease of bottle feeding to the hard work of breastfeeding after a few weeks when my wife could feed them, but Logan transitioned without any problem and breastfed from my spouse for several months.

All this being said we can fast forward to my wife being in the hospital for some "fever of unknown origin". Around day 6, she asked to see a lactation consultant to find out if she decided to stop breast feeding what exactly that would entail. The LC told my wife, "no one will blame you if you choose not to breast feed, but the benefits of breast feeding are well documented and I just don't want you to be ridden with a lifetime of guilt." I get it, that's her job to attempt to get people to breast feed..... But to say such things to someone who has been getting up after 2 hours around the clock to pump in the hospital in order to get up her supply for when she is released. There is also benefits to sleeping when you're sick and not exhausting your body. The guilt that we both felt around breastfeeding and a temporary or permanent inability to provide breastmilk for our children was something that we had not anticipated. There are so many people out there who cannot breastfeed. My heart goes out to all those people who likely face the same feelings of judgement that we felt for not being able to breastfeed.

Physically I seemed to be doing okay postpartum. During labor my blood pressure went dangerously high to above 200 systolic, and over 100 diastolic. This seemed to resolve itself after they gave me medication to lower it. However at about 8.5 months postpartum, I began having a horrible headache, my face hurt and my neck hurt. We were visiting Chicago and I didn't really know what to do. After going to a clinic and asking for imaging I was told I had an aneurysm in my Left Carotid Artery. They admitted me via an emergency and then did more imaging. They then told me it was not an aneurysm, but that it was a dissection with a thrombus, which is very similar to an aneurysm. The doctors told me that I had saved myself from a stroke by coming in and asking for imaging. The reason I insisted on having imaging was because my sister had a headache and went into the hospital and no imaging was done. She was discharged home and died alone on her couch from a carotid aneurysm that ruptured. I felt like somehow my sister was looking out for me. I gave birth the day before the anniversary of my sister’s death and knowing her cause of death had helped me to get a similar diagnosis before it was too late for me. She is constantly on my mind and in my heart, I miss her everyday and wish that her aneurysm had been caught and treated when she was alive. I’ve seen many doctors and been worked up for various vascular anomalies but they have not found any definitive genetic or familial cause for the rupture prone vessels that my sister and I share.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?
Since seeing this project I have wanted to participate. I want to "normalize" bodies that do not fit into the cis-gender category. I want someone to see me with my kids and know that if their body doesn't "fit in", or if they know they need to transition in anyway that they can still decide to gestate a human. I know that many folks in the early 2000's whom I saw that decided to be openly trans and have kids really impacted my feelings about myself later and worrying that I would be alone.

Tine and Tavish

Tine (30 - 39 weeks pregnant), Tavish (35), and Miles Henry Mathiasen (19 months)

Grass Valley, CA | Reno, NV

Tine shares -

“I have never felt such gratitude or such heartache as I did while trying to conceive Miles. Gratitude that our dear friends would open their family to ours and take on a known donor role and all that comes with that - logistically, socially, politically, legally. Gratitude to live in a state that makes it relatively easy for my trans spouse to claim parenthood to a child to whom he is not genetically related. Gratitude that I had little reason to doubt that my body was capable of creating and carrying life. But for me, gratitude and heartache turned out to be so intrinsically entwined that it was almost impossible to feel one without the other.

There was the heartache of the cycles that did not "take" despite everything being so painstakingly planned. Heartache and fear that I was at the whim of another person to grow the family I so desperately wanted. Most deeply, there was the heartache of not being able to create a family privately and on our own schedule with my spouse. The very evening our friend offered to be a donor, an evening of hope and celebration and joy, Tavish and I drove home and sat in our driveway while I cried. We mourned. It was only when we had finally found our path to family that we were able to face the mountain of grief we carried in not being able to do so on our own.

So far, conceiving and carrying our second child has been easier on me than my first pregnancy was, more mild in both joy and pain. I feel more emotionally tempered. My body and spirit have gone through the wringer these past two years and I’ve found my power. I have no doubt that I can get through this pregnancy, delivery and postpartum period.

Years ago, much of my queerness involved dysphoria and discomfort in my body. Finding usefulness - all the bits and functions involved in conceiving/carrying/feeding a new life – has helped me embrace my physical self. Once I had Miles, I felt connected to my body and its amazingness in a new way. However, the message that bodies are “made for this” and are therefore magical/beautiful/powerful had a dark side for me. If I was made for this, what did it mean that I had had a cesarean delivery? If I was made for this, why did feeding my child hurt me? And if birth was magical, why was I so angry?

With the help of doctors, time and a strong support network, I was able to realize that I had been woefully underprepared for a less-than-ideal birth and postpartum experience. My body and I weren’t broken, we just needed extra support. I've made different decisions with this current pregnancy - choosing a different birthing facility with more options and resources for delivery, surrounding myself with young and queer-affirming doctors, not being married to a particular method of delivery - and my spouse and I are confident that we've set ourselves up for success no matter how this impending birth unspools. My body is awesome and I am proud of it, and if it needs help, that doesn't mean I am any less.

The first three weeks postpartum with Miles had both joys and struggles, but then everything became terrible. The baby became inconsolable and cried nonstop for weeks. I also rapidly developed pretty severe postpartum depression. Thankfully, I recognized this drastic shift in my mood and when I did, I immediately sought help and was able to bring the PPD under control. Just last week, I met with a perinatal psychiatrist and we came up with a plan to get ahead of any potential PPD that could arise after this delivery. Prevention will hopefully make all the difference in this next postpartum period.

When I wore my queerness more brightly on my sleeve and prior to Tavish's transition, the two of us stuck out in most "family-friendly" settings. Now we are the image of successful domesticity and look like a straight, cis, married couple. This ability to pass comes with great privilege and great loss. Where can we go to find our community, especially now that we live in a small town and have kids? How do we stay visible and out? Well, we've learned that queerness extends beyond sexual orientation and gender identity and into family structure as well. Forever connecting our family to another through known donation is one of the queerest things I'll ever do. I'm proud of it and it requires navigating a different kind of "outness" that I'm still learning to perfect. Queer kinship in all forms is powerful and never to be underestimated.

I want to capture this incredible moment my family is in. The last few days of my final pregnancy. My son on the verge of becoming a brother. My second child still unknown. My spouse freshly recovering from surgery. We are beautiful. I want to remember for myself and I want the world to see us, too. Update: Willa Lane was born healthy and happy at 41 weeks. Her birth was a phenomenal experience, no doubt one of the best of my life. Postpartum with a newborn and a toddler is wild and witnessing sibling love is magic.”

Tavish shares -

“Being transgender, I have experienced grief and sadness in lacking sperm to procreate with my wife. Before we found our donor, I didn't know how we would be able to have children. The cost of sperm at a bank felt out of reach and the prospect of having to pay for IVF or IUI was daunting. In that time, I wished my body had the genetic material we needed to grow our family. I have always wanted children and had begun to doubt that they would every be a reality in my life.

When our son, Miles, was born, it was a long labor that ended in c-section. Miles and I were very quickly separated from my wife. It was 2 long hours before we were reunited with Tine. At this point in time, I had not had top surgery. I wore a binder all the time. I was so very self conscious about my chest and how it looked. I wore baggy tee shirts all the time and was always tugging at my shirt, afraid it would cling too much. So, when the nurse asked me if I wanted to have skin-on-skin time with Miles while we waited for Tine to finish in surgery and recovery, I declined. It makes me sad that he had to wait those 2 hours to have skin-on-skin contact, and I was just too uncomfortable in my skin to make it happen for him. I had top surgery this last spring. I am more confidant and comfortable in my body than I have every been. I am excited for the skin-on-skin time that I will be able to share with our daughter.

Postpartum time with Miles was awesome, beautiful, crazy, terrifying and exhausting all at once. He was so tiny and helpless and perfect in his little body. He was also colicky and cried for weeks. There were times I just wanted him to stop crying and nothing would sooth him. There are pictures of me holding this crying baby while bouncing on a yoga ball, shaking a rattle and holding a music box. We tried everything to sooth him, and nothing worked. It felt like it would never end, but then it did. In this time Tine was experiencing postpartum depression and I was trying to hold the pieces of our world together. To say the least, it was a trying time and we got through it with love, patience and lots of tater tots.

My wife introduced me to this movement. I normally would not be comfortable with minimal clothing photography, but the message behind what this project is doing is powerful. I chose to participate to show others that a family that appears to be hetero can underneath be super queer and awesome. I want to represent the invisible queer families and show the world how beautiful we are.”

Jayk Kearns

Jayk Kearns (20) and Oliver

Minneapolis, MN

Jayk shares -

“I experienced an early miscarriage at 4 weeks. I had only been with my partner for two months at the time but we both took it very hard. I was getting positive tests for a week, then I started bleeding so I rushed to urgent care, tests in hand. The doctor said I wasn’t pregnant, and refused to do any testing and just sent me home. The next few weeks were spent crying.

Since coming out as transgender I’ve always disliked my body, but when I found out I was pregnant I felt really good about my body. Partially because my belly never got big and people couldn’t tell I was pregnant! After I had my son I lost all the baby weight fast but when I went back on hormones they forced me to take the depo shot ( a form of birth control), that combined with my hormones has made me gain all the baby weight back and I can’t loose it.

I tried to chest feed and it was amazing at first. My milk came in fast, while still in the hospital. In the weeks following, I had got mastitis twice, the later one sent me to the ER with prolonged 105°f fevers, they thought I had sepsis but luckily I was given antibiotics and allowed to go home. I lost my milk supply shortly after that and I couldn’t stop crying. Thing adjusted better once my son was on formula.

I acquired postpartum anxiety and I still have it, I get these crazy thoughts that someone will hurt my son and it gets me depressed. I didn’t really expect anything that has happened to happen but I have lived and learned from it and it has made me stronger.

I feel like transgender parents need more recognition and people need to learn the truth about us and our point of view - we are not freaks, we are normal people who want to start families and live our lives just like everyone else.”

Nathan D.

The phenomenal Nathan D. and Anaya (15 months). 

Nathan's journey to parenthood is different than most as he is transgender. Nathan lived as a female for his first 17 years before beginning his transition. He always knew he wanted to have kids and though he had a double mastectomy at 18, he hadn't had a hysterectomy. Nathan is adopted himself, so he considered adopting but he got pregnant and he and his partner decided to just go for it. 

Body dysphoria was a big struggle when he began to show at 5 or 6 months and everyone assumed that he was female. The point came where he needed to wear women's maternity clothing and he grew out his hair. It was a difficult process but Nathan knows who he is and tried to rationalize that the pregnancy was a relatively short time of his life to face this. Family members questioned his transition and wondered if he was going to be Anaya's mom or stay male. He had to reassure them that he was a man, he just didn't fit into the gender binary. He is male but he does have a vagina and can carry baby, and so he did. 

Though it was a lot to wrap their heads around his family remained supportive and he had an OBGYN that was very trans friendly and respected his name and pronouns. His medical team were supportive, honest, and never transphobic about anything. They worked with him in his desires to have as natural of a birth as possible even though that was not the eventual outcome. During pregnancy Nathan's hormones were all over the place and he needed to be put on Zoloft to help him manage and regulate. Being in the hospital for birth, brought about some difficulty. Nathan was misgendered by the staff quite frequently but through it all he kept reminding himself that they just didn't understand, they were used to seeing women. 

After 20+ hours of labor, Nathan got an epidural because his contractions were on top of each other and he was only 5 cms dilated. His doctor warned he would likely need to deliver via cesarean as he was not progressing with Pitocin and other interventions. Once in the OR Nathan began having panic attacks and as soon as they got Anaya out they needed to put him under to manage his blood pressure and bleeding. Nathan woke up in recovery with his partner and baby and felt like he had missed her birth. He immediately felt depressed and longed for the skin to skin and connection he had hoped for. He had lost so much blood he needed two transfusions and found himself terrified to hold his daughter. The first three days of Anaya's life, Nathan felt too weak to connect and wondered if he never would. Once home, Nathan was on his own to recover and care for his daughter while his partner worked but they got through it. Remaining on Zoloft postpartum helped Nathan to cope and after about a month he began to feel much more confident and connected.

Nathan got sober in July of 2013, he had been pregnant before, in January of that same year and chose to have an abortion. The state of his life at the time made it clear that having a baby was not the right option, but that experience helped him see that he wanted to be sober. Nathan's abortion was January 19, 2013 and was one of the worst days of his life. Anaya, however, was born, two years to the day later. This amazing coincidence has helped him to see that she's always been with him. 

Learning how to live and cope sober and then learning how to be a parent was a lot in such a short span of time but it's gotten easier. Nathan hasn't always had an easy time caring about himself but having his daughter and partner in the picture keeps him grounded. At the end of the day, she's his reason.  

After living as a female for 17 years, Nathan knows how hard it is growing up as a girl in today's society. There is so much pressure and so many messages about how you should be and how you should look but it's all lies. Everyone is beautiful in their own way and every one is different. When Nathan got pregnant he thought he was the only one but thanks to the internet and other people speaking out was able to find community. If sharing his story can allow one person to relate to him or feel beautiful in their own skin, it's worth it. When Anaya is older, Nathan wants her to see this picture and hopefully find herself more comfortable and more body positive because of it.