“I’m a mare. I’m transgender,” I say.
Twilight Velvet looks at me with an opaque expression, face frozen. Night Light’s eyes widen, and he glances around for a moment, seemingly confused, before staring back at me.
My dad is the first to break the silence. “You… are?”
Great start.
I nod, but the motion feels floaty. The pause lingers, until I realize I have no idea how long I’ve been staring silently. I really ought to speak.
All the words I prepared have floated away, I just answer my dad’s question instead. “Y-yes, I’ve decided I’m not a colt. I use she instead of he now. I’m…” I swallow. “Your daughter.”
I wasn’t about to get into the finer details of my gender with my parents. I would let them get used to the gender basics before I brought up being an agender trans mare.
Pinkie leans in close to me. In face of my parents' bewilderment, Pinkie is a beaming beacon of joy. “Mhm!!! We’re super excited for her!”
Fluttershy nods along, then smiles. “Your daughter is our dear friend, and we’re happy to be here supporting her as she comes out.”
“Our daughter. Huh.” Dad says. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that, tell ya the truth!” Dad chuckles awkwardly. “That’s uh… Thanks for telling us, of course!”
Mom’s brows are furrowed. “Yes dear, thank you for coming to us, you know you can talk to us about anything. We’ll still love you just the same.”
Ok, ok. That’s… something! They haven’t technically given any actual opinions yet, but that’s a good start!
“I’m just… surprised is all,” My mom continues, “are you really sure about this Dusk?”
My skin prickles defensively, but I let the reaction pass.. That question wasn’t necessarily bad. “Yes, I am. In fact I… I’m going by a different name now.”
“Oh?” My mom says, sounding genuinely curious.
A spark runs up my spine. I’m telling my parents who I am. I take a breath, nervous but smiling, and say, “Twilight Sparkle.”
The words roll out, and I've put all my hope in them.
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth hanging slightly open. “That’s interesting.”
A skeptically furrowed brow is all I get from my mom. Not the response I was hoping for. She finally speaks up, “Won’t that… get confusing?”
“Well, uh. M-maybe at first! But it’s— It’s who I want to be.” All the emotion I’m trying to express gets backed up in my throat. “Do you… not like it?
Spike looks between me and our parents, a little more nervous than before. Dad is looking unsure, waiting for Mom’s response.
My mom softens her expression a bit. “No, no, it’s lovely. I’m flattered you chose the family name…”
Now I raise an eyebrow. “But…?”
“I’m just confused. This seems like it’s coming out of nowhere!” she says, holding her hooves spread out in front of her.
I stare flatly. “Mom, just five minutes ago you were talking about how I always fit in better with fillies than with colts my own age.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re a mare, that’s an arbitrary connection. You were just a sensitive colt, is all,” Mom says, waving it off with a hoof.
“Oh come on. Even I knew my big ‘brother,’” Spike puts brother in air quotes, “was never a normal dude.”
“Well yes, Spike,” Mom replies. “But that doesn’t mean he was secretly a girl. Gender isn’t based on silly sexist stereotypes.”
“She,” Spike corrects, folding his arms.
I cringe internally. It’s touching seeing him correct pronouns for me, but I also don’t like seeing him upset at Mom on my behalf. “It’s ok Spike, I only just told her a moment ago. They’ll get it.”
He relents, relaxing his posture.
Mom gives me a wan smile, then turns to Spike. “Right, She.” I strain to parse what my mom is thinking from her voice, but it was a dry and factual statement.
I freeze as my mom's gaze falls back onto me, looking at the scene from slightly beside myself. I don’t want to be afraid of my parents. I want to believe in them, to be totally confident that everything will be fine. I’m not normally afraid of my parents, but I am now. I’m afraid of disappointing them, afraid of what would happen if they’re never able to understand me.
My mom's voice pierces through the slight disconnect between me and my body, words coming in clear, though my heart is still racing.
She says "But Du—" My mom gets out the first syllable before changing the word midway through. "—Dear, we never forced you into being a colt. We never forced you to do colt things, or play with colt toys.”
“And I didn’t always,” I say, thinking of Smarty Pants.
“No, you didn’t. So if were really transgender this whole time, why didn’t you ever say you felt like a girl, or ask us about it?” Mom asks, brows furrowed.
It was a question I’ve asked myself more than a few times before. And just like when I asked it to myself, it felt like an accusation. It dredges up the dread from my gut. Why didn’t I?
“Well…” I want a solid answer to give them, something convincing and definitive. But all I have are the lingering questions that drip along the edges of my mind. “I… I don’t know.”
“That’s what I just don’t understand about it,” My mom continues. “I don’t think we knew our son that poorly.”
“I’m not saying that— I—" I clench my jaw shut, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I breathe in and out to keep them from falling. If I start crying, my parents will get concerned, and that will escalate things, and they'll want an explanation for it. And I’m not sure I could give that explanation without crying even more. So I just keep breathing, trying to calm down while aware my parents are watching every bit of this.
My tunnel vision is interrupted when Fluttershy gently places a hoof over mine. The contact brings me back into my body, shorting out the mental loop. Fluttershy smiles at me, then looks at my parents and speaks up, “Um. I’m sorry, but that isn’t quite right.”
Fluttershy’s voice takes on a soft but confident tone as she starts explaining, “It’s a myth that trans ponies always know from a young age. Everypony has a different journey of discovering their gender. A lot of time, foals don’t have the words or context to make sense of their feelings. They might feel wrong, but not know the reason why.”
Listening to Fluttershy gives me a chance to catch my breath. It was such a relief that I didn’t have to explain this all by myself. Hearing Fluttershy speak gives me more confidence in speaking my own thoughts.
As Fluttershy comes to a pause, I continue, “Yes. I didn’t know I was a filly. But I always did feel out of place. I always felt like ponies were trying to fit me under a label I didn’t like. But I didn’t know there was any other option, I thought I had to be a colt.”
“But why? We never taught you that,” Mom says, sounding bewildered.
“You didn’t, not necessarily…” I say, “But every single day, my teachers, my classmates, all the books I read, they all told me I was a colt.” Some of that old hopelessness is reflected in my voice. This I do recall with clarity. “You didn’t have to force me to be a colt, you just had to… not tell me there was another way.”
Mom’s frowning, brows shifted up with distress. “We couldn’t have known you felt that way! We didn’t know we needed to teach you that.”
“I’m not trying to blame you.” The hurt in my voice isn’t directed toward them. I could wish for something different, but they had only acted on the information they had at the time. “Neither of us knew. You two weren’t taught it any more than I was. It’s a— it’s a cultural issue.”
“Mm.” My mom hums, taking that in. “Still, I don’t know if jumping into being a mare is the best solution dear. Can’t you just be a feminine colt? You can be feminine without being a mare.”
“This isn’t just about being ‘feminine.’ It’s more complicated than that. I tried just being a feminine stallion. This started months ago, and that was the first thing I did,” I say, “and yeah it was… better? But it still didn’t feel good, it just felt less bad. I only liked myself in spite of being a stallion. Until my friends told me, I never even knew your gender was something you were supposed to enjoy! I just thought everypony kind of… hated it? And they just never brought that up because they didn’t like being reminded of it!”
“Dear, that sounds horrible, why would you think that?” My mom asks, leaning in.
The answer isn’t that complicated, actually. “Because that's how I felt all the time."
"Ah," my mom says softly, nodding slightly, and I know she got it.
That’s the first thing in the conversation so far that’s just clicked for my mom, and I’m glad I don’t have to keep explaining that.
I look between my parents. "Mom, Dad. You have to trust me about this. You found out about it ten minutes ago. I’ve been thinking about this for months, years. I know what I'm feeling."
“Al… Alright dear. I do believe you. I do! You know how you feel better than I do, and I know you’re no liar…” my mom says.
“You’d know better than me, but that sounds hard.” My dad is sitting back, eyebrows creased and concerned frown on his muzzle. “I never knew you felt that way son.”
I sigh. “Dad, please don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?” he asks, confused.
“Son,” I say, stressing the word.
“Oh, Ah! I see.” Dad rubs the back of his neck with a hoof. “I mean we’ve called you our son your whole life, that’s kind of a hard habit to break.”
“That… might be,” I say diplomatically, “But…”
I almost let myself say ‘but I’d really appreciate it if you’d call me your daughter.’ It felt softer, safer, less likely to cause a fuss. But calling me their daughter is not a request, not really, and it wouldn’t do either side any good to pretend it was.
My voice starts again, “but, that term is no longer accurate, it just isn’t true. I’m your daughter, and that’s what you should call me.”
“I mean I’ll try! I said I would. I’m not trying to doubt you. I guess… I just don’t really understand why it matters to you so much.” His voice is plain confusion, curiosity.
“That’s fair. You aren’t me, after all.” I look to the side. Then I bring my gaze back up to my dad with a slight smile. “I mean, it’s a lot of things, right? Language has a lot of power. It’s a sign of respect, that you acknowledge who I am. it just sounds right to me, it communicates how I want to live, how I already am living.”
My dad takes a breath, putting his hooves together. “Ok. That… Promise I’m not being intentionally obtuse here kiddo. I just want to understand this thing that’s important to you that I never knew about before. My question is… Why is that what you want? Why do you wanna be a mare? What’s making you go through all this trouble? I don’t know why you’d want to be something other than what you are. What’s even the difference?”
“I mean. Beside all the discontent I felt. I want to be a mare… because I like it. It’s really as simple as that. I could go on and on about how it feels for me, but that’s all subjective. Dig down deep enough, and I can’t tell you why I want to be this way. I just know I do.” I’m not as bothered by that subjectivity as much as I thought I’d be. “A better question might be ‘why not?’ If it makes me happy, why shouldn’t I do it? Changing your gender doesn’t cause any harm. It should be something anypony can do if they want.”
My dad gives a chagrined smile. "Well, I still don't think I get it. But I think I'm starting to understand why it's important to you. Of course we want you to be happy. I'll try with the pronouns and... all that stuff."
“It really isn't that hard to figure out,” Spike says, clearly enjoying being more ‘educated’ on the topic than our parents. “She’s my big sis now, but like, it’s not a huge deal.” Spike shrugged.
I consider that, and then interject, “I mean, maybe it’s a little bit of a deal. It isn’t an unimportant thing." My parents both just looked a little confused now. I continue, "or at least it doesn’t have to be! For some ponies it’s pretty significant. You know, just, not in a bad way! You know, if there were no reaction that could be disappointing too. Obviously that isn't the situation here...”
Spike gives a gesture telling me to cut it.
I sigh. "Right, semantics. That was nitpicking, don't worry about it."
My dad laughs, a genuinely mirthful one. "Well, nice to know that hasn't changed!"
"See?" Spike offered. "She’s still the same nerd she always was, she just seems to have more fun with it now."
I furrow my brows at that, but still end up smiling. "Yeah, I really do," I say, a little wistfully.
My mom’s smiling, but still seems a little tense. "Dear, do you know what your plans are, as far as all this?"
I clear my throat. "Well, the reason I’m telling you today is that… I'm going to the gala as me. Rarity made me this... Incredibly beautiful dress," I say, starry eyed.
"Oh." Mom’s mouth forms a little ‘o.’ “You're... going to the gala as a mare?”
"Mhm!" I say.
"Don't you... think that's moving a little fast?” My mom hesitates. “I mean, telling the ponies close to you is one thing, But all of Equestria's upper crust? And the reporters? They might not be so supportive! And once that information is out, that's permanent."
"I mean, permanent is kind of the point,” I say, giving a faint smile. “That’s why I made sure to tell my family first, everypony I care about already knows and supports me. What everypony else thinks is irrelevant, I can get through it.” I only exaggerate my confidence a little for that last part. “And besides, it’s not like hiding it would be all that feasible forever, I’m already on hormones.”
“You’re what?” Mom shoots up straight, looking startled.
“I… started hormone replacement therapy?” I restate, confusion and dismay creeping into my voice.
Her brow furrows. “Since when?”
I try to look positive. “It’s been about three weeks now.”
“But that’s so fast!” My mom’s voice pitches up.
“I mean– I’ve known I was trans for months now. And I’ve done a lot of experimenting with my presentation.”
Mom frowns as I say ‘months,’ but asks, “Isn’t that still too soon?”
“Not necessarily?” I say quickly. “Every transition is paced differently, but I feel like that’s a fairly reasonable length of time.”
Mom makes a thinking noise, and looks at me intently. “What else are you planning on having done?”
“Well, I—” This was not part of my script. Discussing the detailed nuances of my medical transition plans with my mom was not part of my script. Perhaps it should have been.
Pinkie squeezes my hoof. “You don’t have to tell her any of that just cause she’s your mom, Twily. That can be private.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind talking about it.” It’s fine.
I start listing things off. “Well, like I said I’m on hormones. And I have a list of BATTs treatments I’m looking into pursuing.”
“The treatments that permanently change your body?!” Mom says, aghast.
Hearing my mom say it in that tone of voice instantly makes shame pool in my gut, though I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ashamed of here. “Yes. That’s the point.”
She knits her brow. “And that’s it? You’re not going to get the surgery?”
“The surgery? Seriously? I—“ I pause, looking down to my left side at Spike and frowning. I restart my sentence, “If— if we’re going to talk about that stuff, I’d rather not do it in front of Spike.”
“Well, that we can fix, if you’ll do us a favor, Spike,” Dad says, warm but not quite jovial, “could you go up to your old room for a minute while we talk?”
Spike looks at Dad, then hops down from the couch and turns to me. “Come on, I can totally follow along!”
“Mostly yes, but that isn’t why, really. I just want some time to talk privately, alright?”
Spike glances around unsurely, looking at me. “You’re sure?” He droops, disappointed.
I reach down and put a hoof on his shoulder. “You’ve done a great job supporting me today, and it’s already really helped. You’re the best little brother I could ask for, so don’t feel bad ok? I’ll be fine.”
Spike scrunches his face at me for a moment, then stands up straight. “Alright,” he says, and patters toward the doorway before turning around, “but just call me if you need me, ok?”
“Of course, Spike,” I say.
“Thank you dear!” Mom says toward Spike. “We appreciate it.”
Spike nods toward us, and then starts up the staircase. We watch him disappear upstairs, waiting until we hear the faint click of a door.
Mom is looking at me, mouth set in a tense line.
“Right,” I say, smiling nervously. “So, I don’t know if I’m eventually getting bottom surgery. I could, but I’m not planning on it right now.”
“Meaning you might?” Mom asks, emphasizing the question.
“Meaning it's possible I could.” I furrow my brow skeptically. “Why does it matter to you so much?”
“Because I’m concerned for you! It’s fine to experiment, but you’re getting wrapped up in things.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” My voice pitches, scared, and getting frustrated now. “You’re fine with having a daughter. But deciding to give myself teats is where you draw the line?”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t transition! I just think you should take time to be sure about what you’re doing here. All that other stuff is temporary! But changing your body…”
“It’s not temporary. None of this is going to go away. This is my life,” I say it confidently, but when arguing with my mom, it’s hard not to feel like a stubborn teenager.
“Fine, not temporary. Forgive my inexact wording, clearly that’s what’s important here. What I mean is that stuff isn’t permanent, it’s easy to change your mind!” Mom says, pacing her words carefully, “I’m glad you’re exploring your identity, but this is serious stuff! I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret for the rest of your life!”
“I don’t understand why you think I’ll regret it,” I say, searching her face.
“I don’t know if you will or won’t regret it, but you can’t deny that you might,” She says.
I look at her incredulously and sputter, she’s technically correct, but that isn’t really the point.
My dad looks between us and interjects, “I’m not as concerned about hormones and such as your mother, but I think it’s reasonable to have concerns. This is a big change after all.”
Now I look at my dad. I thought things had been going really well. But apparently it’s more complicated than I thought.
I’m not sure concerns about this are reasonable. Questions, yes. Of course they would want to understand this! But I don’t think your child transitioning is itself cause for concern. Now how do I tell them that without sounding hostile, or condescending?
“I know it all seems so big and immediate when you’re young, but why can’t you just take some more time to think about this?” my mom says, in her most diplomatically persuasive voice.
My breath is growing hurried. “Because– Because I already regret– This.” I gesture to myself, my body. My voice turns pained, “I regret the feeling of helplessness I had for years growing up. Every passing moment my body was changing more and more into something that wasn’t me. And I didn’t know why, or how to stop it!”
My mom looks at me and does something I didn’t expect, bursts into tears. Her shoulders hunch with a sob.
Dad looks less surprised than me, but still concerned, putting a hoof on her shoulder.
“Mom?” Did I do that by accident? Seeing my mom cry always makes my chest go tight. I’d been paying attention to what she was saying, and not tracking her emotions. I hadn’t seen the tension building up in her. That might’ve been useful, but it’s hard to do both at once. “Why… why are you crying?”
“I just don’t know what I did wrong,” she says, horror in her voice, “I never thought I raised you to hate your body.” The last words come out with a sob.
Shame and embarrassment flood my veins. My concern recedes, anger churning in its place. So what, I wouldn’t be trans if she’d raised me better? My dysphoria is some accidental failing?
“You didn’t… raise me wrong, that’s ridiculous!” Of all the things, I never thought that my physical transition would be what set one of my parents off. It barely entered my radar. “I don’t understand. I told Celestia, and she was so supportive of me in her letter! She even offered to help me access medical resources.”
“I wish I could say I was surprised that you told her first, but I know you well enough,” Mom says, voice raw and tears in the corners of her eyes. “I’m glad she was supportive, but don’t try pitting me against Celestia, that’s low.”
I cringe at that. I had somewhat hoped the authority would give Mom pause, but I should’ve known better. ‘But Princess Celestia said so!’ is not an excuse that has ever flown in this household.
“I’m… not trying to pit you against her, I just don’t understand why you’re so upset, when she was fine. She didn’t think anything had gone wrong! Do you think that the Princess is wrong?”
“I think Princess Celestia is doing what she should. She’s your teacher, It wouldn’t be appropriate for her to try and interfere with your personal identity issues,” my mom says.
I say, “She wasn’t avoiding the topic to be ‘appropriate,’ she was supportive, actually supportive of my choice! She was happy for me!” She was. She was.
Celestia wasn’t just being polite, right? She said she was proud of me, she wouldn’t just say that if she didn’t mean it, if she disapproved…
I try to shake the doubts out of my head.
Mom looks at me confidently. “Celestia is not your mother. I am. And as your mother, being supportive means it’s my job to look out for you in all the different aspects of life, and make sure you’re thinking through your choices properly.”
“I am thinking things through! I’ve been thinking on this longer than you ever have, or ever will! This isn’t about you!” I halt, hearing my own voice raising further. I hate yelling at my mom. I hate how deep my voice sounds when I do. I hate that any of this is happening.
But what am I supposed to do? Give up, keep quiet? This is what’s true, this is what’s right. Backing down from that isn’t in my nature.
“And I’m not supposed to feel anything about this?!” Backing down isn’t in my mother’s nature either. “My child is talking about cutting his dick off!”
The world heaves upward, incandescent.
I share myself, the scared, sacred parts of myself, and that’s what it gets reduced to?
The layers of cold fire in my chest pulse, rolling outwards and escaping my confines.
I thought she was starting to understand me, I thought things were going to be ok. Then she talks about what I am, about what I might do, with horror and fear in her voice. Names me, names my body as her son. Talks about my body with the same words uttered by ponies who are disgusted by trans ponies, by who I am.
How– How could she– I–
Every fragmented wisp of me bounces off the walls, I’m absolutely numb and yet I feel everything. The pain radiating through me is like sharp ice cracking apart.
No, not ice. It’s wood splintering. A picture frame hitting the ground, the clatter of cabinets rattling, the hollow thud of the coffee table slamming back down onto the hardwood.
The incandescent white fades from my vision, and I blink. The room is in disarray, all the furniture shoved out of place, glass glinting in fragments across broken picture frames.
I notice the energy surging through me, magic and bright light still spilling from my horn. Reflexively, I turn my magic around, weave it back into myself. The energy flows back through me, instead of venting to the outside.
My horn cuts out. My mane slowly settles down back around me as the arcane charge in the air dissipates.
Tears are running down my cheeks. My head hurts. Did… I just have a magic flare?
But I haven’t had one since I was a tween! I cannot believe I just had a magic flare in my parents living room.
I look around at the shocked faces of the ponies around me. Dad is glued to his seat, while Mom has a hoof covering her mouth.
Fluttershy is hidden behind her mane, pressed up into her chair. While Pinkie just stares at me with her mouth slightly open.
“Dear, are you alright?” Mom asks, take a small step forward.
“N-no!” The rawness of my voice surprises me, even though I’m still crying. “I– What you said really hurt!”
“Are we really still going to do this? You just had a flare dear, I didn’t think you still had those! You really think having a meltdown is the right way to talk about this?” my mom asks, eyes wide with apprehension.
“I don’t– I haven’t been having them, before right now…” I say.
I see Pinkie lean towards me uncertainly, and she speaks in a hushed tone, “Twily… That was a liiiiiiiiittle scary!” Her voice is nervous, but she doesn’t seem scared of me. I think. “It’s ok if you need to take break, it doesn’t mean you’ve given up.” She puts a hoof on my foreleg.
“Thank you, Pinkie. But magic flare or no, I– I am fully capable of arti–ticulating my thoughts even while upset,” my words stumble over tears, but all that truly does is slow me down. My body’s attempts to express these emotions is more of an annoyance than anything.
As for the magic flare, that won’t happen again. One is anomalous, another the same day is beyond the pale of plausibility. It wasn’t even a particularly bad flare. And I won’t allow it to happen again anyway, so it’s fine.
I smile through the tears at Pinkie. “S-sorry you had to see that, but I want to keep going, really.” Pinkie nods, but still looks concerned. She settles on rubbing my foreleg comfortingly.
I turn back towards my mom. “I’m sorry I had a flare, you know it isn’t on purpose. But I–I’m not done talking about this. The flare didn’t come from nowhere, that was not okay, it was r-really hurtful!” my voice fragments at the end, but I got it out.
Mom’s mouth sets in a tense line, eyes shining. “I’m not trying to hurt you!” Her voice breaks, tears falling. “I just want to keep my baby safe!”
That’s– I’m not–
“I– I know you’re not trying to hurt me. I don’t think that about you!” I breathe unsteadily. “But I don’t care how scared you are, you do not talk about my body that way! Frankly, the state of my genitals are not your business.”
I sniff, regretting how much of a mess I am. But it’s not going to stop me from saying what I need to say. A removed, analytical part of me is still able to string meaning together. “Even more than that, it hurts hearing you talk about my transition as if it’s some scary thing you need to warn me away from! I need you to listen to me, really listen to me!”
“I am listening! I thought we were here to discuss this!” she says, sounding at a loss.
“Discuss, not debate. The reason I’m talking to you about this is because I love you, and I want you to understand me. This is not your chance to change my mind. I know who I am, and nopony else gets to decide that.” The words are scary, but they feel right to say.
“I know it isn’t my decision, you’re a grown pony. But as your mother I have to at least say something!” my mom says, voice raw and eyes wide with fear. “How can you know you aren’t making a huge mistake?”
“I don’t!” I say sharply. It seems to get Mom’s attention, because she stops to listen. “I don’t know for sure,” I say, softer this time, but with conviction entering my teary voice. It’s that subtle little spark that appears when I know the exact right answer to an essay question, or more recently, the exact right friendship speech. “This isn’t about knowing the correct answer. It’s about doing what makes me happy.” Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. “And I am happy! These past months have been the happiest I can remember since I was a foal. I can’t describe how wonderful it is to let myself be who I want to be.” And it’s true, even being an emotional wreck right now, the idea of it still makes me happy, still makes a genuinely hopeful smile appear on my muzzle.
“It’s like friendship,” I say, “gender doesn’t have rules or an objective rubric. I think that’s why I had such a hard time at first. It’s been difficult learning to listen to my heart after I spent so long ignoring it, but that is what I’ve been learning in Ponyville.” I look to Pinkie and Fluttershy, smiling at them. Pinkie has an encouraging grin, Fluttershy smiles back while on the verge of crying herself.
I turn back to my mom, holding myself with gentle determination. “All those times as a foal that you tried to get me to put myself out there… I know now you were trying to get me to open my heart up to the world.” I give a shuddering breath, heavy with tears.
“And now It’s open. It’s not fair to disagree just because you didn’t expect what came out. I— I want you to be proud of me, Mom. For what I’ve done, for who I am.” I want her to hear me, I want to be on the same side again. I just know that if I can show her this is a good thing, then she’ll adapt.
“I know things you can’t measure are hard for you too. I know it’s scary. But I’m not afraid of it anymore. Or at least, I don’t want to be.” I relax my posture, putting my hooves over my chest. “I’ll follow my heart wherever it leads, even if the destination changes.”
Mom is quiet for a long moment, looking at me curiously. Finally she speaks up, "I've heard you argue about many things over the years… but I’ve never heard you talk about yourself so passionately.”
"For the first time in a long time, I love myself, Mom." My eyes fill with tears as I speak. It was true, and it hurt to say it, but it was true and it was good. “That’s precious to me.”
My mom was already crying, but her expression crumbled as a gentle reverant appraisal broke over the terror in my mother’s face. “Oh, baby…” She moves over toward me, extending her hooves out.
My body is still coursing with adrenaline, and I accept the hug clumsily. A rigid part of me wants to refuse the hug until things are settled, until I know we aren’t fighting anymore and can let down my walls without fear. But I believe in my mom, want to believe in her, that she’ll help make things ok.
“Of course I don’t want you to give that up,” her head presses over my shoulder while she squeezes me, her voice soft but insistent. “If it’s that important to you, I’d never tell you to give it up. I don’t care what your gender is, what matters is that you’re happy! As long as you are happy.”
I feel her weight shift as she looks over my shoulder at Pinkie and Fluttershy, before she lowers her head back down. “And it seems like you are.”
I feel her breathe out. “It hurts to hear how much pain you were in, makes me feel like I failed,” she says.
I hadn’t thought my parents were the sort that viewed their foals as an extension of themselves. But I suppose that in some way, my mom saw raising me as an accomplishment, an objective. And my mom didn’t like feeling as if she'd done something important poorly. Me and my mom share that trait. “It’s… It’s not about that, Mom.”
“I suppose not. That’s just my pride talking.” My mom sighs. “You really have grown so much while I wasn’t there to see it” She takes a deep shuddering breath as she crumbles, squeezing harder. “I am proud of you. I always have been. Always.” Her voice cracks as I feel hot tears on my shoulder.
She pulls back until the two of us are facing each other again, staring me in the face seriously through the tears. “I’m proud of who you’ve become, so proud. I’d be proud to have you as my daughter, that was never in question. I’m sorry I made you feel that it was.” Her brows turn up. “I’m worried for you, I didn’t want you making your life harder and getting hurt, but I can’t argue with how much more alive you seem.” My mom smiles faintly. “I recognize that determination, I suppose it makes sense my daughter would take after me.”
My breath catches, lip trembling. “Mom.” This time I hug her, a sharp motion burying my head into her shoulder. My walls lower and I let myself actually sob into her. I say mom again into her coat, but it comes out as a muffled sob.
My mom pats my back, saying softly, “I know dear, it’s ok.” I’m not sure she does know, but I appreciate it nonetheless, continuing to shake into her.
It goes on like that, with just me and her silent comfort, now that I can take comfort in her. Her voice is still hoarse from her own tears. “I love you, I always will,” she says.
My body tension relaxes, and I finally pull away. “I love you too, Mom.”
She looks at me earnestly. “All those changes are a lot for me to handle, but I’ll try my best, with your new name, and your pronouns, it’ll just take some adjusting.”
“Alright, I’ll hold you to that then,” I say.
She smiles, looking a little haggard, and glances over to my dad, who smiles back with relief. I breathe my own relieved sigh, suddenly feeling very exhausted.
My ear twitches to the right, catching the pitter-pat of clawed feet from the hall. I turn to see Spike tiptoeing down the stairs. He slows to a stop as I spot him, and Mom turns to follow my gaze.
Spike taps his claws nervously against the banister. “Please don’t fight!” he squeaks out, “I heard yelling and banging from upstairs and– and we’re family! We’re supposed to take care of each other.” He looks at Mom, but his gaze is more afraid than accusatory. Spike turns to me with a concerned expression, clearly not reassured by my red eyes, tear matted cheeks, and general disheveledness.
I smile at him, trying to push past the tiredness in my expression. I’m just glad he chose now to come down, and not a couple minutes ago. That would’ve been significantly more complicated to balance. I call up to him, “it’s alright Spike, things got heated, but we just had some things to work out.”
“You sure?” he asks, and looks sceptically down at the slightly wrecked living room.
“I’m sure,” I say. “You can come back down now!”
He stares for a moment more, concerned. He can probably guess I had a magic flare, but either way he doesn’t mention it. Instead Spike hops down the rest of the stairs, stopping in front of us and looking hopeful.
Dad trots up from the side. “You’ll always have a home here. I’m glad we talk through these things, even if it’s hard,” he says.
“Well, I can’t disagree with that,” I say.
“I’m glad things are going so well for you, it seems like you’re figuring out the stuff you need too!” He rubs the back of his head. “You’re smart, courageous, and sincere. If anypony can figure out this whole ‘Being a mare’ stuff, it’s you! You’ll be better at it than most ponies I bet!”
“That– I– Sure, Dad,” I say, humoring.
He smiles good naturedly. “Now C’mere, family hug in celebration of our new daughter!” I take a short breath, hearing that still makes my heart feel light. He opens his forelegs, and I meet the hug. Spike immediately runs in, wrapping his arms around my side. Mom is last, wrapping her hooves around Dad and me.
I feel the weight of creatures I care about pressing in around me. Around the real me. There’s still the spent anxiety burning off from my gut, but I’m finally shedding those layers of wrapping and obfuscation around my family. It feels so much more immediate. Receiving a hug requires both yourself and other ponies, and now I can actually acknowledge myself and be there, rather than being a detached consciousness operating an unfamiliar body.
I’m glad I came out to them, and I’m especially glad it turned out well in the end. I take a moment to try and cherish it, and then we slowly peel off one another. I smile at my family and breathe a sigh of relief.
“D’awwwwww~” Pinkie’s voice coos. I turn to see her looking at the scene fondly and grinning at me. Now that everypony is standing, her and Fluttershy are standing next to one another by the couch. Fluttershy looks much less anxious now.
I trot over, smiling at them. “Thank you for being here to support me.”
“Of course, Twilight,” Fluttershy says, smiling.
“I’m just glad you get to be you around your family!! You deserve it!” Pinkie says.
Fondness wells up alongside the relief in my chest, and I feel a little giddy. Before I think about it too much, I step forward and pull Pinkie and Fluttershy into a hug of my own, wrapping a hoof around each of them. “I did it, girls! I can’t believe it!” I squeal softly between their heads. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you, thank you.”
“Aww, Twily,” Pinkie says.
“I’m happy it’s worked out, but you’re the one who did all the hard parts. All we did was help it along, like friends should,” Fluttershy says softly, her own hoof wrapped around my shoulder.
I smile, basking in my friend’s presence. They’re so soft and wonderful and good. Then I pull back from them as well and clap my hooves together excitedly. “Phase one of my gala plan is complete!”
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, dear, you’re still here with us.” My mom says, smirking as she takes a seat back in her own chair. She takes another look around at the room, taking in the mess from my magic flare. “And we should probably tidy up.”
“Right, hehe, of course!” I say, reigning in my enthusiasm.
Mom looks at me curiously. “You really are excited for that Gala, aren’t you?”
Dad adds in, “I was surprised too, not usually your type of thing!”
“I suppose I am excited,” I say, noticing it myself. “Not so much the Gala itself, but to spend time with Princess Celestia and be out in public as myself. It’s still terrifying, but it’s exciting as well. Honestly I think coming out to you two was a scarier idea than wearing a dress in public.”
“Well hmm,” Mom hums. “You said you have a dress, but do you need help with getting ready with makeup and such?”
I smile, about to reply, when my Mom’s eyes go wide and she puts a hoof up to her cheek.
“I have a daughter going to a gala tomorrow, and I haven’t taught her a single thing about it!” she says. “Oh pony feathers. I stopped thinking I’d ever have a foal I’d have to teach mare things to. I’m going to be rusty.” She looks annoyed and slightly panicked, then turns to Dad. “Do we still have those old foal rearing books from before we had Dusk? I might need to check them…” she trails off, tabulating mentally.
It takes my mind a moment to process that she used my old name. I fight a brief mental battle over correcting her while she’s in the middle of going out of her way to do something gender affirming. I don’t really mind much in this context, but I’d rather continue setting the precedent. “Uh, Twilight.”
She looks at me. “Yes, dear?”
I blink, then nearly facehoof. “My name, I mean, it’s Twilight now.” Maybe that is a little bit confusing.
“Oh!” Mom realizes as well. “Yes, sorry dear,” she says absentmindedly, still clearly trying to figure out how much she can teach in the short time before the Gala.
I lay a hoof on her shoulder to snap her out of it. “Mom, it feels really incredible that you want to do…” I smile foalishly, “Mother daughter things… But you don’t need to worry about tomorrow, my friend Rarity is going to help me with that, we have it all planned out.”
“You’re sure you don’t need my help?” Mom asks.
“I’m pretty sure!” I say, then quickly add, “but I meant what I said, that means a lot to me, Mom.”
“I’m glad, we have lost time to make up for! But if your friend Rarity is helping you…” she sounds both relieved and disappointed. “Then that’s alright. As long as you’ll be ok for the Gala. It is a big thing you’re doing dear, going to the Gala.” she says, sounding a little skeptical still.
I put as much confidence as I can muster into my voice, more than I had before this afternoon. If I got through coming out to my parents, then what can’t I handle? “I think it’s going to be a wonderful night.”
Pinkie suddenly steps in from my side and pulls me into a squeezing side hug, I wheeze but smile, and she raises a hoof enthusiastically and says, “it’s gonna be more than that, it’s gonna be the best night ever!”