"Slurs," my husband told me angrily over the phone."They're commenting on her pictures with slurs."
Our daughter's phone was sitting on the table next to him when hateful anti-LGBT comments began popping up on its screen. As he read them to me, each one delivered a solid hit to my heart.
Someone was attacking my child.
A few months before, Alexis had come out as transgender. Thus began her sedulous transition to living life as a girl.
In my eyes, that made her a really brave and authentic 11-year-old. To many of her friends in sixth grade, however, it made her both a target and an outcast.
I felt her relief when she first told us she was a girl. The weight of a secret buried for years had been lifted. "I can finally start being myself," she exclaimed. "I can start living now."
But the light in her eyes began to fade soon after coming out at school. Another weight was piling on, cumbersome and painful in new ways.
It began with silent shunning. The kids weren't outright mean, but they stopped speaking to her unless absolutely necessary. Many turned their backs on her at recess and walked away when she would approach them in the hall.
They stopped inviting her over after school and chatting with her on Skype. Her Minecraft server -- once a hub for socializing -- began to empty of those friends who used to jump on after dinner.
Everyone was pulling away from a child who needed acceptance and support now more than ever.
Her dad and I watched it unfold helplessly. All we could do, beyond communicating our concerns to the school, was reassure her that things would get better. "People just need time to adjust," we told her. "This isn't new to you, but it is to them."
Then came the harassment. For some, silence turned to whispers, then whispers to shouts. As one cruel voice rose up, another followed.
They attacked her gender identity, perceived sexuality, her looks and weight. They never laid a finger on her yet left no part of her unscathed.
She would come home diminished and defeated each afternoon. Despite the school administration's best efforts, Alexis felt unsafe and alone.
This was when we made the difficult decision to temporarily pull her from school. I'm now homeschooling her through middle school in the hopes of giving her a safe space during this critical time in her life. But even her absence in the classroom didn't stop them; Instagram pictures of Alexis and a friend at the skate park resulted in the transphobic and homophobic slurs from former classmates noticed by her dad.
Despite increasing awareness and education, this is the type of hate and discrimination LGBT children, youth and adults still face simply for being true to themselves. The consequences are real and heartbreaking: People in the LGBT community face higher rates of depression, anxiety and addiction. Nearly half the transgender population has attempted suicide. It's statistics like these that keep me up at night.
But we have an opportunity to make a difference.
Today is GLSEN's Day of Silence. Kids from middle school to college will go silent for the day to illustrate the impact of anti-LGBT bullying and harassment.
It's a day to encourage policy changes, education and open minds, a day to stand in solidarity with those who are so often discriminated against.
Allies play an important role in the happiness and safety of kids like mine. If Alexis had allies in the schoolyard last year, her experience would have been entirely different.
What would have happened if someone had stood up for her, or decided not to turn away from her when the other kids did? What if a peer had called out those who attacked her online?
I'm happy to say that my daughter is in a good place today. Now twelve, she is loved and accepted within our large circle of family and friends and embraced by many of our community members. She has a handful of friends who support her.
In the year since coming out, her confidence has grown along with her hair, and her smile is reaching her eyes for the first time in years.
Very recently, she chose to speak out for herself and other trans children, lending her voice to the movement of brave LGBT kids who are working to raise awareness and cultivate societal acceptance.
She is my hero.
I still worry about Alexis' inevitable return to school. In the meantime, we're doing our part to educate others in the hopes of ensuring she has allies waiting for her in high school.
I speak regularly to other parents about the importance of teaching our children to accept and embrace each other’s differences. Kids are sponges who soak up our own fears and biases.
So the more we educate ourselves, the more likely we are to raise thoughtful and empowered allies. The dialogue begins at home.
Coming out is a courageous move. It should be celebrated, not stifled. Whether we're silent today or not, let's all do our part to become the allies children like mine deserve.
Amanda Jetté Knox