When my dad told me he was a woman

Kellie Maloney attends Lorraine's High Street Fashion Awards in London. Photo / Getty Images

Following Caitlyn Jenner's gender realignment, the daughter of boxing promoter Kellie Maloney, formerly Frank Maloney, reveals how she coped with her father's transition.

When my dad, Frank, told me he had a terrible secret to share, I was convinced he had a terminal illness. I'd been worried for weeks by his behaviour. He had been very stressed and was behaving oddly. On Christmas Day 2012, he even tried for a hopeless reconciliation with his second wife, which had left him in despair, even suicidal.

I had tried to get him to open up, but he simply wouldn't confide in me. Naturally, I feared the worst. I was convinced he had cancer or something like that.

Instead, in early January 2013, after we had gone to the pub with Richard my husband for a drink, he took me aside and told me that he was struggling with a long-held belief that he had been born in the wrong body - that he should have been a woman, not a man.

My first reaction was relief. My dad wasn't dying; he was okay - which helped me accept his news more easily. I saw his distress immediately, his turmoil at his own feelings and his worry about telling me. So I hugged him, told him I loved him, and that I would be at his side no matter what. I can't deny the shock, though.

I imagine that the children of Caitlyn Jenner, father to some of the famous Kardashian clan - who appears on the front of this month's Vanity Fair, looking fabulous, I must say - have gone through the same set of emotions. Certainly, like me, they will have realised early on that whatever they felt about their father transitioning to a woman, the world would be watching.

The night Dad told me his secret, I confided in my husband. As soon as I began retelling the story, I started to cry with the shock of it all.

I've always had a close and loving relationship with Dad, even though we have had some major rows over the years. Looking back, I recall a father always on the go, always looking for the next thing, 100 per cent busy, and restless, too. I don't know if it was a clue that he was going through deep inner turmoil, but as he got older, he became less happy-go-lucky, more moody and snappy.

In 2011, when I married Richard, my second husband, I recall Dad being very emotional when he walked me down the aisle. I thought at the time that it was simply his reaction to a family event, but now I wonder whether he was aware that this was the last time he would carry out such a "masculine" role, in a traditional male guise?

I don't imagine he had any idea how he might make the journey from male to female, or even if he could. For the first few weeks, we talked about the past, mostly - of the coping mechanisms he had used, and how he had tried to suppress his feelings and deal with them in private. But, as Dad said, he had reached a point when he couldn't fight any more - he had to go with what he called his "conviction" or he wouldn't be around. And I was just really sad to see Dad in that position. I felt very protective.

I asked if I could meet any of the friends he made in a support group who had already been through transition. Until that point, I don't think I had ever met anyone transgender - at least, not to my knowledge. I wanted to know how they had coped with it.

Gradually, the whole family learnt of Dad's situation (I have two younger sisters by my father's second marriage). Plans were made that Dad would retire from the public eye and transition in private. One of my sisters was still at school, as is my son, and naturally we wanted to protect them from too much attention. Unfortunately, that plan was taken out of our hands by a Sunday tabloid, and Dad was forced to go public, choosing where he wanted to give interviews - including one to The Telegraph.

Perhaps naively, I thought there would be a short flurry of interest and then we would get back to our lives. Instead, the story went round the world. Although I still would have preferred it to stay private, we were overwhelmed by the support and love shown to Kellie, as my dad is now known.

As has been true for Caitlyn Jenner. I don't know how Kim Kardashian or Kendall Jenner or any of their family feel, although they have been hugely supportive in public. I believe as long as they have a good support system in place, they will be fine.

Because those of us around Kellie have needed some help, too. A decision such as this inevitably causes ripples. We're a big, supportive family and we've rallied round, but I can't pretend we haven't each had our moments of emotion and confusion.

I remember a counsellor telling me I would have to grieve for the father I had known - and I remember thinking that this was rubbish and I was just fine. But about three months ago, when Kellie underwent her final surgery, I was suddenly hit by a wave of grief. Perhaps I wasn't ready, after all.

Inevitably, our relationship has changed. I still think of Kellie as "Dad", and call her that at home, although in public it's probably "Kellie". I tend to use the female pronoun, too - "she" and "her", not "he" and "his".

The only time I feel sad is when looking through old photos of us together. But I don't miss my old dad. To be honest, Kellie is nicer and so much more at peace. And now, we can have the same conversations, on the whole, enjoy the same things. We can go out shopping together, although I will pull her up occasionally, and say, no, you can't buy that miniskirt - not because it's a gender issue, but it isn't age-appropriate. She only makes the odd faux pas. She's got pretty good style, actually.

I don't know if we'll ever reach a final point in Dad's journey. But when my eyes are closed and I give Kellie a big, protective hug, I don't think it matters who I picture. Because I still feel like my Dad's little girl.

• Emma Maloney was talking to Victoria Lambert.