To my family and friends who have not supported me or been by my side during the hardest time in my life.
My son told us 2 years ago that he was “transgender”. I immediately knew that something was off, that something else was going on with him. I researched it, for endless hours, as all parents in this scenario do, and what I found out —that this is a social contagion and that kids on the autistic spectrum are especially vulnerable to the trans ideology—only reinforced my skepticism.
When tragedy strikes, you find out who your real friends are.
I shared with friends what had happened. They were hesitant to believe me. They said there have always been “trans” people. Even though they have known my son his whole life, it didn’t matter. Even though my son had never had any signs of gender confusion, and was a typical boy, they doubted me. They blamed my parenting or my husband for not having stricter boundaries. They made me feel awful, more than I already did.
If my son had cancer, my friends and family would not tell me that he has cancer because of my parenting. Rather, they would ask what they could do to help me. They would read up on the literature. They would write letters or make calls for me. They would care. They would be worried about me. Not so, with trans. Once you make the mistake of telling your family and friends about your predicament, you are treated like the worst human being. All your political and social capital, all that history, is tossed aside. There is only trans, and you are a bad parent if you do anything but throw a party—and if you do throw that party, you are now brave, in the eyes of those you love. You will make them so proud.
Now some members of my former social support network have said they do support me. But, they do nothing to help, aside from patronizingly telling me how I should feel, or suggesting that I medicate myself for anxiety or depression. They are upset that I’m not myself. They tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. It’s hard to be around them. They make it even worse.
I avoid everyone. I worry about being judged or called out when I don’t use the girl name. The name I will never use.
What is it really like to have a trans-identifying child? It’s the worst feeling you can ever imagine. Your child, who you raised and loved, now tells you everything you knew about them is wrong, even when you know you are right. You are the parent, after all, charged with the most important job of your lifetime— raising your child to be a healthy responsible adult. Now you can’t do that. You know in your head this is wrong but everyone around you tells you, you must affirm.
The doctors are atrocious. They have no sympathy for you. You are on the same level as a murderer, likely to cause the death of your fragile child. You will never see such disregard or disrespect as a parent, as you do when you question trans ideology when it comes to your child. Your feelings don’t matter. They no longer carry weight, even though, just the day before you were a respected member of society and in your social circles. You will be told you need to get over it. You’re the problem. You have a daughter now. Accept it, or your child will kill “herself”. And it will be your fault.
Your friends shun you. Your family blames you. You’re lucky if your spouse is on the same page. You have no one. You imagine killing yourself to escape. Meanwhile, your child changes their name at school, and receives the accolades of the school staff. Thugs and over-reachers who believe they are being righteous. Keeping secrets from parents used to be called predatory. Now society sees these enabling, abusive usurpers as your child’s comforters and safety net, while you are the enemy.
You cannot sleep, but you must because it’s your only escape. Your last thought is this nightmare. It is also your first thought when you wake up. How will you keep your child safe when the world is against you, even those you thought were on your side, even your siblings, even your spouse? You plot your next move. All you think about is saving your child.
When this nightmare ends, and it will, how will you get those years back? How will you ever trust again? How will you ever feel emotionally safe in your home, in your community? Will your friends and family apologize and admit they were wrong? Will the doctors and schools apologize and admit their mistakes? Will they just pretend they were there for you, and you were to blame because you were too difficult to be around? Because you were not any fun anymore, too anxious, too depressed, too hard on yourself?
This has changed me forever. Part of my heart has been taken from me and my anger is unbearable. But what have I learned? Only one lesson: I will never trust those same people ever again.
Originally published at https://pitt.substack.com/p/what-it-really-feels-like-to-have reproduced by kind permission.
