Traumatized, Too

A Satirical response from the adult child’s perspective, as a response to the original article.1

The Oxford Dictionary defines trauma as:

trau·ma

/ˈtrômə/

noun

noun: trauma; plural noun: traumata; plural noun: traumas

1. 1. a deeply distressing or disturbing experience.

"a personal trauma like the death of a child"

an emotional shock following a stressful event or a physical injury, which may be associated with physical shock and sometimes leads to long-term neurosis.

"the event is relived with all the accompanying trauma" (Oxford Dictionary)

Well, let me tell you about trauma.

When I was 24 years old, after years and years of agonizing self-doubt and despair, I finally found the courage to come out to my parents as transgender. I carefully wrote out what I wanted to say, pouring my heart onto the page, hoping against hope that they would hear me and accept me.

Instead, I was met with shock, anger, and rejection. My identity, my deepest truth, was treated as a disturbing experience for *them*. My mom told me she was "traumatized" by my plans to medically transition, to finally align my body with my soul. She couldn't understand how her rejection traumatized me.

I've spent the last four years since then fighting for my right to exist authentically. Fighting to access the healthcare I need. Fighting to be seen and respected for who I am. And you know what? It's working. For the first time, I'm starting to feel at home in my own skin. I look in the mirror and see me, not a costume or a stranger. I'm gaining confidence and comfort with myself.

But my parents can't see that. They're too busy centering their own feelings, wallowing in grief for the false idea of me they had in their heads. My mom says she wakes up every morning flooded with dread, "utterly consumed" by my life. Meanwhile, I wake up every morning to face her obvious unhappiness and simmering resentment.

It's a special kind of pain to finally feel joy in yourself, only to have it constantly dismissed and overshadowed by a parent's intentional despair. I want to celebrate my progress, but I'm dragged right back into shame and guilt. The feelings of self worth and the gains I make in my self respect are constantly buffeted by the knowledge that to my parents, I am seemingly worthless and not worthy of respect - at least so long as I am “like this.”

My mom says she wakes up every morning flooded with dread, "utterly consumed" by my life and the path I'm on. Meanwhile, I wake up every morning to face another day of her relentless guilt-tripping and catastrophizing. Another day of knowing my mother would rather indulge in nightmarish fantasies about my future than find a way to support her child.

She seeks out scary testimonials and biased research, feeding her own fears while ignoring the evidence that trans people like me can and do lead fulfilling lives when we're affirmed23. She says she wants me to be happy, but she can't imagine that happiness looking different from her narrow preconceptions.

When she tried therapy, she rejected the therapist for validating my identity and pronouns. She wants to be "whole" again, but doesn't seem to care that I was never whole pretending to be someone I'm not. That I am not transitioning to become someone else, but to stop pretending that I am someone and something I am not.

The truth is, both of us are traumatized. I'm traumatized from decades of gender dysphoria, from coming of age in a world that told me my identity was shameful and wrong. I'm retraumatized every time my mother invalidates who I am, every time she implies that being trans means my life is ruined.

I probably have some form of complex PTSD from growing up trans in this household. The psychological toll of constant familial rejection on top of societal transphobia is immense. But I'm healing, slowly but surely, no thanks to my parents. I wish I did not have to temper my heart in trauma, reforged to be resilient, strong, and steadfast. No trans person should have to be this strong just to survive.

I wish my Mom could see that embracing my truth has given me a chance at real peace and wholeness. That this path, while not easy, is far better than a lifetime of repression and despair. I wish she could see me, the whole and healing me, instead of projecting her own fears and grief.

She's right that there's no quick fix, no simple "cure" for the trauma of having a child whose life looks different than you expected. But there are support groups, there are therapists who specialize in helping families accept LGBTQ loved ones.4 There are ways to work through those painful emotions without burdening your child.

I hope that someday my mother can see that I'm not broken, that loving me doesn't have to traumatize her. I hope she can notice the light in my eyes when she's not too lost in her depths of despair, languishing around the house. That she will eventually realize that if she can't find a therapist who will validate her prejudice, then maybe she should reflect on why she thinks her comfort and sensibilities should take priority over her daughter's mental health and bodily autonomy. Just a thought!

Until then, I'll keep fighting to heal my trauma and live with authenticity and joy. It is hard sometimes to hold onto it right now, but I know my happiness is worth it. Deep down inside, I know that I am worth it.