My son came out when he was 12. At an all-girls school. I can assure you that it was not all exciting “let’s go buy you some khaki shorts!” stuff like on a channel 5 documentary. It was 2013 and the world was still only getting it’s head around transgender kids back then. I actually dealt with it way better in the first couple of years than the middle-teens.
Passing was very important for him. And this was hard for my doe-eyed, soft-featured, soprano. For those yet to be initiated into the language of trans-world; to “pass” is to be recognized by strangers as your gender rather than your sex. In this case, a taxi -driver calling him “lad” would cause actual euphoria where as the same situation and being called “she” could lead to a depressive cycle.
I began to realize that Tumblr had sold my young son a lie. In the mind of a child too young to comprehend the realities of the world, telling a child that they can change sex is very dangerous indeed. Every cell of his body is coded with female DNA and not long after he came out as trans, his body was about to assault his psyche in a massive way. Not only did his periods come and hit him with a bang, but they were even worse due to the yet-to-be-diagnosed endometriosis. Tumblr didn’t educate him on how to deal with this, just cute cartoons and anime and baby pink and powder blue eyeshadow.
Then there was the anger towards me. If I ever accidently mentioned his birth sex or misgendered one of his friends, I would be screamed at and called a TERF. There were times when I felt like nothing made this kid happy. His depression spiraled and the self harm became so bad that the therapist I took him to refused to work with him as his “presentation was too severe”. I took him to a doctor who used the strangest parent-blaming remark ever “I’m not surprised if you let her have blue hair”. As if his blue hair dye was in any way indicative of anything at all! I insisted a referral be made to CAMHS and I did everything I could to push it through. 3 therapists later and the cutting was not getting any better.
Then came the phone call. The worst day of my whole life. I was at work sitting in front of a colleague and the school called. Instead of the normal “Hi it’s the school, nothing to worry about…” It was different and I knew before I’d even answered the phone. I wanted to throw up before I even heard the voice. They said he had disclosed to the receptionist when he arrived at school that he had overdosed on paracetamol and did not feel well and was already in an ambulance being blue-lighted to the hospital. My colleague drove me there and we made it just before the ambulance itself. I think she may have got a speeding ticket. Much of the rest is a blur. His liver, the drip, going in and out of consciousness.
After two days I was sat next to him in his hospital bed and a doctor doing the rounds asked to see his cuts and for the first time in months I saw his thighs and I cannot recall this memory without tears and reliving that feeling of terror and nausea and some feelings I don’t have words for – none of them good. His thighs were shredded to a point where there was no skin really visible, just a purple and read canvas of blood and flesh. My body worked on it’s own to let out a yelp and streams of tears. It was instantaneous. The doctor then said something that pissed me off no end and I will never forget. “why did you do this to yourself? Look what’s done to your poor mother”. I sobered right up from being pain-drunk and responded to the effect that I was fine thank you very much and could she kindly f$*k off. As if my poor son needed guilt added to whatever pain had made him do this to himself?
He recovered physically and came home for a while but he was still not okay and it was decided that the best treatment for him would be inpatient care. That is a whole blog of its own. And after that, removing him from grammar school and he spent his final high-school year in alternative education.
There’s more to come on this and I’m sure I’ll give you more blogs but for now – and I think this will be the theme – think before you make assumptions – we all have no idea what some families have been through.
Before I leave though I will let you know that he’s doing okay right now.