PREFACE
BIG 65TH BIRTHDAY! Not a happy one. Two days before, my transgender daughter cut me out of her life. I was devastated. Caught totally by surprise (not anything new as my child has kept me in the dark about so many things she was going through). You think you know what's going on in your children's life(lives), but you don't. I have only had three years to adjust to these major changes in her life. She was my son for 33 years and gave me NO clue(s) as to there being an identity crisis.
STORY
This is what my daughter, Ilde, posted for all to see on Facebook: (2021/09/26)
"Yesterday was Daughter day. I let down my guard. My mother posted something for the first time that made me feel so validated I cried happy tears.
CW: trauma [<-- have no idea what this means]
Then in back to back comments, she did the one thing I've specifically told her makes me feel so guilty I avoid interacting with her.
[I am not responsible for another's guilt. I have never been one to purposefully make someone feel guilty. Not my style. I responded with a comment to another comment that was in error, wishing Ilde a happy birthday. I commented that, "My birthday is in 2 days. My birthday wish would be to be with my daughter. I hadn't seen Ilde since 2018 and I missed her very much." THAT is what made her feel guilty! I never meant that Ilde HAD to be responsible for visiting!]
I haven't been to Florida since December 2018. It's for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that going back is emotionally draining. I've lost a lot of friends down there in the last few years. The first time I went back after I "came out" - that is, decided not to filter my posts - I was cornered, asked why I didn't talk to my family about it, and asked if I could be misgendered by them still. Here's the answer I wanted to give at the time.
[I would love to know who said this. And I didn't know it was so emotionally draining. I would have been just as happy to go see her in Wisconsin!]
I didn't tell you I was queer for the same reason you asked me why I didn't tell you I was queer. I didn't tell you for the same reason you asked if I could still be your son, your nephew, or any number of other masc-identified terms. My queerness is about me. My gender journey is hard enough managing my own emotions, going through most of it with a partner, and then a spouse, who told me she wouldn't love me if I was a woman. Who cheated on me. Who told me the day I got the courage to say hey, I spent the last 6 months putting myself in a place where I can help you address the cracks in our relationship, that she didn't want to, and left that very night. Having 3 different people in the following year show me they didn't see me as queer, or nonbinary, in different, intimate, and hurtful ways. So no, I didn't talk to you about it. I listened to how you talked about the trans woman you wouldn't date, how you reassured me that you never felt like "anything" other than "what" you were. I heard you when you talked about Tootsie, and Eddie Izzard, and Mrs Doubtfire in my youth. I internalized the words "learned helplessness" to the point that I've pushed myself to burnout over and over and over again. I built a mask of masculinity because as a *child* you told a doctor I didn't measure up to the ideal of maleness you thought I should, and wanted him to give me medicine to "fix" me. I heard you tell me and anyone who would listen how smart I was and able I was and beam with pride because obviously I didn't have ADD like those other kids, that throwaway diagnosis. All the while you sat in those IEP conferences, with the same problems every year about focus, homework, staying on task. You fought for me so hard to make sure my letter grade measured up, but didn't pay attention to the fact that I was desperately lonely, didn't socialize with kids my age outside of school, and was chronically traumatized by the bullying I suffered at the hands of my peers. That you were so avoidant of the topic of sex that both times I was assaulted, I dissociated the memories rather than come to you for help.
[None of this is true, except for not coming to me for help or to talk about sex in any form. Every time I broached the subject, my child shut me down and refused to talk about it. Never told me about being assaulted. Never told me about bullying. And was never IN an IEP meeting with me, except maybe at the magnet school at 15 yo when I was trying to find the best solution to furthering her education.]
I'm older now than you were when I was born. I've spent nearly half my life away from my family. As an adult - as a 36 year old queer woman, I am done pretending my life, my childhood, was well adjusted and perfect. I lost 20 years to a trauma my family doesn't even know happened. I never had a chance to have a body that truly reflects who I am, how I see myself. Even if I'd had the words, there's no would where you would have entertained putting me on puberty blockers, not in the 1990s. 20 years later you made my coming out about you, prepubescant Ilde never had a chance. I've spent the last 5 years unraveling trauma I'll be working on for the rest of my life.
[How am I suppose to help with a trauma I didn't know about? She never even realized that we had a very diverse set of friends and acquaintances; gay, lesbian, transgender...IN THE 1990s!]
To be perfectly clear, though, this post isn't about you. This post is about me. Regardless of the fact that you're the reason Neal and the rest of Dad's side of the family doesn't talk to me. Regardless of the fact that I haven't spoken to James and Lisa in years. Regardless of the fact that I can't think about flying back to Florida - the place I used to reflexively call "home" [at least, used to call home without it making me sad] - without getting weighted down by guilt, having to make the awful choice of whether to open myself up to spending a massive amount of emotional energy on handling then recovering from guilt and abuse over how long it's been since I've been back, or hiding the fact I'm there at all.
[I'm not the reason the Pinsker side doesn't talk to her. THEY don't talk to ME either! They cut me off as soon as the Irving/Mae Pinsker estate was divided up, maybe even before. This happened to Aunt Irene too! She was married to Irving's brother, Al, and when he died, they stopped all communication with her. "She wasn't blood."]
This post is about me. Before you give me crap about airing my dirty laundry or whatever other WASPy socially acceptable phrase people use for shaming others who own the trauma they face, know that I've had to build my life, climb out of debt, start and end two marriages, raise and lose a child, rebuild an entire identity, build a nearly two decade long career, and buy a house all on my own.
[Yes it is all about you. It sounds like you've had coaching on "how this is suppose to go" from younger, newly transgender people with whom you identify. They have had all this trauma, so you must have had it too. They have had all this rejection from their families, so you must have had it too. There are things you "remember" that DID NOT HAPPEN. And you cannot blame me for NOT being a mind reader, for things YOU did not tell me, share with me, come to me for help. I always thought you felt like you could talk to me. I was wrong.]
If this post upsets you, allow me to suggest you Google DBT distress tolerance skills and employ them - TIP, REST, or soothing your five senses are likely the most effective. I cannot carry the emotional water of managing your reactions, of being enmeshed with you, of treating your emotions like my own. The whiplash yesterday was just a bridge too far."
[I have been using distress tolerance skills my whole life. Those coping skills were natural for me. I didn't have any psychologist to tell me about them because I was raised to "walk it off" and get on with it. It was not accepted that mental health was a right.]
CONCLUSION
I lost my mother at 15, and then lost my father at 24. I lost my teen years because I had to grow up way too fast. Gave up a child at 18. Was deceived by my first husband before he started mentally abusing me. Left him to hitchhike 1100 miles with a hitman, to settle on the other side of Florida, separated from my family and missing saying goodbye to my dying father. I met the love of my life in George, made a life with him for 20 years, only to lose him, as I watched him die in front of my eyes and there was nothing I could do to save him. 19 years later and I can't even type those words without crying and it all coming back like it happened today. I have PTSD because of it.
I also have Ilde because of George. We/I raised an incredible child, with intelligence, ethics, and a huge heart. Too big sometimes as she wants to take on all the woes of everyone they care about. Too trusting in loving a partner she can't see them for their genuine self. Too secretive for some reason I can't fathom. If anyone could understand about incidents in her life, I can. She ran away from me, when she should have been running towards me.
No comments:
Post a Comment