Reflections
How I wish I could take the pain away.
My daughter hates a certain part of her body. She wishes it wasn’t there. I get that. And I wish it wasn’t true.
As a former anorexic I have my own battle scars I struggle with and try to hide away. I look in the mirror some days and I don’t recognize myself. I just see that familiar little demon who begs me to run away with him and indulge in that part of me that craves the hollow nothingness. Even after all these years, my reflection is something I continually and lovingly work on.
It isn’t the same for Hope. As much as she tries to make peace with having boy parts, she knows this body isn’t hers. Her private areas are a constant reminder of the ways she falls short of being a girl, the person she knows herself to be. Her body is a threat in a way, a constant source of panic. Will this secret show despite all of her efforts and expose her birth gender today? Will someone find out?
In a way, I guess I should be an expert in overcoming this type of self loathing, this body hatred. A champion over the dark side of wishing you were something else… but I am not. Yes, I am the healthiest I have been since I was 14; however, that doesn’t mean I am over it. I doubt my ability to coach others in the ways to fully accept their body when I am still in a constant conversation with my own.
Last night Hope and I talked about the way she is trying to hide that part of herself she dislikes and she just sat and listened. No fidgeting. No looking away. She just stared at me with these big, beautiful, loving eyes that tore my heart into pieces. Fully present, she just took it all in. I danced around the subject, trying so hard to not infuse the shame that paralyzed me for years. How do I explain hiding and embracing your body at the same time?
Now sitting here waiting for school to end I can only think of wrapping my arms around her and telling her she is perfect just the way she is. But tell me how that helps a child that fears what her body may become? A few weeks ago she flew into my room in a panic, speaking so fast that I couldn’t understand. Once she calmed herself, she tearfully asked if she will have to shave her face someday. I told her that we had time, but her eyes gave me the look as if her life depended on it. “I never want to look like Dad. Never.”, she pleaded in front of me, her body shaking as if she were standing in the freezing cold naked, “Mom, I want to look like you, like a woman. Please help me. I don’t want to shave my face.” I sobbed as I held that scared child and assured her that there are things we could do to help. She needn’t worry. It would all be okay.
And still, I sit here trying to think of all the ways to make it okay. Is it enough to wrap my arms around her and tell her that I am here every single step of the way? Will that calm her fears as she stares in the mirror? I would move heaven and earth to find the words to ease her fears and calm her heart, but I find myself still searching.
I’ll start with the hug.
Afterwards, while I sat in my room alone, I wept until exhaustion.
Thank you for sharing your secret. I was wondering how you were able to accept and support her so completely but you’ve been there in a way, haven’t you? You know the pain of the body you see not belonging to you, of it not matching your inner Self.
Soothing your daughter’s pain while recognizing an aspect of it in yourself is heart-wrenching. The lifelong good you are doing for her would not be possible if you hadn’t learned to openly recognize your own demon. You are so, so strong and your love for her so clear.
first let me wipe the tears from my eyes. when I first realized Chris was not going thru a phase and was truly a girl I was clueless what was ahead. Somethings were easy. Growing her hair out and doing styles which was actually fun and of course changing wardrobes, toys and the bedroom. Other things were not so easy. Hiding that dread part. I actually approached some drag queens I knew from doing hair and while I felt like an idiot I asked them the ” tricks of the trade ” so to speak. Actually they could not have been more understanding. Now we really dont have to worry about her being ” discovered ” but it does not help her knowing that it is there.
I have really read up on hormones, surgical procedures you name it. I made it clear to her that that growth she so dreads is only there temporarily. We WILL start testosterone blockers as soon as possible. She knows this and I educated her on what they do and how she will not have to worry about facial hair, growing hard or losing her soft voice. And as soon thereafter as physicians will allow we will correct her birth defect. This has all seemed to help her deal with this. it is a temporary problem, it will NOT ruin her at puberty and we WILL get it corrected as soon as possible.
If you Google Kim Petras who is supposedly the youngest girl to have GRS there are many stories about her journey online and from her videos and pictures it is possible to make sure that testosterone does not ravage your daughters body. When Chris saw Kims videos she lit up. She knew it could be done!
Good luck to you both!
Thank you Sara! And thank you Melissa. It’s amazing when I can connect with other parents of TG kids. I recently connected with a local support group & it has been so healing for me. We all struggle through similar challenges and have these wonderful stories of love and acceptance. I appreciate the link & will check it out. I am sure it will ease my daughter’s fears. And knowing that someone else is going through the same thing is comforting. I am so grateful that you reached out to me.
Thank you for posting this wonderful blog. I wish I could do more but with the ex and his family still against us I cant. It was wonderful when I first learned I was not alone and I was doing the right thing! Make sure to take LOTS of pics as she morphs into a happy little girl. Each new step should be celebrated. Things as simple as her first ponytails were a celebration. Our children are special gifts! WE are the lucky ones to have them in our lives
I look back now and it is hard to remember ever having a boy. And to realize I never really did only now her looks fit complete who she is. the minor birth defect will be taken care of later. Just down play that and celebrate the rest!
Hi Jen! I just “stumbled upon” your web-site yesterday and I got very busy reading as many posts by you or others. I can’t say anything other than what already has been said: most of your comments are fantastic, from the heart and very loving towards your daughter that I felt I had to say thank you!. I wanted to share my views on the topic, my own experience as an adult transsexual woman (I hate that term, but it’s the only one everyone reconizes aniway…) and the way my parents coped with me while being a child.
I’m argentinian, born in Buenos Aires in 1971 amidst a regular middle-class family. I was the eldest “son” and, at birth, the doctors couldn’t decide on whether I was a boy or a girl: my genitals were under-developed, with a smaller-than-usual penis, one barely noticeable testicle and the other completely out of sight. An argument arose about what to do (remember, these were the years before ecographies and no-one new much about inter or trsnssexualism). It finally was decided to tell my parents I was a boy, only one that would require several hormone treatments to get a decent develop as a boy. 9 months later, a surgeon told my mom I should go under the knife because I had a “bilateral hernia” which, of course, put my mom and dad through a lot of strain. They decided to consult two more surgeons who, predictably, told them it was not necessary. The first surgeon had the idea I was intersexual (hermaphrodite was the used term) and wanted to “correct” my body. The other doctors were livid that it wasn’t necessary nor ethic. In short, I got a one-year hormonal treatment to try’n to normalize my gonads. I grew up as any boy, I always loved cars and music, though I wasn’t afraid to play with my sister’s dolls either. I was “soft”, in the sense that my passtimes were almost completely “rough&tumble” free, but I wasn’t a “effeminate” boy. I was called “a girl” eveery now and then, to my mother’s surprise, of course, but it never transpired that I felt anything other than a boy. Between the age of 2 and 4, my drawings didn’t include myself, only my sister and parents (and one or two cars for sure!! Hahaha). When I was asked to draw myself, I didn’t put “a floor” underneath my feet. That was seen by our family doctor as a lack of personality and identity development, and that I should go through some therapy to learn more about my feelings. It never happened.
Around four or five yrs. old, I started stealing my sis’ clothes and was reprimended (without being beat or insulted, but in a firm way) that it wasn’t what I should do as a boy. I regretted it every time, only to do it again and again. Years passed by and my feelings started to become more clear: I prayed to be turned into a girl and, of course, it never happened either….
My parents decided to make a “blind-eye” to my behaviour since, on the outside, I was a regular boy and, luckily, I didn’t have much trouble socualizing. But, on the inside, I felt ashamed and scared, especially of being rejected by my parents. At 9, I received a new hormonal treatment, this time stronger, to see if my gonads would become more “normal”. At 14, I hadn’t developed any, and I was treated to a new dose of testosterone, in a desperate effort to make me look more boyish. I accepted all this because I didn’t want to contradict my parents, but the inside turnmoil became stronger than ever. My friends started dating and doint sports and all of the boy’s stuff, and I tried to copy their acting, their thinking and behaviours. At home, though, I kept on putting on my sister’s clothes, what brought me all kinds of trouble with my family. I neves was asked why, what I felt to do it, or anything. I guess they were more scared than me to find out the truth. Only at 17 did I start to react to the male hormones, and the first thoughts of suicide sppeared. I also try to self-castrate, and got into drugs, all things I did without ever thinking there could be a way out of my feelings of being a woman. I didn’t have sex, for I hated my body and wasn’t attracted to anyone, male or female. My life became more and more miserable and I did more and more drugs.
My social life was, on the outside, quite normal, working, studying and playing guitar in a rock band. I resented feeling like a girl, I didn’t want anything to do with it. But I still felt it, regardless of what I tried to do.
I watched every movie or documental about transsexualism, only to discard it as impossible, freakish and senseless. My parents kept me reprending for using my sister’s clothes, without ever trying to learn why. The downward spiral I was in didn’t seem to have an end. Only the drugs and/or suicide attempts could put an end to all the suffering. But, even though I tried hard to die, I never was courageous (or is it the other way?) enough to kill myself.
In 2005, aged 34, I finally came to a crossroad by way of the internet. The web had grown to offer new information about the subject of Gender Dysphoria and transsexualism and I felt there was a last chance for me after all. I checked with doctors and transgender people about my problems and it transpired that what I had gone through was quite similar to what others had to live. It took me a few months to accept the fact that my feeling were not going to go away and also to accept myself as transsexual. I learned, after talking to my mom, what had happened when I was born and, in the end, the solution appeared before my eyes: female HRT, surgery and, of course, being myself. I stopped doing drugs at once, fafter fifteen years, for I didn’t need ‘em anymore. My head “clicked” and all my fears (some funded, some not) disappeared at once. I started hormones on september 12th, 2005 and now, four years later, I’m being happier than ever. I’m engaged to a wonderful man, studyng laws and living and working in a new city (Mendoza, wonderful place) since last year. My family struggled a bit to accept it but, with time, they learned to klive with it and now they not only accept it but consider it the best thing I could have done. My mom felt responsible for what happened to me and I told her that that was not true, though it would have been good of her to, at least, ask me why I acted that way. But we’re from a different age, my parents are old now, and wiser, and they are comfortable with how things are now.
I, as a woman who had to go through thirty-some years of pain and fear, self-destruction and shame, feel that parents like you, Jen, are a God-gift. Your little daughter might or not go through surgery (I did last year), but she surely will feel grateful to her parents, for being so loving, caring and comprehensive. I just wish more parents could be like you: the workd would be a much better place to live in……
With love and respect, I say thank you again, and my best wishes for you and your wonderful family. And to your little princess, all of my love and support.
Best regards from Mendoza, Argentina. Adriana.
Dear Adriana,
I am truly amazed and inspired by your courage. Words fail to express how much it means to me that you trusted me enough to share your story. It is so powerful hearing how your life was changed and what it felt like. My heart goes out to you for all the time you spent not fully enjoying life and it aches to know that you spent so much time hiding who you truly are. Many people would have given up, but your story shows that if you can keep taking one step at a time toward the authentic self you will find your way and create a beautiful and fulfilling life.
Know that across the miles I am hugging you and sharing my love and admiration. Please keep in touch and enjoy every moment. My warmest regards, Jen
Dear Jen. Wow, thanks a lot for your prompt and loving reply. When I look back on all those years of distress, I just can’t believe it. It seems like someone had told me a story about some other woman, not me and yet, it all feels so real. It’s a strange feeling, but one that inspires you to go ahead, to live to the fullest and makes you try to share your experiences and provide as much help as possible to those still going through all the trouble and fears. It wasn’t easy, especially in a latin country like mine, where anything other than “macho” is considered unworthy of any mercy and/or trust. However, I came to realize that there are many many people out there willing to help and to learn: you just have to find them, but they are there. I read about that Radio program where the jockeys just started rumbling stupid comments, most offensive at that, against transgender children and their parents: it feels me with rage; but not against those poor idiots. The rage is because I feel so powerless to do anything about it, to prevent it to be heard by other people, those who, with some fair information would otherwise accept it as a condition of nature. Many people believes whatever they are told, so to know that a few ignorant dumbs can provoke so much harm is…well, ugly, scaring and, ultimately, pitiful. But that’s life, we have to live with it and we have to do what’s best for ourselves which, in time, could help a lot of people needing that help.. I needed it and I got it. You needed it and you got it too. So it is possible!.
I accept your love and admiration, but only if you accept mine in exchange. I wish you the best and hope that you can come visit me some day. It’d be incredible to meet you and your family.
Anyway, here’s my email, adrianaagarzon@gmail.com. If you ever want to send me a message, other than those you share with me through this wonderful site, feel free to do it please. I’d love you to send you a pic of myself now, as a happy adult woman with more than half of her life to live. I’d love to receive some pics of your family too, if you want to. Well, dear, thanks again, keep the faith and the fight amd try to enjoy every step, for it is only once that you live every moment.
PD: sorry for any gramathical mistakes: when I’m writing, I just leave my reins to the air, and my orthography suffers accordingly! Hahaha. Love, Adriana