Testimony and Confessions

Yes, more religious metaphors.

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

I think I’ve been honest about the intention of this newsletter, but I want to be sure I’ve been clear and that if you’ve found yourself here, you grasp what I’m trying to accomplish. 

I had an interesting awareness this week. I co-lead a support group for families with transIDed children for PROGDK (www.parentsofrogdkids.org) We meet once monthly, and as we were wrapping up the content for our March meeting this past Thursday evening, I found myself, once again, “bearing my testimony.” This term hadn’t occurred to me before during these meetings, but it did this time when I was expressing deep, genuine gratitude for this journey with my transIDed daughter. It wasn’t the first time I launched into this pep talk, if you will, but it was the first time it occurred to me what I was doing. This phrase, “bearing testimony” is from my childhood, my Mormon upbringing. I am no longer a Mormon or a member of any organized faith, though I do believe that humans are connected in ways we don’t yet understand. Not just to each other, but to all living things on this planet. But I digress…where was I? Oh yes. Bearing my testimony. 

If you’ve read much of my work, you know that I consider this trans journey a blessing. Mind you, my daughter’s body is still intact, for the most part. I don’t really know how much harm has resulted from years of binding her breasts, and it physically hurts me to think about it, but I do–think about it, I mean. Please don’t misunderstand me. This is really challenging to communicate. Of course, if we could skate through life and still appreciate all its beauty and joyful moments, I would wish for everyone that they could avoid the pain that life inflicts, the excruciating experiences that feel unbearable–the ones we’re not sure we can survive. 

But that’s just not the way of things. Life is rich. This may be cliche, but there’s a reason these thoughts have endured throughout the ages. Humans aren’t wired for comfort. Life is hard! Too much comfort is unsatisfying and there’s little meaning in a life with little upset. I think we’re learning that people who have it too easy will create problems for themselves. We are wired for suffering. Since the beginning of human consciousness, life has been filled with it, and to survive we had to be able to push through both physical discomfort or outright pain and emotional tragedy that humans with modern lifestyles can’t even begin to comprehend. God, we were tough back then! And life had meaning. Surviving was satisfying. I’m guessing, but I feel pretty confident about this assessment of the hard work it once took to just create shelter and procure food to keep one’s family alive. Why else would we do it? This isn’t anachronistic either–in most of the world, life continues to demand humans develop the grit and determination that has kept our species on this planet for this long. 

With our current modern comforts, how do we handle suffering? It causes so many of us to fall apart. We feel unprepared emotionally, physically, spiritually, etc. to deal with major upsets. Where is our resilience? I think we all thought we were going to make life easier for our kids. We’d do so much better than our own parents did, and we’d give our children all that we didn’t have ourselves. And what have they done with this privilege? Rejected it. Vilified it, even. Rewrote their stories to convince themselves and others that they did actually suffer (with the wrong body) throughout childhood so they don’t have to bear the shame of benefiting from their parents’ status or wealth–that we worked so hard to give them! Life is ironic, isn’t it? Even cruel really. But it certainly keeps us humble. 

So now what? Do we just give up?  Do we let external circumstances determine our quality of life–modeling what it’s like to be victims? Do we let those that would come for our children’s healthy bodies tear us apart and drive a wedge into the bonds we worked so carefully to nurture? Fuck that. They don’t get my family. And I won’t let this wreck me. I’m in charge of my experience and I am the one who decides how to respond to the circumstances life hands me. This is at the heart of Stoicism and many other life philosophies and religions. It all makes so much sense to me now. Trusting in some “divine plan” always seemed ludicrous. I get it now, though. Because it’s trust that gets me through. I trust that it will all turn out…what? For the best? I’m not sure what that means, but I know my perspective matters. It’s amazing what happens to our quality of life when we learn to reframe everything through a lens of gratitude. Do I sound preachy? 

I know I can come off as evangelical. Maybe it’s that Mormon upbringing. All those Sundays that I sat there with my heart pounding, knowing that this would be one of the “testimony meetings” that I would stand up in front of a room of 100+ people and bear my testimony. I believed then. I had faith. I was inspired by the “spirit.” Funny how I just use a different lexicon now. I still believe–not in the God of my childhood or the Holy Spirit, but in the human spirit. In our ability to persevere and to keep learning and growing and becoming our best selves. In our humanity and our capacity for suffering. And the beauty and exhilaration that Life rewards us with in the smallest of ways–a stunning sunset, birdsong in spring, a good conversation, our children’s laughter. No one can take these simple pleasures from me. And I won’t allow my own quality of life to be diminished in sacrifice to the New Gods of Gender and Capitalism because they’ve captured my daughter. Just no. I’m certainly no martyr, and that’s not what my daughter needs from me anyway.

My confession might be that I don’t always know what I’m setting out to write about. I clearly don’t follow the rules. My college professors would have so much feedback for me if I were seeking to get a good grade–I know the structure of a good essay and I got amazing grades in college. I don’t care about that now. There’s no sense of meaning there for me. I’m no longer writing for the grade. I’m writing for you. And, I’ll admit it, for me. If I can convince a single mother to use this experience as a way to grow and heal and model resilience for her transIDed kid, it will be tremendously gratifying. 

So where exactly is this all going? I was slogging through writing a different piece. Usually, writing doesn’t feel like a slog for me. But I really need to do right by this essay that I want to share with my readers. (Maybe caring a bit more about “the grade.”) It’s meant to introduce you all to the Theory of Positive Disintegration (TPD), a framework I actually find useful as opposed to the many psychological frameworks that I see harming the human spirit, encouraging us to become dependent on a profit-driven system that hasn’t served us well. Check out Third Factor Magazine if you’d like to get a primer. This is the article that introduced me to TPD; it crossed my path in 2019 due to my daughter’s gender dysphoria. I like to think I was attracting the resources I needed (I was certainly desperately seeking them,) and having this framework helped to facilitate my autopsychotherapy and the conscious healing I needed to do to emerge healthier and more aligned with my inner wisdom than ever. 

I think the message I really want you to hear is this: you are responsible for your experience. You get to frame this for yourself. Right now my child is stuck in a fixed mindset. She insists she “has no choice,” but she also knows me well. Last time this came out of her mouth–the no choice nonsense–she reluctantly followed up with “I know I have choices with how I deal with it.” I take that as a win! (Indeed, I am in her head.) If she can’t convince herself she has no choice in how she deals with her discomfort, it’s got to make it that much harder for her to permanently alter her body. That’s my thinking, anyway. I know it doesn’t mean she still won’t. 

Please know that I’m not trying to diminish the tragedy of the situation. What is happening to our families is undeniably tragic. Tragedies are part of the human experience and they do wreak havoc on our lives. (Disintegration.) Some of us don’t recover. But some have what’s known as “positive disintegration.” Maybe I’m introducing you to the Theory (TPD) after all. If we emerge from this disintegration with more confidence in our values, more skilled in our communication, more secure in our relationships, we are indeed more resilient, more unshakable.  And dare I say, more faithful? I now have faith that nothing can destroy my spirit. This experience has both strengthened me and shown me what I’m capable of–or maybe it’s strengthened me because it’s shown me what I’m capable of?

I truly believe that motherhood is the ultimate growth opportunity. If we accept the challenge, our children will provide both the call and the path. That’s why parenting a transIDed teen has been a gift. It’s not the first disintegration I experienced but it was easily the most intense and the most productive in its results. My path forward is more clear to me than it’s ever been and what brought me here was the journey of being The Mom and the decisions I had to make for my family, the places that took us, the growth that resulted. I’ve also reached a level of acceptance for her journey. I can’t shield her from life’s tragedies. So much of her future remains a mystery, but now I am truly curious. I have faith in her spirit too. I know she still has suffering ahead, and deep pain she’ll need to process. And I have faith she’ll be stronger for it–she’ll recognize and tap into her own inner resources that were developed through her disintegration and be so much wiser on the other side.  

Funny. I was a little worried this essay might be “too much” and was considering whether I should actually share it. I took a break from it to watch another section of Genspect’s epic Detrans Awareness Day webinar that I’ve been slowly making my way through. I was at Sinead’s section of the event that begins at about 3:56:10. She inspired me to proceed with publishing this today. She was speaking to detransitioners or those that are “lost in transition.” She passionately challenged them to stop being victims, to reject the narrative that they’re damaged and unlovable, to recognize their whole lives are still ahead of them, to reframe their situation and start living. 

We all know ROGD doesn’t happen in a vacuum. This isn’t just happening to the teens adopting the identity that turns everything we know and love upside down. It’s happening to our families. Our children’s struggles create parallel experiences for us. To allow this movement to take you down is to give up and let them win. Stop it! “The obstacle is the way.” Use this experience to get clarity and model for your child(ren) what it means to be a resilient human. Trust me, I know what the disintegration feels like. I remember the desperation, the impotence I felt as a mother when I first realized that I couldn’t dissuade my daughter from this harmful identity. I remember the panic attacks. The pain of it was excruciating and I didn’t know how I was going to survive it. But then I decided I would–survive it, I mean. And not just survive, but use it to better myself.  For her. For my daughter. “They” don’t get my family. And whatever state yours is in right now, I don’t believe it’s over for you. You can still do your work. You can shift the outcome. Just start with you–that’s all you have control over. You got this. And you’re not alone.

Okay. I know it’s time to wrap this up. I remember those monthly “Fast and Testimony meetings” from my childhood. I do think we’re somewhat wired for religion. We’re certainly wired to be in community with those with whom we have shared experience–shared tragedy? Hearing others bear their testimony always bonded us and strengthened us against “persecution”. This is all starting to sound pretty culty, I bet?  Maybe I’ll dive deeper into this another day.  But for now, I’ll confess to proselytizing. I’m asking you to consider joining the cult of Motherhood (or possibly Fatherhood?) going all in and embracing its inevitable tragedies as the fire that forges you. You are being called. Will you hear and accept the call? 

Amen.