What Hurts Most

and a needed dose of Stoicism

For me, today, it’s that my 14 yo son won’t say, “I love you.” I say it to him at least once a day, but he won’t say it back. Of course, I say it anyway. I have stopped saying, “to the ends of all the Universes and back” which became our usual end point when he was little and it was so important to him that I understand just how deeply he loved me. It always had to be more than how much I loved him. It started with “to the moon and back,” then he’d one up me until it became what it became: “to the ends of all the Universes and back.” 

Had someone told me that my little boy—who was the sweetest, cuddliest, family-oriented child, the one who stood up to his beloved sister when she was saying some pretty vicious things to me that spring of 2018 when things took a turn for the weird and excruciating—would stop feeling this way about me, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible. I could see the courage it took that day for him to get the words out, “Stop talking to her like that!” 

Mother’s Day is soon upon us, and as I was writing this it occurred to me to maybe save it for a few weeks, but that seems far too sad. Can you tell I’m feeling less Stoic today? Twitter got to me. I’ll be okay but I want to make sure I share when my heart is heavy so I model for you too that we can move with grace through a Life rich with highs and lows. Tears are okay. This is the human experience. To know your heart can feel this broken is to know that you’re alive. It’s also a temporary state and the opposite of this pain is joy, and I am grateful my heart can feel all of it. 

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

My son also doesn’t have friends over to the house anymore. I asked him why once and he gave me that look that said, “You know why.” 

I do know why. We moved in summer of 2020 with the hopes of giving our transIDed girl a hard reset. This was the final “intervention” after a year and a half of unorthodox interventions to try to address her failing mental health that arrived with puberty–she went from such a confident, outgoing child to hinting at self-harm in such a short time span that it was hard to wrap my head around what was happening. 

When we learned of the TransID, when I recognized it had taken hold and wouldn’t let go easily, we decided on the last ditch effort of getting her away from her (well-intentioned but clearly confused) friend group where her best friend since first grade was on puberty blockers, another on testosterone, and at least a third already planning “top surgery.” I was pretty sure at this point that she’d never introduced herself as a boy or as trans, but probably let her friends do it for her. I’d hoped she wouldn’t have the courage to introduce herself to a new community (in a new small town in a new state) as something she’s not.

It backfired. I was wrong. (But look at that courage! It will serve her well when she decides to let go of the false identity.) I think she was encouraged by her well-meaning therapist–one who practiced exploratory therapy but clearly didn’t grasp the dangers of social transition. Her new facilitators were eager to “support” her and she became the token trans kid at the small, private learning environment filled with the woke families of this small town in a conservative state that made me realize the ideology is pervasive. I still love the structure of the learning environment and both my kids are otherwise thriving–we just needed to find a way to keep pushing on, navigating as best we could. 

Up until we moved, our son had not been part of the conversation. She’d not told him. We’d not told him. Now that they’d be sharing a learning environment, it was time to pull him in.  I was so sad for him to have to navigate this weirdness: spending his days with a brother who became his sister again when they got home. He didn’t seem super surprised and I could tell from his responses to me that he was already captured. God, that hurt. 

His family role seemed to shift into becoming her “protector.” My reframe here: “I’m glad they trust and take care of each other.” And they really do. Even though they drive each other somewhat crazy as siblings will do, the affection between them is unmistakable. They clearly care for each other and they have fun together in the mixed age learning environment they share. 

So why don’t his friends come over? All his friends are new friends. They all think he has a brother (though I wonder what they really think. I’ve had adults tell me she can actually pull off “passing” behind a covid mask which she still wears—which both my kids still wear.) One of these new friends “came out” last year. I’m not even sure what as. A new person with a new name. When we ask our son where he’s off to, we know when he says “up the hill” that he’s visiting this friend. 

Also, our common spaces are filled with pictures of my children’s earlier years. While I avoid my daughter’s name (she and I agreed on a nickname) and the use of pronouns, my husband doesn’t bother. I think this is a good balance that works as well as can be expected in such a weird and difficult circumstance. 

Let’s talk about Mother’s Day in a home where gender ideology has invaded and Mom doesn’t affirm. My kids make no effort to acknowledge me and express appreciation for the years I’ve committed to mothering them and nurturing our connection so they’ll know our family is strong and will always be here for them. There are no cards. Their dad will give me a gift and put everyone’s name on it but there are no special messages from my children. I still insist on brunch. I make it myself. They come. They eat. If they enjoy the food, they say so.

And we carry on. I still do all the mom things. I’ll create an Easter scavenger hunt, hide things I know they like instead of eggs. I make sure I look them in the eyes every night and tell them I love them (neither of them let me hug them. Actually that’s not true. As long as I don’t ask too often my daughter will allow the embrace and even hug me back. I can tell it’s not a good time to ask my son.) I am constantly looking for evidence that they still love me and are grateful for the life we’ve given them. It’s hard sometimes, but usually I find what I’m looking for. Truly, the more I focus on this, the more it happens. 

In fact, it’s kinda funny that now she defends me to her brother when he’s really in a mood. “Come on, Man!” she’ll say. Which helps me recognize that some of this is just adolescence. He is the same age as the most rough year we had with her when we were still feeling blindsided by the behaviors and the anger that seemed to continuously seeth out of her.  His moods are far more intermittent. I learned from this experience with her to not take it personally. The reframe that works best for me here is: “He’s a teenager thinking and feeling teenage things.”

And I don’t show my pain—I usually don’t even experience it as pain because I understand it’s really not about me; I carry on with loving him, nurturing when he’ll let me, and taking care to disarm him first if I want to offer him some motherly guidance. It usually works. She taught me well. And he’s the one with the sharp sense of humor so he’s more inclined toward a lighthearted mood. It’s making his adolescence a bit easier.  

Honestly, just writing this has made me feel better. Please know that I do allow the sadness-I think it’s important to mourn the experience we thought our children’s adolescence would be. But most families have their problem-set. This is ours. And Life is rich, and I’m grateful to be alive, that we have our health, that our children have such a good relationship with each other, that we’ll spend the upcoming spring holidays looking to have a good time together. We still eat dinner together most nights (they both have jobs now!) and we often laugh together and in these moments I know we’re good. In fact, my daughter just interrupted my writing to show me a cool thing she’s making. Things could be so much worse. We’ll be okay. We got this.

Update 7/1/22: What Hurts Most remains one of my most popular pieces, and I felt compelled to return and let you know how my son’s and my relationship has evolved. We’re in such a better place, engaging with relative ease most of the time (he is still a teenager, and I’m still a mom with parenting responsibilities.) My son is emerging out the other side of that raging pubertal onset and the havoc it wreaks on our bodies and emotions. 

He and I recently returned from a long road trip visiting most of my siblings and some dear friends who are like family to both of us. He was doted on and admired, and he got lots of remarks about his height; he’s 6’3. Grandma joined us for part of the journey and it was a rare treat to get her all to ourselves for two whole days! Most the time she was with us, we were on the road. My son sat in the back and spent the majority of the time sleeping or playing games on his phone. I had downloaded Holes on Audible thinking we might all listen to it, but instead I soaked up the precious 1:1 conversation with my mother who will turn 80 next spring. We talked about her childhood, my childhood, my ancestors that she knew, my psychic inheritance; we dug into some deeply philosophical topics like religion (she has a strong faith and remains a shining example of unconditional love) and my favorite right now, Life, in all its richness and complexity and magic. Whenever we stopped for site-seeing or a meal, my son was helpful, gracious, and funny, treating his grandma with gentleness and respect. 

He turned 15 the day after we returned. I’m the type of parent who leans into trust and offers much freedom, and I like the results for the most part. That said, I have to admit that my children might have benefited from a tighter container. Who knows? I do know I like my kids, and I’m impressed with their independence and their human decency. After the adventure of our daughter’s adolescence though, I’ve learned when he’s feeling indecisive and clearly stressed by it, to ask, “Is this one of those times when you just need a grown-up to tell you what to do?” 

I know it’s still painful and confusing to have a mom whose beliefs and values are so different to those of his school community made up of his friends, teachers, and peers. I think he’s come to remember that I love him to the ends of all the universes and back and am the one who cares most about his healthy development. He knows I trust him to make sound decisions and he listens when I weigh in on them. 

I see in my son a handsome, clever, fun-loving, capable young man. He’s a hard worker at his job, though he has no problems holding boundaries around his own wellness. He responds well to adults who treat him with respect and dignity, and he is well liked by his family, sought after by his friends, appreciated by his co-workers and employer. He gets along well with adults and is adored by all his younger cousins. When I look up at his face that is so far above mine, and think about this man I birthed into the world whose extraverted, humorous nature is so different from my contemplative intensity, I am awed by the mystery and magic of Life and filled with gratitude that I get to participate in and witness his development. I feel so lucky I get to be his mom. And these days, when I say good night and tell him I love him, he responds in kind.