what you see
reflection along the way
Update 11/4/22: I’m not in a hurry to give this letter to my daughter; she’s expressed plans to move but they’re loose plans, and I know this move is at least several months away if not more. I want to spend some time consulting my inner wisdom. While I respect my daughter’s therapist and have much gratitude that she communicates with me so openly, I want to be careful not to let her thoughts override my own expertise and intuition. I’ll keep you posted with how this ends up playing out.
She’s got this. I got this. and mindf*#k were written since the 11/4 update and continue to update this story. I’ve still never given her this letter.
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Another letter to my daughter that I intend to give her. I’m not sure it’s finished. And it’s entirely strategic. It’s a risky approach, yet I think there are examples of it working. I want to believe that the success of the approach will be in the energy of it. It cannot be perceived as a challenge but rather, an invitation. And the trickiest part? You’ve got to go into it being okay with however it turns out. I’m still working on getting there…
This is my invitation so far. I’d love feedback! I think it’s important to strike a balance between my truth and openness to her experience. I want to be careful to not make her feel guarded or challenged. More at the end on what I’m going for, so if you’re feeling inclined to help me perfect this letter, you can leave comments. Jeez, this is terrifying! It’s the leap of faith I’ve been working toward…
Dear Red,
As you’re planning your big move to another city, in another state, your (likely both thrilling and nerve-wracking) move to independence and adulthood, I am having lots of feelings, as you can imagine!
I’m so incredibly proud of you! When I look at you, I see a competent, contemplative, and compassionate human–exactly what I hoped my kids would become. I delight in your company and have to admit that when I hear you and your brother laughing together, there’s probably nothing that makes my heart happier. Except maybe when it’s all four of us! And I’m grateful I get this experience often.
I believe you have such a big heart and that you imagine a better world, a more compassionate world. I know you want to be part of social changes that would lead to a healthier society. I have such respect for this–and I believe we have this in common, even if we don’t 100% agree on how to accomplish this more compassionate world.
I know we haven’t talked about this in awhile, but I get the sense that you’ve still got plans to progress with transitioning once you move and get settled in. I imagine you may also have some concerns about how this will affect your relationship with your dad and me. I don’t want to speak for your dad; I think that has to be between the two of you. I want you to know that I still want to support you to get the best possible care.
These are major decisions and procedures and it’s my understanding that there are a variety of ways to go about the process, and different types of professionals you can go to for support and guidance. With these extreme changes that will have a permanent impact on the rest of your life, I would hope that you’d seek intensive support. Maybe reconnecting with (previous therapist back in the city she plans to return to) first?
Regardless, I don’t want you to feel you have to tackle this “alone” because of my discomfort. You’re still just transitioning into adulthood and these are big, irreversible steps. It’s clear that you are determined to take this pathway, and while I may disagree that it’s a good idea, I respect your autonomy. I also believe that you have a good head on your shoulders, and that you want to make the healthiest decisions for yourself and your future.
And yes, I have an ulterior motive here. You’re still my firstborn child and you still mean the world to me; I wish I could describe what it feels like in the heart of a mother when she thinks about the humans she birthed into the world. This has been such an eye-opening (and admittedly painful) experience for me–to learn just how difficult it is for a mother to allow her child to truly individuate and choose something so opposite of what I believe to be good health. But I don’t want your wellbeing and our healthy relationship to be at odds, to be incompatible. I would very much like to feel better about your decision to live as a man. I want to better understand your experience and feel confident that the procedures you intend to pursue will truly support you to live a full, meaningful life.
I’ve been working to make peace with whatever the future holds for you and for us. I would hope that you imagine me in your life, and that in that vision, we have a mutually respectful relationship. I’m so grateful my mom trusted me to take care of myself; this gave me confidence to know I could always figure things out. Yet, I knew I could always call her and she’d do as much as she could to support me. Yes, there were times that I knew she wouldn’t approve of my lifestyle, but I knew she’d never abandon me or our relationship. She’d love me no matter what I did. She’d always be “home” for me. I want our family to always be home for you. And one day when you have your own family, “home” will just get a little bigger, and we’ll love whomever you love. We trust that you’d only choose to spend your life with someone who brings out the best in you; we will welcome your choice of mate with open arms and open hearts.
I also hope that you imagine visiting us often (bringing your future family when you have one) and making memories with your brother (and his future family) and us, me and Dad. I hope you see yourself attending reunions with extended family and celebrating life events and allowing yourself to be celebrated by all the people who have known and loved you since you were born and who will continue to always love you.
When it comes to your plans for your future, I so very badly want to see what you see. You’re so certain that you’re honoring your authentic self by changing your body. There must be something I’m missing. I really do want to get it. I definitely want you to feel like I’m fully in your corner.
It would help me so much to know what you’ve got planned, what research you’ve done, to possibly be involved with choosing those professionals or at least to know who you plan to go to, so I can research them and feel confident that they’re working in your best interest rather than their own.
I think what I’m trying to say is that I have a need to be here for you. I want to be the support you need to take on something this huge. Maybe I could overcome my fear for you if I just understood this better–if you can help me see what you see. I know I’ve said this before: you are such an insightful person and you have incredible verbal skills. I’m confident that if anyone can help me understand, it’s you. I am determined to listen patiently and not argue with you if you’ll spend some time helping me to see what you see. I’ll definitely have questions, but they’ll be in the interest of developing understanding so I can support you to your goal of an authentic, healthy adulthood.
I’m open to anything you can share with me to better understand. Please, I do not want you to wake up from a major (or any) surgery without your mother there to care for you as you recover. Can we try this? Can you give me another chance to listen and learn what you love about the idea of living as a man? And can you show me some research that will reassure me that these procedures are safe, and the side effects won’t be a burden on your health or shorten your life?
So, more about the strategy: my daughter knows the depth of my apprehension and the quality of evidence it would take for me to be persuaded that these interventions she desires are safe. At this point, her therapist has alerted me that she gets the sense my daughter feels alone and unsupported. I certainly don’t want my daughter to feel alone and unsupported with any major decision. I want her to know she can always come to me, and I will treat her with respect, even if I express deep concern. With this particular decision, I want to be beside her to help her see quality research. I believe that anything she brings to me, she’ll first have to view it through my lens (which she’s demonstrated she’s quite capable of. I am indeed “in her head.”) Can you see where I’m going with this? Can you also see the risks? I’ve been grappling with this yet I’ve also been fantasizing about being able to pull it off. It would be the ultimate in “letting go” and it’s terrifying—yet, I’ll be so proud of myself if I get there, and think it might be exactly what needs to happen for my daughter to also let go, and not feel she needs to prove something to me. Haha! See how tricky this is? Why it’s important that this letter doesn’t come across as a challenge?
I just read a very woke, but very engaging book, The Revivalists (the title drew me because I love the band by the same name.) It was incredibly relatable and timely but also sometimes bordering on intolerable in it’s clear alignment with Critical Race Theory (I’ll admit to excessive eye-rolling and almost not being able to finish it.) It was a dystopian novel about a middle-aged couple deciding to cross the country to rescue their daughter from a cult. And it was eerily relevant to this next move I’m about to make in this high-stakes bid for my daughter’s healthy future. It may be worth the read just to appreciate the couple’s struggle (Their dynamic was so spot on and seemed to reflect that of my marriage. Some of you may have heard my story of saying to my husband, “this could tear us apart or be the thing that saves us.”) and what they’re willing to do to (or not do) to stay in relationship with their only child (whose personality also reminded me of my girl) who’s been captured by a cult.
I’m practicing the Stoic principle of making peace with worst case scenarios and also hope this approach will allow me back into my daughter’s trust, positioning me to be the one she’ll go to when something outside our family unit breaks her heart.
So, bring it on! What are your thoughts? Does this strategy make sense to you? Do you think I’m crazy? If you were my daughter, would you feel invited or challenged? What could I improve in the letter?
I preface this with millions of unspecified disclaimers, but the main disclaimer is that my daughter is probably not like yours, and I'm basing this on her. My daughter would see this only as a challenge and not as an invitation.
I'm also a bit confused about what you are seeking here. Do you really just want to let her know that you will be there for her and to advise her not to do anything medical w/o you by her side? If so, why then ask about her justification? On the other hand, If your real goal is to get her to think more before she does anything to her healthy body - a noble goal I wholeheartedly encourage, even if it's unlikely anything you say will help - then you have to be honest about that. I feel like you're straddling the fence between "I accept what you're doing, but just want to make sure you are careful about what medical steps you take and which medical professionals you seek out" and "I will be there for you no matter what, but I honestly don't think you should be doing anything to your body unless and until you can fully articulate the actual benefits of living as a man, and prove through rational analysis that these benefits are real, knowable and known, and outweigh the known medical and other detriments."
I love most of what you said and wouldn't touch the wording, but I would consider which of the 2 above goals you seek to achieve and be honest and clear about that. If it's the former, you need to remove the language about her articulating why she's doing this. It doesn't belong in such a letter. If it's the latter, remove language indicating that you accept her choices, because you don't yet accept them.
I could be totally wrong here - as I'm flailing in my own situation!!! And I apologize if this sounds like I'm being judgmental. Believe me, I trust that you're in a better place than me in terms of acceptance. I just wanted to say what occurred to me in case it gives you any additional perspective.
This letter brings up SO many feelings surrounding my own letting go of my son, mixed with memories of my own errant young adulthood. I wish I had something insightful or brutally honest by way of wisdom. Instead, I’m fantasizing about being in your position: throwing my arms around my child’s knees and sitting on his feet, refusing to let go, all while desperately begging him to stay home. It’s a hard feeling to sit with, as this goes so totally against my nature and everything I know to be true: I’ve never begged for anyone to do anything--I’m a “If you love something, set it free...” kind of person; always have been...but I can now imagine it. God, our children are like our Kryptonite--I wasn’t prepared for that.
I have a close relationship with my own mother; I always have. Even when, at barely 19, I came home and, out of the clear blue, I announced to her and my dad that I’d gotten a new job in LA; I was dropping out of school and moving to a big house in Bel Air--that weekend. And I did. While it wasn’t another state, it involved people my folks had never heard of, let alone met, and who were much older than me (and grown-ass men). My parents had neither address nor phone number for me.
It took me about 2-1/2 years to decide I didn’t want that life; when I called my folks to ask if I could come home, they let me, easy as you please. No guilt trips, no “I told you so”s, just, “Your room is waiting for you.”
I wonder if I would have appreciated a letter like yours from my own mother at that time? Our relationship was so different--much less entangled--than our relationships with our kids, I think. My mom didn’t help me with college applications, let alone consult with my therapists after about age 17, and I didn’t want her to. I do remember when, at 16, she found my birth control pills (carelessly left hanging out of my purse): she confronted me, and she told me that her only request was that I see her gynecologist so she could be sure they were being appropriately prescribed. She then informed me that she would NOT be raising anymore children; she said that if I got pregnant, “I’ll drag you by the hair to the abortion clinic and have it scraped into a sink.” (That put the fear of God into me--and I managed not to get pregnant.) While her words were harsh, I was--and am--so grateful for that “if/then” boundary she so graphically laid out for me. But I can see that wouldn’t work in your case. At all.
Perhaps the only addition to your letter would be to remind your daughter that a lifetime is, at best, a VERY long time. And that doctors are NOT our friends. That second one might be a tough sell--in our case, my son SAW the ravages of “medical care” on his father, and he trusts medicine about as far as he can throw it.
Good luck to you, my friend. I wish I had something of value to offer. FWIW, you remain in my prayers/meditations/heart. All of you.