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As best as I can expect from her
Apr. 13th, 2019 07:21 pmI called my mother today with the intention of breaking off all contact with her. I couldn't do it. I chickened out. At least I won a small battle? She said:
"I support you as long as you're doing what's best for you and what makes you happy."
Words from my mother I never thought I'd hear. She didn't tell me "I support your transition" outright; I don't think she can say the words, but it's the best I can expect from her. I also got her to say she loved me in my full male name.
I feel better, now.
I had been feeling icky because I had this image of her with an expression of revulsion on her face, pointing her bony finger at me and telling me what I was doing was a sin. I had that image because, well, that's the mother I grew up with. That was her Hyde persona.
Jekyll wasn't so bad. We would go shopping together, walk on the beach of Lake Erie, play pretend, and, when I was really little, she would teach me lessons, She was like my own private preschool teacher. (I never went to preschool, just straight to kindergarten.)
But Hyde was never far away, and would creep out at the strangest times, becoming angry at incomprehensibly petty things, turning them into conspiracies against her or grave commissions of disrespect.
Obviously suffering from mental illness, combined with abuse from my father, a narcissist with drug abuse issues, she never sought help. My parents fought almost constantly while I was growing up, and I often got the backlash.
But now! Now is new! Now I can be the real me. I can discover myself all over again, without having to hide anything or worry about getting in trouble. Yet, that fear of getting in trouble informs my anxiety to this day. I have to isolate that fear, tell myself it's just bullshit from my childhood that doesn't apply anymore. It's out-of-date programming that needs to be overwritten with reward programming instead Taking my T shot should make me feel proud, not scared, and excited instead of like I'm sticking a dagger straight into my mother's heart.
Whenever I see her again (it may be years,) I may look very different. She may not recognize me. But if she is repulsed because I resemble my father (whom she thinks is the devil himself) , that is her damage, not mine. And anyway, that day is a long way off, since she won't fly or drive more than 15 miles from her house.
I give myself permission to feel excited and happy. It should never be dependent on what she thinks, but it makes me feel better that she is at least starting to wrap her head around having a son.
"I support you as long as you're doing what's best for you and what makes you happy."
Words from my mother I never thought I'd hear. She didn't tell me "I support your transition" outright; I don't think she can say the words, but it's the best I can expect from her. I also got her to say she loved me in my full male name.
I feel better, now.
I had been feeling icky because I had this image of her with an expression of revulsion on her face, pointing her bony finger at me and telling me what I was doing was a sin. I had that image because, well, that's the mother I grew up with. That was her Hyde persona.
Jekyll wasn't so bad. We would go shopping together, walk on the beach of Lake Erie, play pretend, and, when I was really little, she would teach me lessons, She was like my own private preschool teacher. (I never went to preschool, just straight to kindergarten.)
But Hyde was never far away, and would creep out at the strangest times, becoming angry at incomprehensibly petty things, turning them into conspiracies against her or grave commissions of disrespect.
Obviously suffering from mental illness, combined with abuse from my father, a narcissist with drug abuse issues, she never sought help. My parents fought almost constantly while I was growing up, and I often got the backlash.
But now! Now is new! Now I can be the real me. I can discover myself all over again, without having to hide anything or worry about getting in trouble. Yet, that fear of getting in trouble informs my anxiety to this day. I have to isolate that fear, tell myself it's just bullshit from my childhood that doesn't apply anymore. It's out-of-date programming that needs to be overwritten with reward programming instead Taking my T shot should make me feel proud, not scared, and excited instead of like I'm sticking a dagger straight into my mother's heart.
Whenever I see her again (it may be years,) I may look very different. She may not recognize me. But if she is repulsed because I resemble my father (whom she thinks is the devil himself) , that is her damage, not mine. And anyway, that day is a long way off, since she won't fly or drive more than 15 miles from her house.
I give myself permission to feel excited and happy. It should never be dependent on what she thinks, but it makes me feel better that she is at least starting to wrap her head around having a son.
