And I’m loving how it feels! The shift, I mean. And yes, this is about my daughter, but has nothing to do with her relationship to her trans identity. I have very little idea about where she is in all that, mainly because it seems of little importance and I don’t give it–well gosh, I don’t think I give it any brainspace anymore.
No, this shift is in our relationship, her emotional maturity, my understanding of how she’s showing up in her world, her psychic inheritance, and who it seems she thinks I am now. And it’s no longer the Bad Guy. Unfortunately, it took another “bad guy” for her to recognize that maybe I’m not one. Or at least that’s what I make of what’s happening.
So, I’ll dive into the events that led to this latest awareness and the high I’m currently experiencing as the love continues to flow my way. (For now anyway.) I find the details rather amusing, so I’ll do my best to capture those that are both relevant and entertaining (in case it’s not been apparent, I have a dark sense of humor that seems to have transferred to my kid, so be warned. Also, this ended up quite long with me waxing philosophical for awhile. I try to do less of that in these personal reflections, but it sure felt like it needed to come through me in this one.)
My daughter called me (not her dad this time) a couple weeks ago, breathless, and seeking support. She’d just had to call 911 to request emergency response for her roommate who’d accidentally embedded a knife in her hand. We weren’t able to get all the details on that call, but I could hear how jacked up my kid was and as I was letting her go so she could get to the emergency room and be with her friend, I could hear a tremble enter her voice as she started to come down off the adrenaline rush of the incident.
There was quite a bit of texting for awhile, and I commended my girl on keeping it together and doing what she needed to do to get her friend the necessary response.
Much later that evening, she called again and shared more details that helped me put the pieces together as to what happened. It was just a mindless accident, similar to the one that caused my own scar on and nerve damage in my left hand. Also in my early adulthood, I was alone when it happened. I managed to wrap my hand and drive myself to the emergency room, and somehow also managed to smoke a cigarette on my way there. It was a surreal experience, and I certainly wished at the time that I wasn’t enduring it alone, but I had just left my first marriage and was 1000 miles away from family. Feels like such a different lifetime now…
My daughter spoke of her friend with much admiration. They weren’t able to drive her because they were advised not to pull the knife out of the wound, and K (I’ll refer to my daughter’s friend/roommate as K) couldn’t move well with the large knife jutting out and the pain it was causing. My kid mentioned K’s comedic genius when, upon intake to the ER, she joked about “bringing breakfast”. I didn’t realize until the second call, that K had actually pinned a bag of frozen hashbrowns to her hand, and quite some time passed before the knife was removed since X-rays and bloodwork had to be performed prior to the procedure.
During this late night call, now on the other side of the ER visit, K’s hand stitched up and everyone (including their other roommate and my kid’s “boyfriend” who’s not actually a boy) finally home and able to start to decompress from the day’s exciting events, my daughter was in good spirits and had even made a meme from a picture she’d taken of K’s bloody hand, still with knife, hashbrowns and all.
My husband had just the previous day told my daughter a story of a scar on his hand (Anyone else out there with a stupid story to accompany a scar on your hand? Who knew this was so common?!) As a young adult, he’d sliced open the meaty part under his thumb while trying to cut a frozen bagel in half. In his bagel themed text exchange with our daughter, he’d sent a photo of his scar to her with the comment “bagel’s gonna win in the end.” She texted her meme to me during our conversation, “hashbrowns gonna win in the end.”
I was so impressed with the humor they maintained, and loved the way these girls were taking care of their distressed friend. At the same time, the incident really tapped into and highlighted the tense relationship K currently has with her adoptive mother who lives on the same block but who did not show up during any part of the episode. I don’t know much of her story, only what my daughter has told me, but I find myself grateful (though not without some other complicated feelings here) for the contrast my daughter sees between our mothering styles.
I didn’t know K before she and my daughter became roommates. (K goes by plural pronouns, and I don’t know if this is a new development, or just new to me. I’ll continue to refer to her using female pronouns as that aligns with my belief system. When talking with my daughter, I am careful to avoid pronoun usage; but because I value clear communication, when a pronoun seems necessary, I go with what is most accurate according to my understanding of the language. If this phases my daughter, she no longer shows it.)
With careful curiosity I’ve discovered my daughter’s assessment of K’s relationship with her mother. I’m well aware that I don’t know all the details, even from K’s point of view. I know only the version that has been filtered through my daughter’s lens. I don’t want to reinforce any sort of divisiveness, yet find myself in an interesting position as additional details come to light.
When we made our decision to take Christmas to my girl who can’t afford the time off work to visit home for the holiday, I let my daughter know that any of her friends were welcome to participate in any of our festivities while we’re there. She let me know then that K would not be spending Christmas with her family, and I asked if K would want to be with us over the holiday. My daughter said that K had plans to spend some time with their other roommate’s family and would likely stay home on Christmas with her cat–not wanting to experience the pain of witnessing someone else’s loving family. (Or at least this is what I gathered from our communication.)
A few days after the ER incident, K’s mom texted her to let her know that K had been removed from the family’s insurance plan. Again, I don’t know much about the details here–only my daughter’s assessment of this action. Her words were “appalling” and “heinous.” I reflected her feelings without claiming them for myself (but also without challenging her because I’ve learned that only causes her to dig in on whatever the topic is and I’m aware that she’s bumping around in the adult world and discovering her personal values,) and I expressed empathy for both her and K with comments like, “I imagine that must be very painful for K,” and “I can tell how much this upsets you. You obviously care very deeply about your friend.”
Of course, the situation brought up practical concerns as well since the three roommates live in an expensive city and all work at customer service jobs. K would clearly miss some work, presenting some financial challenges. My daughter assured me, “but we’re figuring it out.” Every time she says something like this, it makes my heart burst open a little–in a good way! It demonstrates that she’s absorbed this lesson that I worked so hard to model and to instill. And I think it increases her chances of doing just that–of figuring it out. Whatever it is. I absolutely love that this is the story she has about herself.
I also love the we in that sentence, “we’re figuring it out.” Not only does she bring her own confidence but it’s rippling out into the household. So I do my best to reinforce that as well. I recently texted, “You all seem to have such a fun and caring little community. I’m glad you all have each other.” She replied with, “I’m glad too”
Now, I think it’s important to understand that if you saw the way these girls were living–the messy house, the body piercings, the music they listen to–you may not assess this all as positively as it may seem that I do. But the truth of it is this: she’s not safe. Life isn’t safe, and she’s in a very precarious phase of it, and there are plenty of risks to the lifestyle she’s currently choosing. (Though I’m relieved that it appears that this isn’t a big party crowd, at least when it comes to substance use.)
Also, even though every single one of the people my daughter considers part of her tightknit community identifies as something other than their birth sex, I don’t get the sense that there’s any pressure for her to pursue medicalizing her identity. I know this is such a blessing, and that many parents reading this have children in environments where intense pressure is part of the equation. I also know things could change at any point in my daughter’s circumstance (her medicalized bestie that’s away at college will also likely be around for the holidays.)
I certainly remain grateful that my daughter’s Life is full enough and her finances tight enough that taking on medicalization doesn’t even seem doable–or so I imagine. But I also don’t get the sense that this takes up much of her mental space either. I think now that she’s on her own, and she knows that she’s in charge of her own experience–or at least that I’m not going to attempt to take charge and quite the opposite, I will always give that responsibility back to her (but hopefully in a way that she knows we’re here as her safety net)—that the allure of a body redesign is less appealing.
It’s interesting. When I check in with myself emotionally, what I land on is that I have truly “let go.” I don’t fear a future of medicalization. I don’t fear my daughter’s future at all. I am well aware that she’s not safe (none of us are) and that there is pain in her future. And that she’ll learn so much about herself through that pain. As I did through the most painful of experiences, and still do.
If something tragic were to happen, to either of my children, it would create devastating pain. I’d be forever changed, but I believe I’m strong enough to hold that type of pain. (Stoics encourage making peace with worst case scenarios.) When my son wanted to take up mountain biking, and I learned how common broken necks are in that sport, I had a choice. I could dissuade him or flat out refuse for safety reasons, or I could make peace with worst possible outcomes and equip him with the confidence to live his best Life–which ultimately, only he can decide what that means.
“But this is different!” I hear you saying. Yes, it is different. But not so much to our kids. If we could find the confidence in ourselves and in our children to not treat it like it’s so different, but to approach it as I’ve come to believe is the most sound way for parents to approach anything once our kiddos reach adolescence, but especially by the time they’re adults (as a “consultant” rather than a “manager”,) we empower them to figure out for themselves what best enriches their lives and honors who they are.
(Also for clarity’s sake, this doesn’t mean facilitating any concretization of the identity. It’s important to put well-informed boundaries in place that are grounded in your values. Especially when our kids’ welfare is still legally our responsibility. But even after they’ve left home, it’s important for you to be in integrity with your values. This is going to mean something different to everyone.)
To be an effective consultant, there has to be a healthy detachment from the outcomes. And I think this is the most difficult thing for this generation of parents to achieve. It certainly takes a leap of faith, and our current culture has a poor relationship with faith. “Faith in what?” you may be asking. For me, I found faith in Life itself, and the very human capacity to “figure it out.” It’s just who we are. In most situations, I believe if we have diminished capacity it’s because our environments didn’t foster this orientation toward resilience.
Each of us comes equipped with the blueprint for thriving in the world. Whether or not we do depends on the conditions of our environment. And also, shit happens. Tragic accidents that do indeed diminish our capacity, f-ed up cultural values, systems that seem to work against our best interests, we have much stacked against us as parents. So what’s left for us? How can we make an impact or have influence over our children’s healthiest outcomes?
I think we do it by believing in them. Having faith in their capacity and communicating this to them with our words, our actions, and our modeling. This will not be the last dangerous decoy on their paths to authentic, rich lives full of meaning and purpose. How do we ensure they have what it takes to handle what Life will throw at them? I suspect things in the culture will get darker and more precarious before a lighter era settles in again.
So, my m.o. is to ensure my daughter knows that she’s got this and that when in caring community, she’s as golden as it gets. Some of these kids will reject the responsibility for their experience–it feels too heavy and they want something outside of their agency to blame when things feel painful or overwhelming. If this is where your kid is, it will take a slow, patient shift in the dynamic to bolster her self-confidence.
I am not going to spend a lot of time on the “how to” in this piece; besides, it all starts with first believing what I’m saying here. If this isn’t resonating for you, then this won’t work for you anyway. If you’re mind is filling with, “but, my kid is different (immature, behind the curve, neurodivergent, anxious and depressed, etc),” it’s quite likely your kid is on the same page with you and does not trust their own capacity.
I expect I’ll likely get some blowback on this one. And yes, I’m well aware there are forces out there that make this more difficult than ever. Yes, ideally there would be more social and institutional guardrails when it comes to permanent body modification. Unfortunately, we birthed our children into this time and place.
With this in mind, how can we best equip them to deal with the crazy shit they’re going to encounter–the scary things we couldn’t have dreamed up if we’d tried?