A Different Type of Return
Part 4 - He Didn’t Come Back the Same
During the pandemic, we tried to get help. The CAMHS referral hadn’t led to anything, so I reached out to a friend for a therapist recommendation. In truth, I don’t think they got very far. I’m not sure my son spoke much during the sessions, but at the time, it felt like the only thing we could do. I asked him if he wanted me to follow up with CAMHS, but he said no.
By 2020, restrictions had started to ease. We still couldn’t travel abroad, but we were desperate to get away as a family. My son, however, didn’t want to go. It was just one more thing in a growing list of activities he no longer wanted to do. Before the pandemic, he’d been planning a trip with scouts, route planning, gear lists, the whole process, and he’d seemed to genuinely enjoy it. But when the opportunity came to return, he said no.
We took him climbing again, something that had once brought him joy. But when he realised he wasn’t as strong or confident as before, he became upset and didn’t want to go anymore. His world was shrinking. He was withdrawing from the things that used to light him up, and growing increasingly distressed about things we couldn’t see, things happening online.
He became fixated on a game called Geometry Dash, spending hours trying to beat certain levels. When he failed, he would get angry and spiral into frustration. He no longer wanted to be in any photos. He wore long sleeves all the time, even in warm weather. At one point, I caught a glimpse of his arms and noticed he had started shaving them. It was subtle, but it spoke volumes.
Our first trip away post-lockdown was a simple camping holiday. He was miserable from the start. He didn’t want to leave his computer, didn’t want to do any activities, didn’t want to be around us. He was moody, withdrawn, and upset, physically present, but somewhere else entirely.
He stopped therapy. He said it wasn’t helping.
We tried to return to something like normal life. Most of the time, he seemed happy, at least on the surface. He still didn’t want to take part in many of our family activities, but we persevered. We kept encouraging him to come outside, to join in where he could.
We told ourselves this was just teenage angst—that it would pass. We believed we had a solid foundation: love, time outdoors, good food, movement, connection. Those were our family values. We’d built everything around them. What could possibly shake that?
When he turned 17, we finally decided to take that long-postponed trip to Fontainebleau. He didn’t want to come. But my mum lived just down the road, and she agreed to check in on him, help with meals, and make sure he was okay. We saw it as a step toward independence, letting him stay home, trusting him with a little more space.
We had a wonderful time. The kind of holiday that reminded us why we had built our lives this way in the first place. We came home refreshed, grateful.
But the bombshell dropped a month later.
The details which the mother (?) notices are subtle but significant. When you love your child/husband you notice even small changes.... and she writes in sparse, accurate prose. It is all awful, but writing in clinical detail is so, so important. Thank you!
As parents we want our child to show responsibility, and we want to trust them. We spend every day for years showing them how to live, how to act, how to care for themselves, and how to treat others by setting the examples. When my daughter was a teenager, she was sneaky, defiant, rude, and withdrawn. I was so frustrated because I was a good mother and practiced what I preached, and I did not set these negative examples. She had been sexually abused, was being bullied, and she was using drugs and alcohol to cope. She did not care about her future as she was suffocating in her day-to-day miserable existence. It was very painful to watch her struggle. Therapy helped and then didn't. She finally dropped out of school and got away from the bullying. She got her GED and started taking classes at the city college. She finally found her courage and strength and marched on into the future to her own drummer. I am 100% sure that if transgender had been the "in-thing" and she had been exposed to it she would have dove into that rabbit hole headfirst without a second glance. I am grateful we were spared what all of you and even my own sister has gone through. I read these PITT stories, and I think about my nephew, and I remember how he acted and how he treated my sister and her husband. I still find it shocking that he actually got caught up in this cult, but he did. I enjoy your writing style, and I eagerly wait for the next chapter. There is, however, a sense of doom looming.