Giving Up

It used to be that Lent, a period of 40 days before Easter, was a time for followers of Christ to fast regularly and reflect on their shortcomings. Modern Christians usually “give up” something for Lent, often some indulgence that has become too frequent. Too many chocolate bars lately? Too much bourbon? Generally, it’s something they fully intend to indulge in again once Easter arrives!

After our daughter announced that she was a “trans man” and had started cross-sex hormones, I fell into what I still call The Great Sadness, a deep, ever-present tide of grief whose ebb and flow kept me exhausted and tearful. As Lent approached, I wondered what I should give up. It came to me that there were things I needed to let go of not temporarily, but permanently. Every year since, I have listened for what new thing I need to release. Here’s where I have come from, and where I venture next.

In 2023, I gave up expectations. Our daughter had cut us off completely. Texts which had been simply unanswered were now clearly blocked. It still stung to have my birthday ignored, but it was no surprise.

Some people say their parents expected them to be doctors or lawyers or have x number of babies. I honestly didn’t have any well-formed visions of what my children’s futures would be. However, I had expectations about what their characters would be. My husband and I tried to raise our children to be respectful and appreciative. We pushed them to do their best. We regularly acknowledged their achievements and told them we were proud of them. We tried to teach them how to take care of their bodies. We tried to lead them to have meaningful relationships with God. These don’t seem like oppressive parenting goals to me, but I think that our children interpreted them as “have to be perfect” expectations. That makes me sad, and I don’t know what we should have done differently. Letting go of those expectations also makes me sad because it feels a little like giving up on my children. And it feels like failure. Nevertheless, not expecting any meaningful communication with our trans-identified daughter has lowered my stress significantly. I brood less. I now only rarely wake up with the heavy weight in my stomach. And on the rare occasions when she initiates a text, it’s a little spark of joy for the day. Not expecting her to visit means I don’t have to worry about dealing with the drama that always comes with her.

In 2024, I gave up control. More accurately, I recognized and accepted that I don’t have any control. My daughter is a young adult, probably on the autism spectrum. She did not include us in any part of her decision to “transition.” I don’t know how much harm she has done to her body. I don’t know if she realizes that she is pretending, or whether she’s completely delusional and thinks she can actually turn herself into a male.

Like many parents in this horrible situation, I started out doing tons of research. But I sensed that sending her facts would just backfire. We decided that our best option was to let her know that we are still here, still love her, and hope that she comes to her senses one day. She did resume contact with us after eight months, and we see her occasionally (maybe once a year). Recognizing that I have no influence over her and accepting that she doesn’t have much, if any, regard for me or my knowledge or life experience has helped me negotiate this new and very superficial relationship.

In 2025, I was in church and wondering what my Lenten sacrifice would be. What should I give up this time? I heard a very clear response: resentment. Oh, that has been much, much harder. I’m still working on this one. I have been able to temper my resentment towards her rejection of herself and us because of my growing understanding that her brain is just different and she likely really doesn’t “get” some things. I recognize that she has been exploited and manipulated. I feel sorry that she has had long-term unhappiness. And I find that I can be glad that she now has some friends to hang out with and is involved in good activities like hiking and jogging.

As for the internet influencers, medical professionals, educators, and opportunistic politicians who have capitalized on unhappiness and exploited thousands of young, vulnerable people to get attention and money for themselves or to signal their supposedly superior virtue—well—as I said, I’m still working on giving up resentment.

So what will it be for 2026? I have not told more than a few close friends about my daughter’s decision. When we argued in early 2024, and she said something about “what you tell people,” I responded, “I’m not telling anyone anything. You’re an adult. This is your decision. It’s your responsibility to tell people.” Interestingly, she still has not told family members, other than her sibling.

While I still have no intention of openly advertising what she’s doing, I believe what I am to give up this year is avoidance. I have never used her chosen name, but I have tried to avoid upsetting her by addressing letters or packages simply with her last name. For a time, I avoided using any pronouns at all when talking about her with her sibling. Now I have stopped jumping through those hoops. In a note I sent her at Christmas, I used her given name. While I don’t talk about her much with her sibling, when she comes up, I refer to her by her given name and with feminine pronouns. I am preparing myself mentally for a day when someone finds out about her transition and asks me about it. What will I say? Rather than avoid the issue by side-stepping it, I will try to say something like, “My daughter is likely autistic and has been misguided into thinking that her social difficulty is because she’s the wrong sex. Now she has become obsessed with that idea and with the false notion that she can change her sex. I don’t support her decision to transition, but I will always love her.”

That love is something I will never give up.

A.M. Bear

January, 2026