I was robbed multiple times

First it stole her appearance: her beautiful long blonde hair, her brightly-colored dresses and skirts, her crystal-blue eyes and vibrant smile. It left her looking like a homeless person, with unkempt hair, baggy, ill-fitting clothes, poor hygiene and dead eyes.

Then it stole her outlook and world view. Someone who was once a high-achieving and positive student leader morphed into a sullen, angry victim who came close to failing high school courses.

Next it stole our happy family dynamic. We were a fun, close family that enjoyed traveling together, playing board games, watching movies. Now the atmosphere is tense and guarded.

It stole her ability to receive and give affection. Gone are the days of snuggling on a couch, hugging her tightly, and physically letting her know that I am there for her. She winces, cringes, and gets angry when touched.

Then it stole the joy of the milestones of adolescence: middle school graduation, performances in school plays, high school graduation, and prom were all clouded with weird outfits, public pronouncements of her “new name” and avoidance of her d@$d name, awkward conversations with other parents, and not even wanting to take photos because looking at what she’s done to herself is overwhelming. I’m left with photos that break my heart every time they appear on my phone or screen saver.

It stole the past. Her “lived experience” requires me to deny mine. To her, there is no daughter, no sister, no granddaughter, no emerging young woman in this household. She never ACTUALLY liked dress up or princesses or makeup. I had no right to name her what I did. Eighteen years of child rearing, of sacrifice, of unconditional love, mean nothing. There is no past - just her present identity.

It stole my present. Instead of focusing on taking care of my aging parents, surviving menopause with health and humor, and just living in the moment, I was left with worry, with anger, with guilt, with fear, with desperation. I fall asleep praying for her rescue and wake up wondering if the day might bring some new bombshell about her identity.

It may very well steal her future. She is on the cusp of throwing away her health, her breasts, her ability to have children, her whole history - just to cosplay an identity she will never truly become. For every word, every mannerism, every reaction, everything about her is female. Try as she might to manspread, wear size 32 men’s pants at 100 pounds, artificially lower her voice, and “act like a man,” the body does not lie. When she lets her guard down, or she’s excited, or stressed, or emotional, the body returns to its natural state of being: female.

It has been a long, slow, painful series of thefts. I can’t identify the perpetrator. It is elusive, relentless, sinister, and stealthy. It wears me down. There’s very little left to steal from me - except my memories, my convictions, and my hope. I will hold onto them until my last breath.