Letter to My Son

I am writing this to share with you what is in my heart. It is about both of us, and I have written it because I love you…

I have had a fair amount of experience with loss.

When I was 15, I lost my Dad.

When I was 20, I lost my brother.

When I was around 52, I lost you to the virtual world, most notably to MMORPG (for the lay person that is “massively multiplayer online role-playing games”) but also to much else that goes on in that ‘world’.

Now, I’ve lost you to transgender ideation.

Of all my losses, losing you is the hardest and most painful.

I have learned that borderline personality disorder and the mindset present in transgender ideology are similar.

In these, nuance and grey areas no longer exist. Exploring alternative understandings of interpersonal relationships is futile and exploring alternative explanations for how things turn out is a no-go. I have suffered terribly because of this, and still do. I was made out to be the problem in my own home for many years. I think, sadly, that this was imprinted on you. I almost got to the point of believing that I was the ogre I was made out to be. In so doing, I nearly lost my personhood.

I had to work very hard to regain my sense of being a person of worth and to de-ogreize myself in my own mind. I am not the ogre I was made out to be. Sadly, my hope that you would one day see me for the person I am has faded.

Like all families we had both good times and bad times. Easy times and difficult times.

I thought I had, at least in part, role-modelled dealing with adversity and sadness: your grandfather’s death, your brother’s diabetes, your mother’s mental health issues and her injuries, your grandmother’s dementia, your extreme distress in your matric year, not to mention the many challenges I have faced at work. You have had much adversity to deal with too. I am sorry if I fell short in passing on skills to deal with adversities and distress.

It is now increasingly recognised that the envelopment of the planet in smartphones took off around 2011 and this coincides with a global upsurge in adolescent mental distress. This is when you entered the virtual world, just as you were entering an extremely vulnerable stage of your development. I tried to obtain a balance on this but struggled. I did not know how. This is something that parents of my generation had never had to confront before.

A lot is being written about this now, including how developing brains are altered by prolonged screen exposure. Many children and adolescents were/are under-protected in the virtual world, while being overprotected in the real world (credit: Jonathan Haidt), both of which may lead to mental illness. And even now, over a decade later, mental health experts, scientists, philosophers, and parents are still trying to work out how best to protect children and adolescents from the adverse influences and effects of the virtual world.

For your entire life, I showed up. Every single day of your life, I showed up. Despite all the adversity I had to face in my home, I showed up. I went to work, I earned our keep, I made a lovely home, I created a beautiful garden. When your mother was injured, I cooked for everyone, for months, including your granny and all the carers. I took care of your brother. I went to work each day. There were times when I didn’t know if everyone would be alive when I got home from work. I was broken, but I still showed up. Even while you were spending hours and hours in my house on the internet, I was showing up, going to work, no matter how good or bad I felt, earning a salary to support you and your education.

Still, in my interactions with you, I get called names. Conversations I might like to have about divorce or administration and finances are shut down, shouted down, gaslit, often with deeply hurtful, disparaging words. I suppose you can do this because you frame me as an adulterer, and someone who has ‘traumatised you all your life’. I am not able to engage with this any longer.

I must accept that this is how it will always be, so ingrained in you is your negative construct of me, your explanatory truths. I had hoped that the therapy with your psychologist would help. But the opposite seems true.

In December, when trying to get your housemate to pay his rent, his final communication to me was:

“I paid your money, pig. You genuinely are a terrible person and I hope you realise that one day, when everyone who ever loved you has left.”

I reject the ogre-ization of me, I reject the name calling, and I reject the notion that I traumatised you throughout your life. I reject your disparagement of me, and your constant reminding me of that disparagement every time you call me ‘dad’. I deserve better. So do you.

Over the last few months, I have done a lot of work finding out about ‘gender’. Co-incidentally, since you told me you are ‘transgender’ there has been an explosion of new developments worldwide related to gender. WPATH (your psychiatrist is a current member) has been exposed for what it is, and the Cass Review in the UK has highlighted the lack of evidence for medicalizing gender-distress.

It is my extensive review of evidence and science that has led me to understand how deeply problematic the medicalisation of gender distress is, and how committing you to a life of opposite sex hormones is not based on proper scientific process, nor good quality medical evidence. The adverse effects of men taking estrogen are well known, and you have been exposed to risk of serious harm. I cannot support this in any way, including financially. My search for understanding on this has been driven by my love for you and my concern for your well-being. I would be happy to discuss with you what I know and think about this, if ever you would like to do that.

I will continue to support you with kindness. And I am still open to talking with you about stress and distress in our family home. Should you choose a psychotherapeutic approach that seeks to understand the complex etiology of your distress, and that bases a treatment pathway on evidence-based best practice, I will support that too.

Should you ever choose to come back to me, I will be there for you, as a landing pad, a sounding board, a loving father, and friend. While I have little hope that this will ever happen, I have not lost hope entirely. I will hold on to this thread of hope until the day I die.

Perhaps we can use ‘dad’ as a signal. Carry on calling me ‘dad’ for as long as you need. If the day ever comes when you are ready to restore a meaningful relationship with me, you could signal that with ‘Dad’, that’s all.

Of all my losses, losing you is the hardest and most painful.