My Journey of Forgiveness

I’ve been thinking lately of forgiveness and what role it plays in my own health and well-being. I’ve been thinking about it in the context of my trans-identifying son and why it would be important for me to forgive him.

Having facilitated trauma healing groups, I understand the importance of working through trauma and eventually finding a place of forgiveness, but I had not thought of it in the context of my now trans-identifying son. I began to recognize the betrayal I felt from my son as a source of unforgiveness lingering in my heart. My son has been on the self-destructive path of attempting transition for a few years now.

It became clear to me that I needed and wanted to forgive my son along with the many others who have fed this destructive ideology in his life and celebrated the character he now portrays. It became an opportunity for me to further let go of my son, whom I love, recognizing that the only thing I can do for him is to pray for him and be ready for his return when that day comes.

It also became obvious to me that unforgiveness was beginning to take a toll on me physically and emotionally. Life is for the living and I have lots of reasons to truly live - a loving family, a beautiful grandbaby, a good job, volunteer work I love to do, places I love to visit - I cannot remain in unforgiveness and allow the eventual resulting bitterness to take up residence in my heart and spill over into other areas of my life, poisoning those whom I love and others I come in contact with during my day.

Unforgiveness was becoming a wall keeping me from right relationship with my Heavenly Father and right relationship with others. The anger, bitterness and unforgiveness had been fighting for space in my heart, pushing love further and further aside. I don’t want to be an angry, bitter person. I want to fully love and speak truth, not allow unforgiveness and bitterness to dictate my attitude and actions.

To forgive my son I needed to acknowledge again just what he’s done and how he’s hurt my family and me over these past few years. I had to face the blunt rejection, the angry texts full of f-bombs, the silence, the put-downs, the accusations, the attempt to educate my other sons on the “real world” of transgender ideology. I could not afford to ignore or deny any wound he’s inflicted. I reminded myself that I choose to forgive him not for his sake (at this point, he really couldn’t care less, in fact he’d be indignant over the suggestion that I needed to forgive him for anything at all), but for my sake, for my health and well-being. To forgive him is to free myself from the chains that weigh me down and keep me attached to him in an unhealthy way. It’s another kind of letting go that will bring me some measure of peace. I am reminded of Dickens’s Christmas Carol, when Marley appears to Scrooge imprisoned by chains of his own forging, dragging them behind him. I think of the chains of unforgiveness towards my son (and others who contributed to this mess) that have imprisoned me, hindering me from living and loving life freely, keeping me far too focused on trying to reach him, to bring him back. I don’t want to be a ghost of my former self.

To forgive, I had to acknowledge that it was never going to be a “one and done” experience. Layer upon layer of hurt and grief becomes exposed in my day and each time I must choose to forgive him again…and again.

As I recalled the many people, some nameless and faceless, who have allied themselves with him, who have groomed or lured or lied to him, who have encouraged, “counselled,” affirmed, love-bombed him and celebrated each step towards annihilating the wonderful, handsome young man he truly is, I wrote them down too….

The ask-no-questions, turn-a-blind-eye, affirmation-only “doctor(s),” happy to prescribe the cross-sex hormones he was seeking.

The “therapist(s),” who would never think to address other possibilities for his struggles, insecurities and depression.

The “real trans women” (in other words, biological men) he speaks of who are his source of “inspiration” and daily encouragement, coaching him on the next thing.

The well-meaning, but equally deceived friends who might have been voices of reason, but instead joined him in the fantasy and became allies.

The university who not only allowed this ideology (along with others) to run rampant on its campus unchallenged, but promoted, indoctrinated and discipled its students.

The university’s “Christian” dorm, who promised to “take care” of our son so far away from home, who failed to uphold our faith and values despite its promises to do so. Empty promises. (Maybe they did the best they could while attached to a secular university?)

The province I live in who issued his new ID, with his new chosen name and who colluded with the lie that he is now female by printing an “F” on his ID. (Why? Because he said so. So easy.)

The legal system that allows my son to file a complaint of harassment against me should I refer to him by his true name and sex.

The powers that be in my country who have decided to outlaw so-called conversion therapy, leaving therapists no means to challenge trans self-identification, or to explore deeper issues of trauma, depression or other mental illnesses as the true cause of distress. Nor did they give parents any other option for help. In terms of therapy or counselling, affirmation is the only pathway. (Unless you can find a therapist who’s willing to go rogue.)

His employer, who simply changed his name on his paystub and celebrated his poor choices.

The list continued…the bullies, the people who embarrassed him or made him feel like he was different because he was smart and sensitive….on and on I wrote, reviewing his childhood, adolescence and young adulthood, thinking of the people who have hurt him on his way and contributed to his confusion and his response resulting in unhealthy choices. There were some who intentionally hurt my son, some were well-meaning or oblivious to their hurtful words or actions. It was my son’s responsibility to work through these normal life challenges all of us face, and I think he was trying to do that when he came across the promise of a cure-all snake oil…certainly the answer to all this pain must be cross-sex hormones, feminizing voice lessons, surgery (hopefully he will not make that choice) make-up and a skirt. 🙄

Finally, I choose to forgive myself for the times I knew I had failed him (I’m sure there were many), situations he pointed out that I attempted to make amends for, for not being there at times when he needed me or for the times he said he didn’t need me and I should have pushed back and been present anyway. I can see my mistakes, they loom large. I feel deep regret over words spoken and unspoken, actions taken and not taken. I know that I’m a “good” but imperfect mom, yet this journey has left me feeling like I rarely do or say the right thing when it comes to my son. I have sought my son’s forgiveness in text, in person, in writing, but he does not answer. I must also choose to forgive him for his silence, for this estrangement.

I choose to forgive because I am acutely aware of and humbled by my own need for forgiveness. I choose to forgive not in my own strength, but in His. I choose to forgive daily, layer upon layer. I choose to forgive out of obedience to God because I need to be free, and because I also need forgiveness.

To J, my beloved son, please forgive me…I forgive you…I love you…always and forever.