The Psychic Toll of Living a Lie

What price do we pay for living a lie? Here I’m not referring to a woman pretending to be a man - demanding that everyone affirm her new gender identity and lying to herself, telling herself that they all believe her, telling herself she is a man now. No, I’m talking about the lies required to live with someone who believes these falsehoods. There are so many lies every day – lies of omission, lies of commission, lies to her, to yourself, to others. It is exhausting.

I can’t call my daughter by her birth name – the name her father and I gave her – without a roll of her eyes or a fight. But I won’t call her by her fake, male name so I call her by a cutesy nickname we used when she was young. But she’s not young anymore. She’s 25 years old. I’m tired of lying with this fake nickname. I’m tired of lying that her rejection of her birth name doesn’t hurt.

We have no idea how to introduce her to people. We met the new neighbors last week. I couldn’t introduce her as my daughter (not with the beard) and she isn’t my son. I asked her how she wanted me to handle introductions. She told me that it’s not my problem and she will introduce herself. But she never does. She just stands there saying nothing. It’s awkward for everyone. Then she says she doesn’t enjoy social occasions. Quelle surprise! But according to her, she has a fulfilling social life and is living her best life now.

We can’t ask why she has no friends. The friends she had in high school – where are they now? The friends she said she met at the community college LGBTQA++ club who she celebrated Pride Day with last June – what’s happened to them?

Her Dad and I are getting ready to retire. We would like to travel more. We’re supposed to be empty nesters, but we lie and say we want to stay home. We are afraid to leave her alone because of her mental health issues. We never know when she will have an anxiety attack and go off the rails. Plus, it feels sad to go out knowing she is home alone and lonely. We are her social life. So, we lie.

We can’t talk about our concerns for her future. We chat with her about what job she might get after graduating from college, when what we’re really wondering is if she will be able to support herself someday. Will she be able to live alone? How will she pay for medical insurance? Will she ever have a romantic partner? Marriage? Children? A family of her own?  We swallow all of this too.

I’m sick at heart at our inability to say the obvious – that this isn’t working. Transitioning has not helped her with anything. At 19 she was a brilliant, beautiful, athletic woman going to a top university who suffered with anxiety issues. At 25 she “passes” as a disaffected, bearded, overweight man going to a local college who suffers with anxiety issues. This is what six (!) years on T has wrought. What is the point of it all? We can’t ask. We can’t say that her mental health has deteriorated. We can’t say she was not “born in the wrong body”. She’s been misdiagnosed. Most likely she is slightly autistic, a diagnosis we missed when she was younger. We can’t say any of this without her leaving the room all the while insisting that she is happy with her life.

Any attempt to broach the truth is met with resistance. We try about once a year. We screw up our courage, try to be as nonchalant as possible, and inquire about one of the above subjects. So far, our attempts have been met with one of three reactions - at best, a dismissal of our concerns; sometimes a mild reaction of “I’m not going to discuss this”; worst of all, a blow up with threats to move out and estrange herself from us again, as she did for one year already. So, we hardly ever attempt to truly talk.

We love her. We have always been there for her and always will be. But we are living a lie, just as she is. We wonder what price we are all paying for these lies. But hey, there’s a new movie on Netflix so let’s watch that together.