The Unfinished Parable
I’m struggling with something I am ashamed to be struggling with, so I am looking for the catharsis of confession.
By way of backstory, my daughter identifies as a man. Christmas was the last time I saw her and she was clearly a mess. She’s still on our insurance so I know that since starting on testosterone she had been prescribed a cascade of medications to manage the side effects. (SSRIs, benzos, sedatives, antipsychotics - the usual dangerous cocktails). Her coping skills were tanked and you could tell at Christmas she could barely handle being out of her house. Sometime between Christmas and New Year’s, she blocked every single member of her family. I texted every day for a month, determined not to give up on her. Then, I joined Substack to connect with other families who were in this same boat.
I changed. I stopped viewing her the same. To protect myself from the sting of her rejection, I stopped seeing her as my daughter and started seeing her as the grotesque ideology that took away my daughter. When people would ask about her, I would no longer lie or protect her - I would say she is doing terribly and the trans cult is ruining her life. And it was true - even by Christmas she was telling us she was “disabled” needed a lifetime of government assistance and hadn’t had a job since spring of 2024. The testosterone was ruining her health and the cascade of side effects was disabling her. This was the story I lived in, to process and grieve my daughter. I thought about it every single day, turning my loss into an angry wall of “Guess it sucks to suck.”
Over the last six months, every other family member has been unblocked except me. I get that. I loom largest. I really was the one closest with her. I was the most vocal about the dangers of this lifestyle. My career is closely involved with de-prescribing medications, so I also intimately understood the side effects of the meds she was taking. The implied “I told you so” would scream in her ears with me.
And I am female. Her female example. I know the exact traumatic event that I experienced that drove her away from ever wanting to be a woman.
But now she wants to come to a family dinner…
….
And I’m not happy. *Exhales*
There is a story in the Bible about the prodigal son. He turns his life to crap and comes back to his father’s house. The older son, heir to everything is hurt because everyone is celebrating and he can’t find it in his heart to celebrate too. His dad rightly points out that the older son has EVERYTHING - competence, an inheritance, a life that’s not a mess, and that the older son needs to celebrate this return. The story is enduring because both sons need to repent.
What the story never says is what happens after the feast. Does the prodigal son really return? Or does he get his belly full and leave again? Does the prodigal ever change? Become a capable functioning human? Or is that never the point of the story?
And the elder brother - how does the elder brother put this wall of hurt down and just celebrate that the brother has returned if even for a time? Or does he stew the whole meal wondering if a bomb is about to go off?
I don’t even know how the elder brother would act. I’m only beginning to realize how awkward that feast truly was.
My daughter is not repentant. She’s just hungry. In past readings of the prodigal son, I always took for granted that the son was repentant. But the narrative never actually says that. He’s just broke and hungry. Yet the father still celebrates the return.
It was easy to see the elder brother as the villain of the story. Stop being so petty! But I am finding it hard to take my own advice here. I’m mad. I’m sad. I’m scared. And I’m repulsed by what she’s done to herself. I’ve not arrived at the happy moment that others have the luxury of feeling, because it’s not as personal for them. Yet, here comes the feast…
Thank you for your honesty. When I read articles in PITT I generally come away with the same reaction because most of us only go so far when we convey our personal experiences with our trans children. You have admitted the unspeakable part of this journey...the disgust. We all know how bad it is to feel disgust. You only have to recall all of the psychologists pointing out - it is the number one indicator that a couple will divorce. How, if that is the case, can we as parents admit to disgust?
My daughter has only recently started to take testosterone so I won't rule it out. So, I don't know if I will feel disgusted, but I have experienced embarrassment. That seems similar enough because it lacks unconditional love. Every Mother's Day we are reminded that disgust and embarrassment are not part of the job description, so then there is the immense guilt! That's where it goes for me...how much I must have failed to have a trans child. Because that's where I have gone in my head (that it's all my fault), I don't tell people and live holding this illusion that things will change. However, I am realizing (slowly) that this isn't about me. Maybe this is also my confession, so thank you for your example.
Before realizing this (with the help of other mothers with trans kids), it got ugly. I thought I could reason with her. When that didn't work, I bullied her and pointed out all of the reasons she wasn't really trans. I explained how hormones and surgery will hurt her body. Nothing helped until I was able to let go and not feel responsible. Don't get me wrong, she is still on the same path; I just see it more clearly and I agree with those that compare it to drug addiction.
When I am able to see that, I am overwhelmed with compassion and deep sadness for my daughter. Of course I want her to change her mind, but somehow it feels different. I think our kids know us better that we know ourselves, and she knows how much this has rattled my world and with it my self-assessment, my self-worth, my fragile sense that I can control everything. Maybe that's what this life is all about, and the trans cult is a big mirror showing us what love doesn't look like.
Again, thank you for your vulnerability and allowing me to think more deeply on this. You have so much courage and I believe that combination of honesty and strength will help you more than you know. I have no answers for you. All I know is that this experience has stripped me of my illusions and that I am holding myself less accountable, but yet also seeing her more clearly than ever. She matters to me, she matters to God, and so do you and your daughter. Try not to take it personally, because when you let that go, you'll be free.
Much love to you!
I, too, believe I am living out the story of the Prodigal Son. My middle son (at 30 yrs old!) decided he was trans and has begun to take cross sex hormones. My intelligent, ADHD, 6'4" dead-ringer for JFK Jr, son. He is my prodigal child.
The story of the Prodigal places the father in the role of THE Father, God. Faithfully waiting for the son's return. Let's be clear...when the Prodigal returns, he has repented and doesn't even ask to be welcomed back into the family. He asks to be a servant in his father's house. The father immediately dresses him in fine robes indicating his status as a son of the household, he puts shoes on his feet and orders a feast in his honor. The parable symbolizes the REPENTANCE of the son and the over whelming, all consuming, never failing love of the father in welcoming him home.
Unless - and until - your daughter "repents" or discards this false identity, she is still lost. Still a "prodigal," whether she is sitting at your table or not. You do not have to give up being honest with yourself or with her. Your clear headed voice may be the only crumbs that lead her out of this wilderness of lies. As I have told my son's other siblings, all that is required of you is kindness.