Unmade Memories

A mother's sadness & unconditional love for her gender confused son

Helping you pick out a tux for Homecoming. Coaching you on asking someone to go to the dance with you. Teaching you how to drive. Helping you to dream and plan which college you will be attending in just a few years. These are the sorts of decisions I thought I would be helping you with as you entered your first year of high school.

These are the questions your friends are working through. I see my friends sharing photos on social media of their boys—your friends, who you have gone to school with for years. These kids are attending dances; they are going to school events, and participating in clubs and hobbies.

I envy them. I find myself longing for those memories that I no longer think you and I will get to make.

How can my sweet sweet boy think he was born into the wrong body? How could anyone put that idea into your innocent head?

You showed not one sign of ever feeling uncomfortable that you are a boy.

Did something happen to you at school? Did anyone hurt you?

I can only guess, because all you do is echo that refrain that all parents in my situation seem to hear from their kids: “It is just how I feel”.

I wish you would confide in me as you do with those kids who you call friends. Those kids who think they know you, but truly don’t. I wish you knew that, in the end, no one could ever love you more than I do, which is with all of my being. After all, I am your mother, the one who, before you were conceived, prayed for you. The one who cried tears of joy at the sight of those two lines on my pregnancy test because my dream of finally becoming a mother was coming true. When you came into our lives and your dad and I could have not been happier. We had prayed for you for such a long time. You and your siblings complete our world—you know that.

I wonder: how did we get to this? Did I give you too much freedom with your phone and computer? Is this my fault? You never gave us reasons to ever worry or suspect that anything bad could ever happen. We taught you to be safe. You always had good grades at school and were a great kid. You’re still a great kid, of course, underneath. It’s not your fault that you were groomed by strangers. People, who had nothing better to do, took advantage of you. They saw a vulnerable child.

Never in a million years did I envision that this could happen. That my teen could fall prey to a cult that would convince you to modify your healthy body. I am so upset, furious to find that we can’t even get you the support that you so desperately need. If I take you to a therapist, s/he will automatically affirm your feelings, cementing your path to surgery and drugs. We can’t even count on school professionals because they too have been brainwashed into this ideology. I’m afraid, because they can take you away from us if I don’t tread carefully.

How can your friends, your true friends, who have known you for years, think that you are right? Don’t they remember growing up with you and seeing no signs? Can’t they see that this is just crazy? That none of this makes sense. Of course they can, but they feel that they must play along. It’s the thing to do.

I wish you would understand that feeling uncomfortable with your body is part of growing up. You are just child, still growing, and hating your body doesn’t mean you have to change it.

For now,  I will continue to read more about this monster that has taken over my life and yours. I will continue to love you and, although at the end I will love you no matter what, I hope and pray that you come out of this unharmed and you find yourself again. And that you will still have the chance to make those high school memories, and to have those coming of age experiences that I dreamed of for you—and that you deserve. I will continue to pray for all of the children and parents going through this. May God protect our children and end this cult.