Who knows, maybe we’ll even be able to share a laugh or two

I am not a parent of a trans-identifying child, so I’m grateful to PITT for allowing me to publish here. I have my own reasons for needing anonymity.

I have been a political leftist for as long as I have had a political consciousness, and a feminist for nearly as long. My family are all Democrats who believe whatever MSNBC and the New York Times tell them to believe. I reached “peak trans” in the mid-2010s. 

I was 16 years old when my cousin, the daughter of my father’s brother, was born. Because our fathers are identical twins, our families have always been close. She had a traumatic childhood, including the tragic death of an older brother and the suicide of her abusive mother. Both occurred when she was 10. Her older brother was an amazing kid and she really looked up to him. She wanted to do what he did. Her brother played soccer, so she wanted to play too. She had an enormous poster of Mia Hamm on her bedroom wall. She wanted to wear baggy pants and t-shirts. In other words, she wanted to be able to do the “cool boy stuff” instead of the “dumb girl stuff.” Her mother wouldn’t have any of it, instead forcing her into pink dresses and pigtails with ribbons on them. She hated it. 

My cousin and I had always been very close, and I did my best to help her grow into a smart, strong, capable and independent young woman. After her mother died, as she grew into adulthood, my cousin abandoned the stereotypes of femininity completely. She wore cargo pants and combat boots. She wore her hair in a buzz cut. She took up rock-climbing and became very good at it.

At some point in her mid-twenties, she came out as a lesbian. To be honest, I don’t really remember a dramatic “coming out.” One day, she just introduced the family to her girlfriend. My liberal family was very accepting of their relationship. I don’t recall it being any kind of big deal.

At one point in the mid-2010s, her girlfriend moved to the city where I was living, and they carried on their relationship long-distance. One day, during the 2016 presidential election, my cousin texted me, letting me know she was visiting and wondering if I wanted to hang out. “Sure!”, I said. “There’s a political rally on Saturday afternoon. Why don’t you and your girlfriend come over in the morning? I’ll make us all brunch and we can make signs and then go to the rally.” “lol that sounds awesome,” she responded.

I started to see the signs in the late 2010s. By that time, her attitude toward nonconformity with sex stereotypes had started to shift. As a confirmed lefty feminist, I’m all for women who refuse to conform to feminine sex stereotypes. But as a TERF, I could see that her attitude seemed to shift from “I am a woman who proudly refuses to conform to feminine sex stereotypes” toward “I am a man, and I am going to act like one.” I probably wouldn’t have noticed the signs if it weren’t for my understanding of the harms of “gender identity.” But I did.

One day her girlfriend put up a Facebook post along the lines of, “I’m reading Judith Butler on the subway and I couldn’t be happier!” and I knew it was all over. In normal times, the sentence I just typed would sound absurd. But these are not normal times, and readers of this Substack will understand what I mean immediately.

Sure enough, one day I (along with several family members, including my father and his identical twin), got the email message: “I am transgender. Please refer to me using they/them pronouns.” The message contained some other things, but readers get the gist. Even though I had seen it coming, it knocked the wind out of me. That was probably sometime in 2018 and she would have been around 30 years old.

I lay down on the sofa, had a bit of a cry, and picked my computer back up, unsure what I was going to do. By that time, my father had replied-all along the lines of, “Congratulations! We support you!” 

I sent her a message (without replying-all) very cautiously suggesting she consider all the implications of what she was doing. Her terse response was, “My gender is not up for debate!” I had been a TERF long enough by then to know that if I wanted to maintain a relationship with her, I needed to leave well enough alone. 

No one in my family knew at the time that I was a TERF (or what a TERF even was). But they would soon find out. The next several years were a minefield. I sent my parents everything I could find on the topic - the feminist analyses, the 11th Hour Blog, and everything by Colin Wright. PITT didn’t exist at the time, but if it had, I would have sent them PITT essays and newsletters too. I don’t think they read any of it. There were several tearful phone calls in which I begged them to think carefully about what they were supporting and imploring them to try to get her to change her mind. Because her mother passed away so long ago, my parents had a lot of influence in her life and I thought there was a chance they could have made a difference. I don’t think they understood the implications of what was happening. I think they just thought she was adopting a cool new identity. At one point they told me to stop sending them stuff and I did. Our relationship has been cordial, but tense, ever since.

A short time thereafter, my cousin posted a YouTube video on Facebook. The video is around three minutes long and recounts her double mastectomy. Someone (I have no idea who) had literally taken photos of her binding her breasts pre-mastectomy, signing admission paperwork at the hospital, and lying on her hospital bed, pre-op. Someone took pictures of her awakening from the surgery. Technicians draining the surgical site and removing surgical tape. Everyone smiling and hugging. Then, of course, there are pictures of her standing in her apartment, shirtless, scars prominently displayed and face smiling. All put together in a video collage. The sound in the video alternates between religious music and her reading a poem condemning her dead mother for her abusive behavior. At the time, it was the most cult-like thing I had ever seen. Sometime after that, she posted selfies shooting herself up with testosterone. Then came the music videos of her singing and playing guitar, her face covered in hair and her voice unrecognizable. I unfollowed her without unfriending her. I couldn’t bear the videos. 

I attribute my cousin’s “trans” identity to two things:

1. As a child, she desperately wanted to be male, like her older brother; now, with the help of a little medical technology and Big Pharma, she can (pretend to) be one.

2. She has some very legitimate residual anger toward her deceased mother; this is her way of giving her mother the middle finger, in death. 

It has been just over five years since she decided she was “transgender,” had her breasts removed, and started poisoning herself with testosterone. Miraculously, my family hasn’t cut me out of their lives, but we are forbidden from discussing the topic of “trans.” I recently made a little bit of headway with my mother, who understands the problems with men competing in women’s sports and still uses she/her pronouns to describe my cousin (though she got very upset at me when I referred to my cousin using her “deadname” and made it obvious she is not interested in hearing anything critical from me about the use of exogenous testosterone in female bodies).

I haven’t seen my cousin in over five years. Even though I unfollowed her on Facebook all those years ago, every once in a while, I lurk on her page to see what she’s up to. A few months ago, she posted a video rant against TERFs. I had to laugh. She and I have texted off and on, but not with any regularity. Every time she responds to a text of mine, I am shocked that she hasn’t blocked my number. But she hasn’t, still, to this day, which gives me hope. Readers of this Substack understand why. 

Her birthday was last month. I texted her a happy birthday message and invited her to have a phone call. I am terrified to have such a conversation because I don’t know if I can bear the sound of her testosterone altered voice. But I wanted to make the offer. To my utter shock, she responded, wondering what I wanted to talk about. “Anything, really,” I said. “The craziness of the 2024 presidential election? The weather? I don’t want to debate you about gender, if you’re worried about that.” I didn’t hear anything for several weeks, and I assumed she was just ignoring me. But then I got a response letting me know that her dog had gotten sick and died. I expressed my sincere condolences. There will be a family wedding this fall and she asked if I’m going to the wedding. I confirmed that I am. “We can catch up then,” she said. “I’m just too exhausted to talk at the moment.”

My parents seem to have assumed over the years that, because I am a TERF I don’t accept my cousin as a human being. They have come right out and said as much. That’s ridiculous, of course, and I have no idea why they think that. I don’t know what’s going to happen during my family wedding this fall. I am desperate for her to stop killing herself with testosterone and to re-embrace herself as a woman and a lesbian. I will never stop hoping for that. But she hasn’t blocked my phone number and she’s willing to talk with me in person this fall. And if all goes well, the rest of my family will see that we are capable of talking with one another. Who knows, maybe we’ll even be able share a laugh or two.