My wife died when my daughter was 12-years-old. A good death, if there is such a thing, would have been bad enough. My wife did not have a good death. There were many unnecessary layers of trauma inflicted on my daughter surrounding my wife’s illness and death.
I found a psychologist in a community two hours away that listed “gender disorders” as one of her specialties. At the first meeting, after only five minutes of talking to our daughter privately, the therapist informed us that transgender is no big deal. She said it was easy for girls to become boys. “Just start wearing cargo pants and wear your hat backwards.” She also said all teenagers sleep with everybody regardless of sex nowadays, anyway. And, “Any day that your kid is still alive is a good day.“
At some point during 7th grade she renamed herself Jake online, which I only discovered following an endless online chain. At the end of 7th grade she entered a partial hospitalization program for severe depression, anxiety and cutting. It was then that we became more aware of her transgender thinking.
She withdrew from her friends and family over a period of a year and a half. Over time, many more connections were made online with incredibly dysfunctional people. In seventh grade, she became engrossed in the online world far more than we were aware.
She can still only recite what I consider the online mantra of explanation of being transgender. Her tolerance for any other views is limited.
A year ago, when our teen was 14, she told me she was pansexual. This announcement came shortly after joining the middle school Gay-Straight Alliance (GSA) as an "ally". Fast forward 3 months and she tells us she is a trans female-to-male (FTM). There were no signs at all until that day when she came out as pansexual.
We had agreed to let her see an endocrinologist after six months of therapy, but the therapist neglected to tell us that this meant instant hormones.
She obsessed about her looks and image. Beginning junior high, she was determined to fit in with the popular kids, until she decided the girls in this group were mean. She then joined the "misfit" group, took on a new style of clothing, and adopted a strange adoration for phobias and disorders. Her eating disorder worsened, and she was online much too often, where she was exposed to unwelcome sexual advances, porn, boys sending her dick pics, etc. She started isolating herself from friends, chatting with boys online and spiraled into deep depression and self-harm.
Limiting the phone became a power struggle and she began to self-harm to manipulate us into having her phone. She has been in treatment for her eating disorder and seems disturbingly all too comfortable with being "disordered."
She has Asperger’s, now termed autism spectrum disorder (ASD). She has always been “high functioning”.
She is so caught up in this she has herself thinking that she was always trans. She tells us she was always trans because she didn’t like pink frilly things or dresses. She has always had sensory issues with clothing but never wanted male clothes. Never did she say she was a boy or wanted to be. I have yet to find a professional that would consider her diagnosis of ASD to possibly be driving this.
“Please wake up! Please wake up!” I wish I could scream that to my daughter some days.
I am desperate. My 14 year old daughter just told me that she is trans. These past weeks have felt like a hundred years.
Before this happened we went to see a therapist because of her depression. She had been bullied for years, and witnessed my horrible divorce from her abusive father. After two visits with the therapist she told me that she is really a boy.
All the kids in the new school already had their cliques, and weren’t open to her, but there was one group that was willing to welcome newcomers, and that was the QSA kids. They were nice, smart kids, who were all a little quirky, and I was grateful that they were welcoming of Liv, but I noticed that they all seem to have created these micro-identities. For example, one girl called herself a demi-boy aromantic. They all seemed preoccupied with identity and presentation. Shortly after becoming friends with them, Liv cut her hair and dyed it pink. I saw this as normal teen exploration at this point. I was uneasy about how preoccupied she and her friends were with these issues.
In her new environment filled with support, “unconditional love” and affirmation, Belle’s mental health declined precipitously. Her anxiety and depression exploded. She became heavily dependent on weed. She had her first manic episode and has been admitted to the psych ward several times since, including once where she was brought in by police.