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The inward dark world of parents of gender-dysphoric children

Let me drown
Let me drown | Unsplash/Stormseeker

Today, I'm going to talk about me and not my gender-dysphoric child. Because us parents of such kids need to be heard.

We, too, are suffering terribly, not just our dysphoric children. By we, I mean mums and dads and everyone else who is watching this disaster unfold to those we love so dearly. By we, I mean us who are being silenced and crushed to death by this giant bully which is the transgender religion.

I am currently in a state of crisis. I think about suicide sometimes. Even about doing it spitefully, just to cut off my nose to spite the trans ideology. To show them that we, too, could be statistics and that we, too, are suffering.

Where is our “affirming care,” that acknowledges the damage this is doing to us? We, too, are vulnerable after all! Parenting is also a spectrum. Some days we are strong and have wisdom to do well, but there are days when our fragile selves crumble under this immense pressure and we fail to summon up any courage. Days when we are weak and do the wrong thing or lack any parental control and feel frozen in helplessness.

I am alone in this battle. I can't share with friends or family out of shame and fear and, for those in my immediate circle, the immensity of this wrong is not appreciated. I am a mother, being pushed to the limits of her sanity and overwhelmed with such heavy sorrow. Every way I look is darkly clouded and the light of hope growing so dim that I feel trapped in a parallel universe cut off from reality. I am made to feel like I need to be locked up in a white room, that it is me who is mad. That somehow, I have just lost my senses and that the whole world is fine! That I'm just not accepting of everyone's subjective reality, because I am a hateful lunatic.

Facts seem to fly in the face of everyone around me, the Truth is now nothing but an old construct fading away into distant memory, created only to oppress and destroy. And for me to hold onto this is apparently telling of my oppressive and unprogressive true nature.

Well, they are right — I am going crazy! Living in the midst of this dissonance is splitting. I am not looking at this dialectic from afar, void of personal involvement. I, like a tree struck with lightning, am caught right in the middle of it and it has split my heart in two. My mind can barely fathom the trauma this is and I am left shocked and bizarrely near catatonic.

My days and months slip by, ticking them off like potato peels sliced off and thrown into the bin. It's been almost a year in this nightmare and where has my life gone? What has happened to all these days? I know I've spent many of them in tears, sobbing uncontrollably from the depth of my soul. I've spent others painstakingly going through statistics, facts, the history of John Money, Socialism, dialectics, Hegel, Politics, effects of hormones, doctors lists that aren't affirming (there aren't many, trust me) and mostly, I've been praying to God to give me strength, asking Him to help my child and begging Him to stop this nonsense and to utterly destroy this evil cult that spreads like a rotting mold. I've also, not to tell a lie, been trying to bargain with God to do whatever It takes to save my child from this … thing!

I've not much left to give to my other children at the moment. Every day, when I go to work or shopping, I just put on my fake face and trudge through the hours like an empty shell. I aimlessly meander through life with not much in my head, very disconnected from planet earth in a dreamlike state, to be found in the murky waters of my currently traumatized mind.
Can I ever come back from this?

Where will this end?

How far will my child take this?

How much can I endure? When is enough, enough?

I’ve never felt so much hate towards a group of people as I do right now for those who are allowing this! Please God, help me forgive them, because this murder in my heart for them is great.

When I am home, I am in constant damage control mode, and it is exhausting. I’m checking for any new signs all the time, asking questions constantly, sneaking peeks at laptops and chat sites, plotting to thwart and avoid any bad influences, coming up with schemes to study at appropriate places to distract, throwing facts and truth to attempt to interject the lies, shouting defensively when being called hateful and arrogant, breaking down when being told I am no longer anything but parent by birth, watching with love as I see my child slip away and then soaking up moments when we finally connect and have a laugh or a brief moment of genuine love. All of this runs off pure adrenaline and it is wearisome and taking its toll.

I am becoming forgetful and simple, withdrawn and empty. My heart feels caged in a slow inflating compression balloon and the squeezing is suffocating. Most days I have this nervous feeling in my stomach, like something is in there, in the pit of my belly, writhing and twisting any hope I have into a dubious ball of grave despair. It grows and climbs up my stomach wall and into my mouth, making me want to throw up.

This is when I am left in complete hopelessness. This is when I go inward and to a dark place. This is when I wish myself away and imagine death as a pleasant reward of this bleak world. This is when I wonder if it is at all possible in today's age, with all its CCTV footage and social media devices, to truly disappear from my life.

Maybe I could go live on a remote island in a tent and pretend this life I have now never even existed. Perhaps just slip away, like you do when you fall asleep!?

This is when I have nowhere else to go but inward and upward, as I have to find strength from somewhere to keep going. I have to be strong for my other two kids. I have to be there for my suffering child to help her through this, to lead her out of this, to be here when it's all over.

And so, this is when I look up, to the only One who is good. The only Truth I have known of late that hasn't been dispelled. And the only One who loves more than we do and has given us a way back to peace and joy. I look to the One who was pierced and say: "Your Will not mine!" and I surrender my child to Him and say, "This too is your child, do what You will and give me the wisdom and strength to endure this trial.”

This is when I open the Psalms and see the trials David went through, during his most difficult days and yet turned to Him and was filled with hope once more and it fills me too with hope. This is when God Himself picks me up from the floor and says, “Stand up! You are not alone! I am here with you!”

This is when the moments of hope begin.

God, I believe You are true. I believe You hate this evil more than we do. I believe this serves a purpose to bring about Your justice! May your Will be done and may Your justice be swift. And may You protect Your children and bring them back to the truth!

So, in one of my rare and hopeful moments, I say this: The truth will come out in the end.

Parents with Inconvenient Truths about Trans (PITT) publishes stories written and edited exclusively by parents with first-hand experience in the upside down world of gender ideology.

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