Don’t Call Me Daughter 5

Don’t call me daughter 5

Apparently this is a blog I frequent write whenever I am misgendered. And this week is no exception. Monday after therapy I was talking with my mother and I don’t know how it came up but she said I was her “daughter”. I said I am her son. I said it multiple times and she kept on saying like a child that no, I was her daughter. Then she said something that cemented the deal by saying I will always be her first born daughter. I tried to convey how hurt I was but I couldn’t find the words. After a few minutes she had the audacity to say “change is hard”. Yeah right. Talk about mixed messages.

I was very upset and I reached out to social media like I always do when I need support. One person told me that I needed therapy. Another couple of friends said that it was a generational thing with my mother and to “ignore” her. What I don’t understand is how a parent can do this to their child. I never wanted to be a parent for a lot of reasons, being male is one of them. If a partner should have children, I will gladly see them as my own and love them as much as I love my partner. But right now I am single so I don’t have to worry about that. I like being single even if it is lonely at times.

I digress. I got some support from my online friends. It was not enough to keep the suicidal ideation away. I texted my therapist what had happened and I was thinking of taking some pills. Told her I was going to do the safety plan instead and she agreed. It has been a struggle living with my mother the past few days. I don’t want to deal with her at all but I know that if I give her the silent treatment that is only going to cause more problems. I just been staying in my room. Today I plan on taking a walk before picking up my prescription just to get out of the house and do some physical rehab because I am so deconditioned from my past surgeries. I am seven months post op and am still recovering.

My therapist and I talked about how hurtful my mother was and she just said that it was basically wrong and unfortunate that she is this way. I have tried not to take it personally but it is so damn hard. In Dec, my mother got Covid and I didn’t know if she was going to survive or not. She had a lot of medical issues and I wasn’t sure when she would be coming home again. It put it in perspective that she wasn’t going to be around forever and all I want is for her to call me son. Now I realize that is never going to happen. She is never going to be proud of me for being transgender, she may even feel ashamed of me. I don’t know. I rather not know if that is true. I know that to the healthcare workers that come to the house she still calls me “daughter” and “she” when addressing me.

I feel that no matter how much the testosterone changes my face nor how much facial hair I have, I still will not be seen as a he. It is so fucking painful to have a parent reject you like this. Wed was Trans Visibility Day and I got really suicidal. I felt worthless because I don’t have a mother basically. It is so hard. I feel like a black sheep. I texted my baby sister this and got her support. I don’t have the support of my middle sister. My middle sister and I don’t get along too well. It depends on her mood on whether she will call me a he or she. There have been times where both my sister and mother will call me a “whatever”. That hurts more than anything. I take it silently because I am too hurt to fight back. Part of me just wants to die because then I don’t have to deal with this. But I have my nieces and nephew to think about. I love them dearly and they love me and accept me for who I am. It has been a saving grace to hear my nephew call me a he to my mother. I think about survivor loss all the time whenever I become really suicidal and how it will affect my “kids”. How my kids will handle my death has been a huge preventative measure whenever I am suicidal and don’t have severe constriction. They love me unconditionally and it is the purest love. I have watched them grow up from being babies and it has been such a privilege.

This weekend is Easter. It is my least favorite holiday. I am not looking forward to a family gathering. But I will show up to eat. These days I haven’t been eating right. I usually just have breakfast and won’t eat the rest of the day. Appetite is just not there. The depression this whole thing has caused me is unreal. I don’t think an antidepressant will help. I still take it though.