Grieving is understandable and necessary, but there can come a point when it spirals into toxic, complicated grief and you need to walk away.
My mom and I were close before I came out to her. We talked on the phone every day, and I went home to visit several times a year. I knew she'd take it hard when I transitioned, and she did. She grieved for her little boy, and it was *all* about gender. When my parents went to the adoption agency, they didn't ask for a child; they asked for a boy. My mother still believes, deep down in her bones, that women are inferior to men, so my transitioning was about the biggest betrayal I could make.
For the first year we didn't talk about it at all; she just pretended nothing had changed. For the next year, we did talk about it, in half a dozen long, difficult conversations. I was patient and understanding (or at least I tried to be) in helping her to understand why I needed to transition, and that I was still her kid, even if something very important had changed. In the last of those conversations, she told me that she loved me, but that she could *never* accept me as a daughter.
And that was it. I was done. I could not maintain a relationship based on such a fundamental disagreement. Every conversation with her would reopen wounds I'm working on healing. Now we only talk on major holidays, and even that's hard.
She got stuck in her grief, and she *chose* to hang on to the idea of me as her little boy rather than deal with the reality of me as a middle-aged trans lesbian. And that's the thing about grief - it's not something that just happens to you. It's an active process. It's *work*. And if you don't do the work, if you just give up, you'll never get through it.
Absolutely, and that's why I noted toward the end that it's really important to watch for abusive behavior, including when people immerse themselves in their grief rather than working through it.
My mom does grive for her youngest son, and is still coming to terms with this changeling daughter she suddenly has. I understand and accept this.
On the other hand, at 89 years old she suddenly, finally has the daughter she always wanted. Just 57 years late. And has a better relationship with her daughter than she ever had with her son.
For my birthday last weekend, she sent me a card. A daughter card. How many years must she have yearned to send something like this? How many years did I yearn to get something like this.
Her griief for her son is understandable. But she seems to be matching that grief with the joy of discovering her daughter
Parents grieve for their children many times. The most commonly discussed is empty nest, but also when they drop them off for kindergarten or college, when they move away, when they get married. All of these things are good and the grief does not say otherwise. We usually hide our grief but some do use it as a cudgel.
I try to respond to needs that I see in the community where I can. This has been something I've seen come up pretty frequently in a number of corners, lately.
I am organizing a retreat for my fellow therapists on the mental health team at our trans health org specifically to talk about how ambiguous grief related to COVID and Climate are affecting our community, and how we as therapists deal with these ourselves (individually, collectively and professionally) as well as how we help our clients do so
I am gonna be asking my colleagues to read this in preparation
OMG, another timely lesson! I've started coming out to more family members recently and now I'm getting to the the ones I've been reluctant to engage with, for various reasons. This helps me understand where to set healthy boundaries and how to better understand someone who is struggling to accept me.
On the positive side, I have a very supportive mom. She's been with me through the whole journey and heard about my grieving for the past I didn't get to have, but we haven't talked about her side of that grief. Thank you for giving me the awareness and framework to open up that dialogue!
Such a good description / explanation of that sort of grief. I've experienced it from several loved ones after coming out as transgender. Of course, I've also watched it spiral in toxicity more than once, and sadly lost relationships as a result, meaning I've had to do my own share of grieving as well. Still, despite those emotional costs, I don't at all regret my transition.
I know it's very tricky stuff, and there's a lot of cases where abusers manufacture false grief to control a trans person who's coming out--that was my main worry in writing this article--but I also know that there are a lot of cases where people really do need to work through ambiguous grief, and there just were so few resources available for them.
I can't overstate how important it is for trans folks to watch for abusive patterns in apparent grief, and to see that their family members *really are* progressing through the grieving process... but when that's the case, there's a richness and a depth to the relationship that can come as a result that's incredible, in my experience.
Yeah, that's not generally honest grief. Occasionally, for emotionally immature people who can't understand complex emotions, it might be the only way they can articulate their feelings, but coming from an emotionally immature person, that will very rarely be non-abusive regardless of the authenticity of the emotion behind their statements.
So, context first: part of how I'm managing my transition is that I took a second job working at an apartment building housing people coming out of homelessness, since I will likely lose my primary vocation (as a priest in a fairly conservative denomination) in the course of social transition.
I had an opportunity this past week to lead my first memorial service in that space for one of our former residents who passed away. It was an interesting challenge to try to make the forms and rituals that I know how to lead and that give me comfort something applicable to a broad audience that does not share the tastes, customs, or theology carried and cultivated by my tradition. But it was a powerful exercise in considering how powerful, mysterious, and universal grief is ... and how very infrequently it is given adequate public space and expression in our culture.
You're gesturing to another and essential dimension of this for us as trans people: those griefs borne by ourselves and others as we come to acknowledge and accept these powerful internal dimensions of ourselves, and the disruptive implications they have for who and how we show up in the world. And it makes me think of another project in the back of my mind, of redeploying liturgical language and form to make visible, bestow dignity, and create space for transition journeys. Hm.
Thanks for your insightful piece here, and your consistently rich and thought-provoking voice.
Grieving is understandable and necessary, but there can come a point when it spirals into toxic, complicated grief and you need to walk away.
My mom and I were close before I came out to her. We talked on the phone every day, and I went home to visit several times a year. I knew she'd take it hard when I transitioned, and she did. She grieved for her little boy, and it was *all* about gender. When my parents went to the adoption agency, they didn't ask for a child; they asked for a boy. My mother still believes, deep down in her bones, that women are inferior to men, so my transitioning was about the biggest betrayal I could make.
For the first year we didn't talk about it at all; she just pretended nothing had changed. For the next year, we did talk about it, in half a dozen long, difficult conversations. I was patient and understanding (or at least I tried to be) in helping her to understand why I needed to transition, and that I was still her kid, even if something very important had changed. In the last of those conversations, she told me that she loved me, but that she could *never* accept me as a daughter.
And that was it. I was done. I could not maintain a relationship based on such a fundamental disagreement. Every conversation with her would reopen wounds I'm working on healing. Now we only talk on major holidays, and even that's hard.
She got stuck in her grief, and she *chose* to hang on to the idea of me as her little boy rather than deal with the reality of me as a middle-aged trans lesbian. And that's the thing about grief - it's not something that just happens to you. It's an active process. It's *work*. And if you don't do the work, if you just give up, you'll never get through it.
Absolutely, and that's why I noted toward the end that it's really important to watch for abusive behavior, including when people immerse themselves in their grief rather than working through it.
My mom does grive for her youngest son, and is still coming to terms with this changeling daughter she suddenly has. I understand and accept this.
On the other hand, at 89 years old she suddenly, finally has the daughter she always wanted. Just 57 years late. And has a better relationship with her daughter than she ever had with her son.
For my birthday last weekend, she sent me a card. A daughter card. How many years must she have yearned to send something like this? How many years did I yearn to get something like this.
Her griief for her son is understandable. But she seems to be matching that grief with the joy of discovering her daughter
Parents grieve for their children many times. The most commonly discussed is empty nest, but also when they drop them off for kindergarten or college, when they move away, when they get married. All of these things are good and the grief does not say otherwise. We usually hide our grief but some do use it as a cudgel.
...oh my goodness, how could I have not thought of empty nest? That's a picture perfect example of what I'm talking about here.
How are you always writing articles about things exactly as im dealing with them?
I try to respond to needs that I see in the community where I can. This has been something I've seen come up pretty frequently in a number of corners, lately.
Tysm for this
I am organizing a retreat for my fellow therapists on the mental health team at our trans health org specifically to talk about how ambiguous grief related to COVID and Climate are affecting our community, and how we as therapists deal with these ourselves (individually, collectively and professionally) as well as how we help our clients do so
I am gonna be asking my colleagues to read this in preparation
Oh, goodness! That's quite the compliment, and I'm very glad I could provide this as a resource for you!
OMG, another timely lesson! I've started coming out to more family members recently and now I'm getting to the the ones I've been reluctant to engage with, for various reasons. This helps me understand where to set healthy boundaries and how to better understand someone who is struggling to accept me.
On the positive side, I have a very supportive mom. She's been with me through the whole journey and heard about my grieving for the past I didn't get to have, but we haven't talked about her side of that grief. Thank you for giving me the awareness and framework to open up that dialogue!
Such a good description / explanation of that sort of grief. I've experienced it from several loved ones after coming out as transgender. Of course, I've also watched it spiral in toxicity more than once, and sadly lost relationships as a result, meaning I've had to do my own share of grieving as well. Still, despite those emotional costs, I don't at all regret my transition.
I hate that it's so common for that grieving to spiral into toxicity. 🫂
Such important points, thank you.
I know it's very tricky stuff, and there's a lot of cases where abusers manufacture false grief to control a trans person who's coming out--that was my main worry in writing this article--but I also know that there are a lot of cases where people really do need to work through ambiguous grief, and there just were so few resources available for them.
I can't overstate how important it is for trans folks to watch for abusive patterns in apparent grief, and to see that their family members *really are* progressing through the grieving process... but when that's the case, there's a richness and a depth to the relationship that can come as a result that's incredible, in my experience.
Ive also seen "you killed him" from families, which... is not helpful, to say the least
Yeah, that's not generally honest grief. Occasionally, for emotionally immature people who can't understand complex emotions, it might be the only way they can articulate their feelings, but coming from an emotionally immature person, that will very rarely be non-abusive regardless of the authenticity of the emotion behind their statements.
So, context first: part of how I'm managing my transition is that I took a second job working at an apartment building housing people coming out of homelessness, since I will likely lose my primary vocation (as a priest in a fairly conservative denomination) in the course of social transition.
I had an opportunity this past week to lead my first memorial service in that space for one of our former residents who passed away. It was an interesting challenge to try to make the forms and rituals that I know how to lead and that give me comfort something applicable to a broad audience that does not share the tastes, customs, or theology carried and cultivated by my tradition. But it was a powerful exercise in considering how powerful, mysterious, and universal grief is ... and how very infrequently it is given adequate public space and expression in our culture.
You're gesturing to another and essential dimension of this for us as trans people: those griefs borne by ourselves and others as we come to acknowledge and accept these powerful internal dimensions of ourselves, and the disruptive implications they have for who and how we show up in the world. And it makes me think of another project in the back of my mind, of redeploying liturgical language and form to make visible, bestow dignity, and create space for transition journeys. Hm.
Thanks for your insightful piece here, and your consistently rich and thought-provoking voice.
See, *that* is what working through your grief looks like. It takes time and hurts, but it's also tender.