I’m older now than you were when I was born. I’ve spent nearly half my life away from my family. I never had a chance to have a body that truly reflects who I am, how I see myself. Even if I’d had the words, there’s no would where you would have entertained putting me on puberty blockers, not in the 1990s. 20 years later you made my coming out about you, prepubescant Ilde never had a chance. I’ve spent the last 5 years unraveling trauma I’ll be working on for the rest of my life.
To be perfectly clear, though, this post isn’t about you. This post is about me. Regardless of the fact that you’re the reason Neal and the rest of Dad’s side of the family doesn’t talk to me. Regardless of the fact that I haven’t spoken to James and Lisa in years. Regardless of the fact that I can’t think about flying back to Florida – the place I used to reflexively call “home” [at least, used to call home without it making me sad] – without getting weighted down by guilt, having to make the awful choice of whether to open myself up to spending a massive amount of emotional energy on handling then recovering from guilt and abuse over how long it’s been since I’ve been back, or hiding the fact I’m there at all.
[I’m not the reason the Pinsker side doesn’t talk to her. THEY don’t talk to ME either! They cut me off as soon as the Irving/Mae Pinsker estate was divided up, maybe even before. This happened to Aunt Irene too! She was married to Irving’s brother, Al, and when he died, they stopped all communication with her. “She wasn’t blood.”]
This post is about me. Before you give me crap about airing my dirty laundry or whatever other WASPy socially acceptable phrase people use for shaming others who own the trauma they face, know that I’ve had to build my life, climb out of debt, start and end two marriages, raise and lose a child, rebuild an entire identity, build a nearly two decade long career, and buy a house all on my own.
I lost 20 years to a trauma my family doesn’t even know happened
[Yes it is all about you. It sounds like you’ve had coaching on “how this is suppose to go” from younger, newly transgender people with whom you identify. They have had all this trauma, so you must have had too. They have had all this rejection from their families, so you must have had too. There are things you “remember” that DID NOT HAPPEN. And you cannot blame me for NOT being a mind reader, for things YOU did not tell me, share with me, come to me for help. I always thought you felt like you could talk to me. I was wrong.]
If this post upsets you, allow me to suggest you Google DBT distress tolerance skills and employ them – TIP, REST, or soothing your five senses are likely the most effective. I cannot carry the emotional water of managing your reactions, of being enmeshed with you, of treating your emotions like my own. The whiplash yesterday was just a bridge too far.”
As an adult – as a 36 year old queer woman, I am done pretending my life, my childhood, was well adjusted and perfect
[I have been using distress tolerance skills my whole life. Those coping skills were natural for me. I didn’t have any psychologist to tell me about them because I was raised to “walk it off” and get on with it. It was not accepted that mental health was a right.]