Our sensitive, loving, vulnerable son believed he was a girl for 2,5 years.
This is what we did:
We took him off social media.
We encouraged him to do sports or physical activities so he could re connect with his body.
We reinforced his self esteem always, every hour, every day. We were generous at recognising the best in him.
We watched movies and documentaries about sects and indoctrination.
We spent time in nature and value what is natural.
We made our family dinners the most fun part of the day. Listening to music, making jokes, remembering when he was little, anecdotes and family stories.
We made ourselves his reference. Not culture.
We stretched our bond as much as we could.
We discussed how everybody can change their minds about an idea they truly used to believe in.
We talked about how growing up was for us, our fears and frustrations.
We encourage him to meet with his old friends. The ones that knew him better. We turned our house into a place they could have pizza and good times.
We showed him the positive things about being a man and the different kinds of men there are.
We enjoyed his music together.
We became experts in gender.
We learned, read, had long long talks about what we discovered and the impact on him.
We avoided talking about the theory of gender and only talked about out position (prudence) in family counselling sessions.
And then, slowly, gently and loving he started to live, to go out, to grow up.
Today he is well, relived.
His body is intact. And so is his future.
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Nuestro niño, sensible, amoroso y vulnerable creyó que era una niña durante 2 años y medio.
Esto es lo que hicimos:
Lo sacamos de las redes sociales.
Lo animamos a hacer deporte o actividad física para que volviera a conectar con su cuerpo.
Reforzamos su autoestima constantemente, a cada hora, cada día. Fuimos generosos al reconocer lo mejor de él.
Vimos películas y documentales sobre sectas y adoctrinamiento.
Pasamos tiempo en la naturaleza y valoramos lo que es natural.
Hicimos de nuestras cenas familiares la parte más entretenida del día. Escuchamos música, hicimos bromas recordando anécdotas e historias familiares de cuando era pequeño.
Miramos fotos antiguas de momentos felices de su infancia.
1/ Perhaps what I am going to say will block my account, and I apologise in advance if I offend someone, but I think it is necessary to express it and for people to know what families are going through.
2/ If you have a son who is mentally ill, drug addict, psychotic... or a daughter who is anorexic, or harms herself, or has suicidal impulses, the suffering is enormous. But there is a whole structure of doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, detoxification centers...
I see what a mom I know posts about her son's transition. First, the pink or rainbow clothes, then the long hair, then his female name, then the ballet. I'm sure that mother adores her son, just like me. She wants the best for him, just like me. She must have
suffered distress and anguish, just like me. She thinks she's doing the right thing, just like me. She has been advised that affirming his son’s trans identity is in the best interest for him, just like they told me. And that if she didn’t do it, her son may commit suicide, just
like mine. The difference with me is that I was lucky enough to access information outside the edges, and that made me trust my parenting skills and my own son. Trusting a child is not only believing what he says and giving what he asks for, but also
Veo las historias que una conocida publica acerca de la transición de su hijo. Primero aparece la ropa rosada o con arcoíris, luego el cabello largo, después su nombre de niña, más tarde el ballet. Estoy segura que esa madre adora a su hijo, igual que yo. Que quiere lo mejor para
él, igual que yo. Que ha sufrido desazón y angustia, igual que yo. Que cree que está haciendo lo correcto, igual que yo. Que ha sido aconsejada que la afirmación de su identidad trans es lo mejor para su hijo, igual que yo. Que si no lo hace, su hijo puede suicidarse, igual que
el mío. La diferencia conmigo es que tuve la suerte de acceder a la información fuera de los bordes, a la alternativa y que eso hizo que confiara en mis habilidades parentales y en mi propio hijo. Confiar en un hijo, no es sólo creer lo que dice y dar lo que pide, sino en
From a mom in Spain 🇪🇸.It’s difficult not to think in mothers from Scotland 🏴 or everywhere.
“10 months ago today family life took an unexpected turn. My daughter, who’d dropped out of school due to very serious mental health problems, left a letter headed: "Mom, I'm trans."1/7
“I took a breath, relieved, an hour ago she had gone for a walk and I came to think that it was a suicide letter.
Years of bullying, attempting suicide, changing schools, depression, psychotic breaks, hearing voices and seeing shadows, self-harm, mental block, bulimia,...What 2/7
else could I expect?Never expected her being trans. In the letter, it caught my attention that she said she discovered it recently thanks to internet...That didn't make sense to me, how can someone find out who she is through social media?
Talking calmly with her, she assured 3/7
Hace casi 2 años mi hijo deja una carta para mi. Una carta con dibujos y letras de colores. Una carta escrita con su letra infantil, donde el mensaje fue que en realidad era una niña. Que es trans. No pude disfrutar sus dibujos, y los colores aparecían en completa disonancia con
el mensaje. Quedé en blanco. No hubo nunca ninguna señal y yo intuí que su relato no calzaba. Decidí buscar, investigar. Entré a foros de padres que decidieron acompañar a sus hijos en la transición. Ninguna de sus historias resonaba en la mía. Encontré por ahí la carta de
una madre que dudaba del auto diagnóstico de su hijo. Eso era! Un auto diagnóstico. Luego encontré un libro, luego un documental, luego otro y otro libro, artículos, papers. Tengo la suerte y el privilegio de hablar inglés. Es un privilegio que puede reforzar la prudencia, que