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How She Wants to be Loved

TW: child abuse

By F B TwissPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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Dancing at my brother’s wedding, tipsy after a glass of champagne, the lights drawing patterns around us and the speakers blaring Dancing Queen, we were all alone on the dance floor, surrounded by a semi-circle of onlooking guests. I told my mum: “I’ll regret this in the morning!”

I didn’t, I never have. It’s become one of my favourite memories of us.

For a while, it was just me and her against the world. A beautiful friendship between mother and son.

It’s only years later that I can look back on those times in dazzling awe of her.

Although she was surrounded by an affectionate family, it’s clear that my mum felt unlovable as a child and adolescent. This was due to the abuse she endured in early childhood. It left her desperate for someone to love her for simply being herself.

As a result, she never wanted a daughter. She saw the world as a perilous and unjust place for girls, so she was overjoyed with my two older brothers.

Seven years and another marriage later, she discovered she was pregnant again, but this time it was not planned nor wanted.

In addition to being an incommodious surprise baby, I was announced as a girl on arrival.

I can only imagine how she must have felt, lying on the living room floor after hours of intense pain, visioning the years of anxiety and safeguarding ahead of her.

Seventeen years later, in 2015, I came out as transgender and began the long and arduous journey of transitioning from female to male.

My mum was supportive the entire way through, from taking me to clinic appointments to holding my hand as I was anesthetised for surgery.

I was exceptionally fortunate to have such a compassionate parent, unlike many in the queer community.

Nevertheless, like most parents of trans children, she felt she had lost a child and gained another.

It’s a strange concept to wrap your head around when you’re the one causing the grief.

Before coming out, I felt invisible, like no one could really see me for my true authentic self. I was present and active in a large group of friends, but it wasn’t really me they were seeing, but a shadow of myself hidden behind alternative clothing and mascara. Therefore, once I’d socially transitioned and finally felt visible, I suddenly felt less perceptible again.

From my viewpoint, all I had done was change my appearance and pronouns, but from her side, she’d lost her female companion of seventeen years and gained someone visually unrecognisable.

I spent years trying to prove to her that my personality had not changed, a futile battle between my ego and her reality.

One day, the details of which I can no longer recollect, she opened up about how she accepted my transition and it changed my relationship with her forever.

My mum explained to me that, throughout my childhood and teenage years, I had taught her that the world could be a happy and safe place for a girl. A life lesson she would not have gained otherwise.

Now that I had fulfilled that purpose, it was my turn to become who I truly was.

This epiphany of greater understanding and interconnection gave me a sincere newfound respect for her, both as a mother and a fellow human being.

Another characteristic she gained from her trauma is that she loves people how they want to be loved.

Those years of loneliness and isolation instilled the belief that everybody deserves to be loved for guilelessly being them.

She practises the art of love everyday by simply adoring and accepting people for who they are – how she wants to be loved – which is an incredibly magical quality.

I know she hasn’t properly grieved her daughter. I always thought that perhaps she didn’t need to, because she realised that I haven’t really changed. However, I have learned to respect that it is something I will never truly understand.

I always told her I was there for her too, but I wasn’t. Not really.

I had so much going on, every day was a dysphoric struggle, a desperate attempt to pass as male, or a deep depression. I was self-absorbed and constantly distracted because I had to be. I had to make myself presentable, I had to work twice as hard to get anything done and I had to be more streetwise than ever before. I was heckled at in college corridors, I was cornered in pubs and I was held up against a bathroom wall by my neck. All this caused anxiety that escalated to agoraphobia in university.

She was there every single time I asked for her help, no matter how it impacted her mental health.

Thank you, Mum.

It has been almost seven years since I came out.

When I reminisce about the early stages of my transition, they are rarely fond memories, full of tears, anxiety, and genuine fear.

But she was always there.

I recognise now that those times would have been far more agonising without her loving me for exactly who I was, even in the toughest hours.

My mum may not believe she is anything exceptional, but she is.

From her gentle hugs to her dirty cackle.

From her passion for beekeeping to her affinity for hugging trees.

She is truly a masterpiece made from stardust.

She is not a victim, but a survivor.

If there is one thing I’d wish her to be certain of, it’s that she is an extraordinary mother.

I intend to love her forever, exactly how she wants to be loved.

humanity
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About the Creator

F B Twiss

I'm Frank, I'm 23 and an aspiring writer.

My favourite topic to write about is nature and wildlife.

Thank you so much for checking out my profile and hopefully enjoying my creations.

I'm currently working on a book so watch this space!

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