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| Copyright: Amanda Jette Knox themavenofmayhem.com |
Sometimes I like to just sit and watch my
12-year-old bounce around the house with a big smile on her face.
She's not literally bouncing, of course, but her walk is... lighter, like the weight of the world no longer sits on her
shoulders. And her steps are more meaningful.
Her reasons for leaving the house - or even
just her bedroom - are different. She's no longer simply doing it because we're
making her, or because she absolutely has to for some other reason. She
actually wants to spend time with
people, engage with the world, and experience new things.
This year, for the first time in many, my
child is no longer depressed or suffering from severe anxiety.
It has been a wild and unexpected ride to
get here.
We went to several different therapists.
I read every book and new study I could get
my hands on.
We tried restricted diets, natural sleep
aids, and various parenting methods.
We moved to a different province to access
better medical services.
She and I sat in emergency rooms during
full-on coming apart moments, tears running down both our faces. ("What's
wrong, honey?" "I don't know, mom. I don't know why I'm like this. Why am
I like this?")
I begged doctors to take us seriously.
("Please help her. I feel like we're losing her and I don't know
why.")
Depression. Anxiety. Isolation. OCD. Panic
attacks. These were part of her world each and every day. They were part of our
family's world. We didn't know why, we just all did the best we could.
Sometimes there is no why; at least not one
medical science knows of yet. Sometimes depression is just depression, and
anxiety is just anxiety. You treat it, you manage it, and you do the best you
can.
But mental illness can also be a symptom of
something else, something even you have hidden from yourself for years,
bubbling on the surface of you subconscious, irritating your brain and bleeding
into your life. In Gutsy's case, it was the denial of who she really was,
followed by the fear of revealing that truth to others. She hid being transgender from herself for
years, and then hid it from us until she could finally bring herself to tell
her secret.
There are many things I'm grateful for each
day. But the one that has stuck out this year above all else has been that our
child was brave enough to tell us what was going on. Taking that huge risk has
not only improved her life, but also quite possibly saved it.
With her male puberty now suppressed, an
army of people who support her living as she,
pink streaked hair and an adorable new wardrobe, she is transformed into her
authentic self. She's happy for the
first time in years. She still takes a low dose medication for anxiety, but her
overall mental health picture is so good. So, so good.
We are not out of the woods. Gutsy faces a
lifetime of uphill battles, both physically and emotionally. She will have to
stare down a world that sometimes seeks to harm her, to tear her down, to treat
her as less than. The rates of
depression, suicide and addiction are all higher in the trans community, in
large part because of how cruel the world can be. But my child is the bravest
and most resilient human being I know. I believe that with love and support,
she is going to soar. And the more we talk and educate and learn, the more we
improve the lives of all people in the LGBTQ community.
Here's what I've learned this year: When it comes to having family members with
mental health issues, the need for connection cannot be overstated. Trust,
honesty and support are paramount. Whether there is a detectable reason behind
their illness or not, connection with loved ones can be a lifeline. I know
that, when I was a suicidal teen, connection saved me. And while it can't and won't save everyone, I
believe it also saved my daughter.
So, like I said, sometimes I just like to
watch her bounce around. I love when she comes into the kitchen and talks my
ear off about computers or music production (even if I don't understand half of
what she's saying). I love listening to her laugh hysterically with her little
brother in the other room. I love seeing her smile finally reaching her eyes.
I love all of it. And I love her.