I thought it might be good to add my own voice to the chorus of people speaking out against reparative therapy.
So for me the whole thing starts when I was six years old. That wasn't when my gender identity formed - it was simply when it got the point where my parents sought professional "help" about it.
As a pre-schooler I was unashamedly feminine. I played with dolls whenever I could get my hands on them. My world was one of make believe and stories. When we did dress-ups in kindergarten I made a beeline for the fairy princess outfit. I was often in trouble with my parents (mum mainly - dad coped by staying at work), but it was generally reasonably benign.
By six year's age though, things were getting a touch more serious. My femininity, which until then could be written off as cute, was now starting to get embarrassing for my parents. I was doing it in public and that just wasn't on.
Interestingly enough, I don't think the concept of me being transsexual crossed my parent's minds. They were scared I might turn out gay. So they got me a referral to a pediatric psychologist, and along we went.
The psychologist was nice enough. I had no idea at all why we were there and wasn't at all phased. I remember playing while he watched and asked questions about what I was doing. Then I got to sit in the waiting room for ages while he talked to mum. It was mum's manner when she came out that makes me remember the day. She was clearly angry and determined, with a real set to her features, and she wasn't in a mood to talk.
My relationship with my mum until then, despite being yelled at with some regularity about different things, was pretty good. I'm the youngest of four, and had mum all to myself for a couple of years when my next eldest brother went off to school. During that time we did lots of things together. Shopping, housework, playing. All good stuff. I remember we'd go to a big department store in the city every couple of weeks and I'd get a bucket of chips and a multi-coloured jelly in a cup for lunch. Good times.
The good times pretty-much ended on that day. As an adult, having read widely, I can fairly accurately surmise exactly what was said to mum in the psychologist's office that made her so angry. Gender identity was a sexy, new, exciting branch of psychology back in the seventies. One of the pioneers in the field was John Money, who quite literally wrote the book on trans and gay kids.
Money's thesis was that "gender role" (what these days we'd call gender identity) is primarily influenced by nurture, and that gender role may be shaped accordingly. Much of his research was done on David Reimer, a cisgendered boy who suffered severe burning to his penis as an infant during a botched circumcision. When approached by David's parents, Money told them to raise David as a girl. That David utterly rejected this was glossed over in Money's research.
In any case, the "cause" for trans and gay kids was over-attachment to their mother. My mum had been lectured by the psych, telling her that everything was essentially her fault, and that the only way she could "save" me from being gay was to consistently and systematically come down hard on any "effeminate" behaviour.
Starting that day, my relationship with my mum changed dramatically. Where previously we'd gotten along well, now she was deliberately cold and distant. The idea was that feminine behaviour would be punished by withholding affection, and masculine behaviour would be rewarded by providing affection. I never really got past the withholding affection bit though. My dad was as distant as ever, so I was basically alone. My siblings cottoned on to the new way of things, so like some perverse experiment I was rejected by the whole family.
My reaction to this is much what any six year old would do. I hid my femininity and tried desperately to get affection, by being a right brat, which really only made things worse. The new relationship (or lack of) was spelled out pretty well for me on my seventh birthday. My parents had gotten so good at ignoring me that they forgot my birthday all together. Oh well.
The results of this are stark. My gender identity hasn't changed one whit. What has changed though are my attitudes. I have no respect for authority. I have no love for my parents and siblings. I am very stubborn and self-dependant. I do not ask for nor expect help, ever. I'm very cynical.
What have my parents gotten from this? Nothing.
So if you're a parent of a potentially trans or gay kid and you're reading this, ask yourself this: What are you trying to achieve? Do you really want a broken family and to be told by your child to go fuck yourself at the very first opportunity? Or do you want to be a part of a family that's nurturing and accepting and loving?
Your choice.
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