You broke me.
You broke me, like only a parent can break his child.
18 years of breaking.
12 years and over 10.000 miles to heal myself.
And still, sometimes I wonder, will I ever trully heal?
I was born a girl.
I always felt like one and wanted to be one, yet you could just not let me be.
At the age of 5 I used the "kids make-up" I had received as a gift in order to make myself pretty. I wanted to be like the grown up women.
You shamed me for it.
At the age of 6 I wanted to wear my long blond hair down just like my older cousin.
Again you shamed me for it.
At the age of 7 my sister received a pleated skirt that would levitate when she spun.
She was standing in the garden, spinning around and making her skirt dance.
I found that beautiful and it seemed like so much fun!
I wanted the same thing and I told you so.
With a lot of disdain in your voice you told me that skirts are silly and that I should wear trousers instead.
At the age of 8 you decided it was time for a change.
I guess you had enough of me looking like a girl.
You took me and my sister to the hairdresser and ordered a boy's haircut.
There went my long blond hair...
But then I saw how happy you looked...
You took us home proudly announcing to my mother "Look at our boys!"
From that point onwards it was clear: you wanted me to be a boy.
You would encourage and cheer on for any boyish attitude I would display. Sports? That's it, you're strongest of them all! Fighting? That's my boy! Shouting? Great, you little rebell! Scaring other boys? I am so proud of you!
I felt loved as a boy. I felt empowered.
I started imagining myself with a beard and felt assured that I would make a very handsome man one day.
But one's inner nature is a persistent thing...
At the age of 12 I tried to wear my first two-piece bathing suit.
Again you shamed me.
You told me I should take the top off because that is for women who have breasts and that, since I had none, it was utterly silly for me to wear one.
I took it off.
Then puberty came.
And my first crush came.
It was a boy.
You were not aware of it of course, I did not tell you about it.
I wanted to be pretty, I wanted to look like a girl.
I started wearing tight jeans and dresses.
Now you stopped talking altogether. I guess you figured there was no stopping it. You became distant.
But where you stopped, society (or an unfortunate series of events) managed to replace you marvelously.
I received vulgar and nasty comments from men.
I was harassed.
And on top of all of that, I was shamed by female classmates for wearing tight clothes.
I felt unsafe and vulnerable as a woman. I felt agressed.
I figured the best way to fight this was to hide my female body.
I started hiding my body behind wide clothes.
Make-up? Jewellery? Don't even think about it.
I was as elegant as a bag of potatoes.
Did it stop here?
Unfortunately not...
When I was older (17 years old) the subject of sex would come up in conversation sometimes.
You talked about it as if it was something women endured.
Something degrading that is inflicted upon women.
Something that gave men power of women.
Never was a woman an active participant in it.
In your representation, sex was not about love and pleasure.
Sex was a tool for dominance.
Good luck with your future sex life you 17 year old girl!
That is some great piece of inheritance to build on!...
Sometimes I find myself thinking that people like you should not have children. I find myself really hating you. "How can someone be so insensitive? How can a parent so utterly invalidate their child?". It was like an anhilation of my identity.
I cannot even start to imagine what your parents/the society you grew up in must have been like for you to turn out that way...
Yet here I am today. 12 years have passed since I (unconsciously) decided to remove myself from your poisonous influence.
It took me many years and a lot of work to start finding myself.
Owning myself.
Being able to wear skirts and tight clothes represents a victory for me today.
Sometimes I wish I could just get rid of the past, throw it all away.
I wish the past did not define me.
Yet it has been an enriching experience. A transformation.
A transformation that is far from being done.
