DEAR COSMO, THE QT CAMP ADVICE RACCOON #1: Open Your Heart And Reach Out From It
Dear Cosmo,
My family was at an event last weekend, and my oldest, now in 7th grade, had only brought her usual skirt and top to wear to the fancy dinner. When it became time to get dressed for the event, she broke down crying and said she no longer felt comfortable wearing a dress or skirt and did not feel like she was a girl anymore. I was floored. Because we were going to be late, I insisted she wear what she had brought and told her we would discuss it later. She did unhappily. Now I don't know what to say to her.
Please help.
Floored
Dear Floored,
I’m very old for a raccoon and part of the reason I’ve made it this far is that in 7th grade, the same age your sweet child is now, I made a friend, Lorelei. Several raccoon lifetimes later, we are still friends. Central to our friendship is Lorelei’s understanding of my autistic soul. Lorelei is patient, a natural-born teacher, and so, from the gate, when she needed to point out something to me, for example, if I had food on my face, she would say, “I’m a mirror.” Lorelei would say this and then brush away an imaginary crumb from her face so I could easily locate my own mess.
There are two pieces of magic in these exchanges with Lorelei. One is honesty. Lorelei would never let me walk around with gunk in my face fur. The second ingredient is the delivery. Lorelei explains where the gunk in my face fur is in a way I can understand. She knows I can’t dance, I have zero coordination, and therefore cannot locate gunk in my face fur in the ways normies do. I love Lorelei so much. And I love you.
Sweet Floored, get ready because... I am your mirror. And baby, you really bonked this up. You prioritized punctuality (which sounds like a bad word now, doesn’t it? yep) at a fancy dinner (snooze) over the golden, glimmering, slippery, rare-as-a-unicorn chance to meet your vulnerable, brave child in the moment. You’ve got work to do. And I’m so proud of you for knowing that.
All of parenting, all of real human connection, is about bonking things up and then repairing. You get to have another chance and this continues until forever. Isn’t that the best news? You get to have another chance. Yay.
There are a couple of things I really, really hope you’ll do and right away as you take this chance. You say here that you told your kiddo you’d talk about this big news later but you don’t say you’ve done so. Tick. Tick. Floored, the time is now. Right now, this minute, open your heart and reach out from it. Go to your child and say something like, “I am so happy you shared this with me. I handled it terribly and I am so, so sorry. I am here to support you however I can. I hope you’ll trust me again with whatever you need. I am going to make more mistakes but I am not going to stop learning to do better.” And then, open your wallet, and say this to your precious, brave, singular child, “Let’s get you some clothes that feel good.”
And if your precious, brave, singular child cannot meet you with the warmth you are hoping for, is walled off, you are going to say that you understand and that you will be there for them whenever they are ready. And then you’ll check-in, won’t you? Yes. You won’t let this settle under the rug because doing so invites tremendous heartache. Talk with your child, Floored.
That’s the easy part. The more challenging part is in the talk you need to have with yourself. You and you need to get your priorities straight. Sure, lots of us were raised in such a way that our feelings, our needs, were not even close to the top of the priority list. Some people were punished for interrupting any itinerary for any reason (there’s another bad word, if you ask me, itinerary). Many people have lived through the terror of upsetting a parent whose main goal in life, it seemed, was being on time, and it sounds like you also suffered in this way. Time, time, time. Time to stop passing on that generational shit, Floored.
Is it embarrassing to be late, or even not show (gasp) at a fancy dinner? Yep. But it won’t kill you (and, if you don’t mind my saying, in your case, it could even be good for you). Actually life-threatening, though, is gender dysphoria, and even if this isn’t what your dear child is facing, Floored, you are going to have to start making room for whatever it is your child is facing, even at the cost of punctuality and itineraries. There will be other fancy dinners, there always are. But these moments, when our kids tell us what they need, in tears and not ever at a convenient time, they are rare, they are a gift. In order to receive these gifts, you need to trash all that nonsense about itineraries and get on your kid’s schedule. Start now, today, this minute, re-parenting yourself in order to become the parent you wish to be: the kind who is emotionally available, the kind who prioritizes understanding, the kind who is a mirror for their child.
You can do this, Floored. Get to learning, about support in your community (for you and your kiddo), about gender dysphoria, and most of all, about your child. And when you start to doubt that you can handle it, and you will doubt yourself, do this: stop everything and honor that feeling. It’ll be good practice.
From my dumpster fire to yours,
Cosmo
