I’ll level with you, I have started this blog post about a hundred times. My feelings about Jeremy are so mixed each time I try and write it I get confused and my attempts to rationalise and unpick it gets sidetracked.
But here it is. Testosterone was not the answer. It has been a significant part of the answer but it has not been the solution in totality.
Since November Jeremy has been finished with school work. In the last week he finally got to Centrelink to register for Youth Allowance. In between he has floundered in a sea of anxiety, lack of direction and dysphoria. I’ve done my best to provide love and support but my patience and my bank balance are wearing thin.
For nearly three years we held onto a D date of Jeremy’s 18th birthday and his first injection of T. On reflection I had no idea what I expected from this injection.
He is becoming more masculine day by day and that is fricking awesome. His sideburns are epic and his goatee and sideburns are starting to meet on the sides of his face. His voice is deeper and there are even times when he is comfortable without wearing his binder.
But those mental health issues that sent us to a psychologist pre-transition are still there. They are exacerbated when he meets people in the general public that, despite beard and deep voice, somehow still misgender him. Dealing with Government organisations has a special challenge, and I am pleased that the Federal government employees in Newport Victoria are much more aware of gender diversity than their counterparts in Werribee.
So mothers and fathers – I thought the step of starting T would be a bigger solution than it was. It was a significant step but if I have learned anything from the last six months it’s that Jeremy has hopes and dreams about his physicality. There are dreams that I have offered to make a reality but he is still considering the implications for himself. He understands that he is in a position of privilege. It doesn’t alleviate the underlying feeling that he has that his journey is just starting. It doesn’t help when he feels that taking the first step isn’t accepted or understood.
It’s so unfair. I see his peers at Uni, getting part time jobs. He is so bright and engaging and that bundle of contrary actions that has bewitched me for nineteen years. His legacy was supposed to be bright and successful. The poor kid can’t even prove his identity because the forms are overwhelming and the questions daunting despite my support, love and credit card.
Time to put on my big girl panties and keep fighting the good fight. Because if the world won’t voluntarily step toward J, I will damn well make sure it does under duress.