I was thinking back on a previous post, where I was mourning the loss of Izzy’s birth name. When I wrote that I felt overcome by grief and that felt ok, understandable, expected even. But now I find myself in an altogether different place; it actually pains me to think I haven’t always known Izzy was Izzy. I no longer grieve, and I don’t miss the child that was here before. That child just seems like an empty shell, a costume that my daughter was forced to wear. Was she really ever a boy?
Perhaps this is partly because of Izzy’s own view of the past; she wants it removed. Hearing her old name or pronouns used distresses her. She tells me she feels both sad and angry when people do that (and it is only ever accidental, aside from when Freddie does it, but that’s a whole other post I need to get written). When I hear male pronouns, or her birth name used I have to hold back tears. It actually hurts my heart, and I know without doubt that it is unintentional, but still it feels like a slap in the face…Because I want to forget. I want to forget that as a mother, I didn’t know that my child was in pain. I didn’t know she’d arrived in the wrong body. I don’t know if that feeling will ever leave me, guilt. So perhaps forgetting, for now, is my way of coping.