Therapy sessions can expose ugly truth in unexpected places. It was only a matter of time before one of the psychologists interviewed for the Carlos Collins article revealed some alienating parental snafus of this author's own doing.
I am the parent of an LGBTQ+ child, and I consider myself their strongest ally. I also have two gay half-brothers, and I still think they’re the coolest, most charismatic guys on the planet. Despite all that, 20 minutes with Atlanta clinical psychologist Dr. Jesmond Fair had me coming to terms with a grievous mistake many parents make without even trying.
Roughly a decade ago, I urged my kid to tone down their colorful sense of style. My child was still in high school and experimenting with non-traditional clothing. As a parent, I was terrified the behavior could derail a career, and I advised them to purge their Facebook and social media posts of any hint of alternative lifestyle.
“Get your career in order first,” I said. “Dress however you want once you’re established.”
My request came from a place of protection, but that’s not how Fair says my child saw it.
“‘I love you, but don’t be yourself,’ is probably what your son heard,” Fair told me. “How do you say in one breath that you love me but that this love is conditional? Statements like ‘I don’t care what you do, but don’t bring that side of your life around me,’ or ‘Do what you want all day, but I don’t want to have to see it.’ These conflicting messages suggest a kind of accepting, but without accepting. It’s a pseudo rejection, and being dismissive of the lifestyle is a rejection of a part of them.”
My kid wasn’t even out of high school, but I was already demanding they compartmentalize whole sections of themselves and learn how to deceive an entire world. Right after the interview, I jumped on the phone, and learned Fair was right, of course.
“I know where all that came from, but it was still rejection, like I couldn’t really exist as myself,” my kid told me. “All these years I’ve been putting on a façade. I’ve been ‘fake’ ever since I was 3—for 24 or 25 years.”
My cautious request was apparently a rejection of his life—just one more voice in a cruel world chorus telling him he needed sweeping under a rug.
“I’ve learned all of these behaviors that society told me I had to learn, and I had to unlearn what I was,” my kid said. “So now I have to go back and relearn and rediscover myself from years and years ago and try to put the pieces together and reassemble myself at the age of 28, which is really kind of crazy. But here we are.”
I wasn’t even trying to hurt anybody. Now, imagine the damage that comes of a parent speaking more from a place of malice, fear or shame … even revulsion.
Of course I see my own child’s vulnerable face reflected in the countenance of Carlos Collins. They were the same age, both Black and LGBTQ+, and vulnerable to society the moment they set foot outside. If society's dangerous elements can callously dispose of Carlos, with all his enviable charm and charisma, what hope is there for young people who don’t light up the whole room, who are just trying to live and love their lives?
A parent can effortlessly scar a young mind, and I now feel a shiver of responsibility for having contributed to this element.
Perhaps we all should, even if we don’t.
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