Dear Fellow Human Who Sent My Family Hate Mail
I don’t feel anger the way you do, because how you live your life is not threatening to me
Dear fellow human who sent my family hate mail: in April of 2019, after my husband posted about being excited that we could finally affirm our child’s gender within her birth certificate after a very long, painful, and emotional journey in order to protect her from harm once she entered school, you found the brief and incorrect description of our story via a meme, “news” site, or white nationalist website. You sent us your most intense emotional reactions, ill wishes, and sometimes, even death threats.
Despite what I thought I would feel, I was not and am not angry at you. Certainly, those cruel words you sent — using incredibly foul language, acting as if you knew what was true for our child, threatening our careers, threatening to call child services, debasing and degrading us as people and as parents, and — for some of you, even threatening our lives and our children’s lives — were, of course, hurtful. But, I still did not feel angry at you. However, after the third resurgence of the viral posts and messages, I felt something I did not expect.
I felt envy.
I sometimes wish I felt so certain about my beliefs of what is right and wrong. Like some of you, I grew up Christian and was told what was right and wrong — as two very definitely separate, easy to understand things. But, then I saw “Christian” people do awful things. I was hurt by “good” people — and then, people that I was told were wrong and sinful were actually pretty kind. I recognized that the world is much more complex than I was ever taught as a child.
I wish it was the case that problematic people came with clear indications that they were not good people. But the truth is so much more complex — we are all capable of good and bad things. It takes a lot to face the world and the people in it knowing that anyone around you can be capable of both good or evil. Sometimes, I wish I could unsee and unlearn that and live in the simpler world in which you live — where all people in one category are wrong, immoral, or bad. But, I cannot.
I sometimes wish that I felt so entitled to demand other people tell me their stories — as you did to my husband and I. I want to know why people are so angry — what trauma they have experienced, what secrets they are hiding from everyone, what masks they are wearing. But, I cannot imagine demanding someone to explain to me their intimate personal or family experiences. I never felt that I deserved to know anything about anyone else. I do not feel that I have any right to ask information about your choices or family.
“Underneath the pretenses, underneath their anger and trauma, I get a glimpse of the beauty that is each person.”
I sometimes wish that I had the absolute confidence you have — to message a complete stranger and tell them exactly what you think. Hell, there are some family members I wish I could message and tell them what I think and let go of my anger onto them. But, I’ve never been able to do that. Because I feel too much. I feel guilt in hurting others, no matter who it is.
I feel pain when others feel pain, I feel the effects of trauma when people have gone through trauma, and I feel immense hurt when someone is hurting. If I think I have caused anyone pain, I am a literal wreck until I repair it. I wish I could just not care about a stranger’s feelings or reactions to something I did or said — the way you did to me — but I cannot. I feel too much — all of the time.
I sometimes wish that I could just see a person in the simplistic way that I want— as you saw us — a “liberal” family with an agenda. It would be so much easier to argue with you, hate you, or be dismissive to you. Just write you off as the asshole that your hateful words to a complete stranger make you appear to be. But, I cannot. The truth is infinitely more complex and painful. I cannot see people in that way.
Since I came to terms with who I am and all the painful things that have happened to me in my life, became aware of my own emotions and behaviors, and conscious of my own “shit,” I really see people. Underneath the pretenses, underneath their anger and trauma, I get a glimpse of the beauty that is each person. When I went to your Facebook page to block you from sending me any more threatening or angry messages, I looked at your pictures. Your smile — some of you have kids — all of you had family and loved ones. I see through to your beautiful soul, underneath the anger, pain, and scars.
And I often wish I did not.
I wish I had the luxury and privilege of not knowing what it was like to grow up different, struggle with a part of yourself that you had been taught was immoral or wrong.
I wish I had the privilege of never seeing friends and family wishing that an inherent part of who they were would just go away, so much so, that many tried to kill themselves and/or live in constant anxiety and shame.
I wish I did not know what it was like to be rejected by a mother, who is literally the person supposed to love you unconditionally, but who would not fully embrace you because of who you were.
I wish I did not know what it is like to watch many other people suffer through that same struggle — forever haunting them into their elder years.
I wish I did not know how early young children pick up on their differences and what the world thinks, and how many beautiful souls take their own lives — as children, as adolescents, and as adults.
And after all these years, I know that anger and hate is a mask that hurts the wearer as much as it does the person who they are targeting.
I sometimes wish I could be totally oblivious and ignorant to issues of Queer and Trans people — to state like you did that these things do not really exist, that we simply have not tried hard enough, or that we just want to be this way. I sometimes wish that I did not know what any of it meant because I did not HAVE to know. But, that’s not possible. Multiple members of my family, myself, my friends, and my clients have walked this journey of pain and struggle. I have seen it and felt it and experienced it.
When it comes to my daughter, I do wish I had the privilege and luxury of never having had to watch her struggle. I had to watch my beautiful, happy baby become withdrawn, upset, depressed, and suffer. For almost 3 years, she attempted to show me in multiple ways who she was, and I denied her the ability to express herself fully because I was PETRIFIED what this world would do to her.
I wish I could say that I did not get images of people in my head — people that talked like you did in your message to me — harm her or kill her. But, I cannot. I fear for her every day. I know that there are so many people who do not understand her — or me, as her parent. I wish I did not know that.
“if I could make her life easier by making her cisgender in this world, I would still do it in a second. But the truth is, I cannot.”
I wish I didn’t have to fear that the beautiful spark in her eyes — her authentic, wild self — would die someday — as I was seeing it die before we embraced her for who she is. I wish that my child had the same opportunity that your children or that you had — to grow up, as themselves, with no one feeling it was so wrong in her world that others had to send a hateful message to her or to her parents.
But, of course, we do not.
I wish that I hadn’t been through 3 years of mental health services for her, doctor’s visits, court and legal services, assessments, school meetings, counseling sessions for myself, fear and crying with my husband and family, and having to always be hypervigilant for danger or prejudice coming her way. I wish that this process was all so easy that it could be chalked up to an agenda that I had. But it is not — the truth is that it was hard, painful, messy and frightening — and if I could make her life easier by making her cisgender in this world, I would still do it in a second.
But, the truth is, I cannot. And even with those moments of wishing and envy, I do not truly wish to undo my life or my experiences.
Because of being authentic, honest, and out, I do not have to pretend. I never feel anger towards others for living their lives — not in the way you spoke to me — because how you live your life is not threatening to me.
I love who I am — every imperfection, every flaw, every struggle. Because of my journey, I connect to other authentic people and get to live fully on our journeys together — real, raw, and honest. I am blessed to see people push through their pain, come to love who they are, learn how to be better people, and how to treat others with more compassion and kindness. Because I know who I am, I am blessed to send and receive love — so much love, all of the time.
Because I accept people for who they are, I am also blessed to have had so many life experiences with other Queer and Trans people that you are missing. They are truly gifts that are unmatched for their resilience, compassion, empathy, wisdom, utter fabulousness, loyalty, humor, and love. As much as I sometimes wish I did not have to carry the burdens that I do, a life without Queer and Trans people would be like living a life without color.
Because I feel deeply, understand the struggle of being different, and because I see people at their core, I saw my daughter when she was struggling. When we finally allowed her to be herself, she became so intensely happy. She has blossomed at school, began speaking fully and non-stop — came into her own— in every sense of the phrase.
“My only “agenda” is to listen and learn from my daughter.”
I get to watch a child — whose confidence, self-esteem, and self-awareness are unmatched in any child I have every known — walk a journey with wonder and curiosity — without knowing where it will end — which will change me, my family, our friends, and the world, for the better.
Rather than me teach her or direct her to be any gender as you think (the only I one I ever pushed was being a boy), she actually teaches me. She is the first person to tell you that she is a girl. When I check in with her and ask if she ever feels like a boy, she has been consistent with her saying that she is a girl, persistent with her own expression of femininity, and insistent that this is who she is. My only “agenda” is to listen and learn from my daughter.
She teaches to not only love who you are, weirdness and all, but to stop trying to fit in with the people pretending to be “normal” in this world.
She teaches to never let anyone tell you what you have to be or define who you are.
She teaches to never suppress part of yourself for someone else’s comfort.
She teaches to never let anyone tell you that who you are is anything less than perfection.
She teaches to never hide, to not be afraid of being different, that our uniqueness and differences are our gifts — and that’s what makes you beautiful — inside and out.
I don’t know you, fellow human who sent my family hate mail, but I do know that your anger and righteousness covers up something deeper. I also know that the voice you used against me and my family likely pales in comparison to your own inner voice that berates yourself. I hope that you find a way to truly love yourself — as someone who has been there, it changes you completely and allows you to have so much love and compassion for others —even when they wish you harm.
And as much as sometimes I wish I could come from your perspective and not from my painful past, I cannot. That pain and those uncomfortable lessons brought me to who I am. And I am just too damn happy being myself, being married to someone who is amazingly real and empathic, having Queer and Trans people be blessings to me in my life, and raising children that get to be exactly who they were born to be.
Wishing you awareness, love, joy, health, and peace,
Misty Ginicola
