We don't see a counselor because we're on the brink of divorce, though. We're pragmatic people and see value in therapy, and while we hardly ever go with expectations of where the conversation will end up, we always leave feeling stronger and more secure both in our marriage and in ourselves.
Yesterday was one of those "I have no idea where this will go" kinds of sessions. It was also one of those where I talked almost the whole time, which is unusual; typically I have things to contribute, but I let Alden or the counselor do most of the talking. Since we talked about school starting up, though, my floodgates opened wide.
I recently posted about my rainbow child going to Kindergarten, so this topic was fresh (and apparently forefront!) in my mind. I expressed my fear about Tycho going to school and having to basically put in all this effort--again--to make sure teachers and the administration and students accepted him for who he was and mitigated as much bullying as they reasonably could. He's a unique kid, and with that will come some challenges that he'll ultimately have to overcome (as he has done so well already in his five short years of life), but I can't help feeling protective and wanting to shield him from all that mess.
Our counselor pointed out something important, a fact of life that I try really hard to ignore: I can't protect him from everything. I can be his rock, his guide, his mom... but that's really it. He's the one who needs to fight those battles and advocate for himself. Like, okay, duh; I can't be at school with him, making sure that his peers are kind to him at all times. It's just not feasible, and it doesn't teach him shit.
I also can't stop him from changing who he is. This one was probably more difficult for me to wrap my brain around; I've become accustomed to the rainbow-loving, nail polish-adorned, glitter-wrapped human that he is, and I'm incredibly proud to see him buck gender norms in favor of what makes him happy.
Sometimes when he comes back from his dad's house, he's not the same kid. I mean, he is the same kid, but he doesn't look like the kid I know. Recently, he came back wearing these super-douchey brown leather Sperry boat shoes, and while he didn't seem to mind them being on his feet, I had to hide my absolute and utter disgust. I mean, first, leather... y'all know my personal convictions on animal-based products, so I really don't have to go into that here.
Second, and probably most importantly, I didn't feel like they were who he was. I felt like those shoes were a reflection of his father's side of the family, who are all gender normative and do shit like make fun of a family member for being vegan. (Who makes fun of family for something that literally does them no harm?!) When I saw those shoes, I felt a sting similar to when I was pregnant with Tycho and his father questioned how he would feel about his son if he turned out gay, or to when he saw the Elsa dress that Tycho asked for as a Christmas present and he made a snide comment about taking me to court if my boy ends up in a talent show in a dress and nail polish and dancing to Anaconda.
I was secretly delighted when I asked Tycho the next day to put on his shoes and, though those douchey Sperrys were also in his shoe cubby, he went for his sparkly white ones with the elastic rainbow no-tie laces, which are getting fairly beat up after daily wear. I was even more ecstatic when Alden and I brought the boys to Target for new shoes for the school year and he scoured the rows for rainbow shoes, which we had to special order since they didn't have his size.
They also don't carry them in adult sizes, like wtf, these shoes are AMAZING.
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| Seriously, Target, I need these in a women's size 8, plz and tyvm. |
But while I can allow Tycho to express himself at our house ("Mommy-Tycho's house," as we call it) and wax gothic poetry about his father, I can't protect him from societal and peer pressure, or even from gender stereotypes, hard as we try. There's only so much I can do if we go to the store and, because his friend either has a similar pair or because he's been picked on for his previous choices in footwear, he chooses a pair of Sperry-like shoes. Or changes his favorite color from rainbow to a "boy color." Or decides his glittery bedroom walls aren't a reflection of who he's become, just of who he was, and he wants to paint over it all.
I have to admit, I'm a little terrified of losing my rainbow child. I'm so scared of losing the creative, inventive, trendy, unique boy that I have to social pressure.
Let's be real, though; as our counselor pointed out, there's definitely incentive and motivation to succumbing to peer pressure, including becoming an accepted member of a group. He's going to do some things that I simply can't control because he wants to be accepted by his peers, and I can only hope that those things are, like... changing his favorite color or choosing knockoff Sperrys instead of drugs or alcohol or unprotected sex. I should probably be counting my blessings if that's all I (and he) had to "deal with"!
The best and most I can do is give his teachers and the administration a heads-up on who Tycho is and how he expresses himself, and aside from mitigating any bullying, pretty much let it go from there. I can't control every choice he makes, but I can at least set the groundwork for more positive interactions.
And in the meantime, Alden and I are committed to making our home his sanctuary, the place where he can truly be himself. With any luck, his school will follow suit.
He sleeps in a room painted with yellow (or "golden") and sparkle paints. His nightlights are a pink lava lamp with gold glitter and a rainbow projector across his ceiling. The blanket that keeps him warm boldly carries all the colors of the rainbow, and he repeats them with a Rain Man-like vigor like he does everything else in his favorite color: "Red-orange-yellow-green-blue-purple!"
(First, you're welcome for the earworm!)
