Part 1
Unavoidable Roads

Chapter 2
Confusion

The 48 year old man sat trying to remember his childhood. He was talking and his therapist was listening. She, the therapist, had probed, pushed really, for the man to recall his earliest memories, almost as if a failure to remember would cloud her diagnosis. It seemed critical to his psychological well-being. The man wanted to remember everything, but couldn't. What he did remember, however, was vivid. The therapist was specifically interested if he remembered anything when he was five, or four or even three. He did.

The therapist had explained that there were no absolutes in mental health, especially in making a diagnosis dealing with people who had identity issues. Often piecing together the early years, the formative ones, was critical to understanding what was driving current behavior as well as the anxiety, the depression, the hopelessness, the thoughts of suicide. The therapist was absolutely positive the man had identity issues, specifically gender identity issues. She had seen him dressed as a female, appropriately and somewhat convincingly, at one of the support meetings she went to occasionally. But she knew there were variations to gender identity problems and that there could be manifestations of other very troubling issues; alcoholism, abuse, sexual issues, fetishes, and even psychosis.

In just a couple of sessions the therapist knew the man was deeply conflicted and troubled, but she wasn’t sure about a definitive diagnosis. Was he a progressive fetishist cross-dresser, or did he suffer from a life-long and deep seated gender dysphoria? In short, was the man a transsexual, or more accurately under DSM IV 302.85 was he suffering with Gender Identity Disorder?

Not only would it help her make a firm diagnosis, but exploring the man’s childhood would be therapeutic. So the therapist asked the man to think about his childhood, before he started school. Did he remember anything specific about wanting to be a girl, or feeling like he was one? Did he, as a little boy, feel confused?

The man’s memory of those early years was hazy but he clearly did not remember feeling confused. He didn’t remember it that way. What he did recall was not really clear; childhood memories are hardly ever clear. He couldn’t remember a specific event, just fuzzy moments, little patches like playing dolls with his older sister. He didn’t remember any abuse or being forced to dress as a girl because that didn’t happen. The man told the therapist that as best he could remember he actually thought he was a girl before he started school. As a four and five year old he was not confused about that.

The man didn’t remember, couldn’t remember, that as a child he didn’t understand the difference between little boys and little girls. That isn’t that unusual, most very young children don’t. What was different for the boy was that he was certain he was a girl and therefore when he got older he would be like his older sister, not like his rough and tumble older brother. Where he lived with his parents and maternal grandparents there were no other little boys or girls to play with, just his brother and sister. He didn’t know why he didn’t have dresses to wear but knew that would change when he started school. He wondered why other little girls at church wore dresses and he didn’t. He even asked his mother about not having a dress to wear, but the man talking to the therapist didn’t remember asking his mother about that, and he didn’t remember that she laughed, gave him a hug and brushed it off. “Don’t ask your father that.” She advised the little boy. The hug and the answer were reassuring as if the boy's question was appropriate. The boy’s mother gave him hope. No, there wasn’t confusion.

When the boy started school it was disappointment and fear that took over the boy’s life. He didn’t understand why his father took him to have his hair cut the week before school started. He watched as the blond curls fell to the floor of the barber shop and he didn’t recognize the face in the mirror when he heard the barber tell his father what a fine looking boy he had. Still he did not lose hope, waiting for the next week for his mother to surprise him with a dress for school. Instead she hung pants and a shirt next to his bed the night before the first day of school. He didn’t cry or resist as his mother helped him get dressed that first morning. He didn’t protest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t talk at breakfast. He even gave his mom a kiss as he left holding hands with his older sister walking down the long path to the bus stop. The man didn’t recall any of that.

The man did remember not getting on the school bus. He remembered hiding while his brother and sister got on the bus, and going back to the house telling his mother he missed the bus. The man remembered his mom and dad driving him to school. The boy refused to get out of the car but was eventually coaxed out and into the school, lovingly coaxed, not threatened.

The man remembered, vividly, how school seemed to be fun with boys and girls his own age doing things with paste and crayons. The man remembered how all the girls wore dresses, and had long hair. He remembered the class being told to line up for recess, girls on one side, boys on the other. He clearly remembered the pain, both physical and emotional, when the teacher grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the girls’ line, telling him he was not funny amid the laughter of the class, especially the boys.

Of course the man could not remember what the boy felt after that first day of school. He wished he could remember more but he couldn’t. If he did he would remember that the boy realized that there would be no dress for him; the boy knew he wasn’t like the other children; and he knew he couldn’t talk about it, knew he had to be careful because he somehow understood that he couldn’t explain how he felt or let anyone know because they would just be so confused.