Dear Therapist,
You probably don't remember who I am. After all, it's been five years since I was fifteen and in your office. Frankly, I don't even remember your name. That's, ultimately, how little impact you had on my life. But there is one thing about you that has been stuck in my brain after all these years.
I was fifteen and terrified of myself. I was so scared about the things I was feeling. I mustered up all of the courage I had to tell you something in the hopes that as a mental health professional, you would help me understand and accept myself.
I told you I was gay and that I was pretty sure I was transgender.
I don't know what I expected. But what I didn't expect was for you to tell me the same thing every other adult in my life did: "You're too young to know that." And even worse, you laughed and you told me: "You're not gay, you're just seeking attention." As for the gender issue, you told me that there was no such thing, that I was making it up.
So now my sexuality, something I felt insecure about as it was, was lumped in with my self-harm. It was something I did, not because it was a part of myself, but rather as a cry for help and ploy for attention. And although I knew that I wasn't really "girl", but not really "man", you told me that I was just a tomboy and that I was being ridiculous. And you pulled my mother into the room and the two of you laughed at what a silly, naive child I was. You told her that forbidding me from seeing the girl I had called my girlfriend was the right thing to do. All while I sat there wanting to die more than I had to date.
Because I believed you. You were an adult that I trusted had my best interests in mind. In addition to this, you were a mental health professional, and I was there because I couldn't trust my own brain. I believed every word you told me because I was already convinced my mind was playing tricks on me. And you knew that and took advantage of it.
It has taken me five years and a lot of self-loathing to learn that you were wrong. I can't pretend I understand your choices, why you felt the need to tell an impressionable teenager that they were wrong. I can only imagine that you allowed your own prejudices to affect your ability to counsel, and that's unfortunate.
I hope every day that there wasn't another vulnerable teenager after me who walked into your office hoping for solace and instead faced even more rejection. And if there was, I hope they know what I know now.
I am not broken. I was not making my sexuality or gender identity up. I was not saying these things for the sake of getting attention from my mother. I was saying those things because they are fundamental parts of who I am as a person now as well as the person I was then. And though my labels have changed, the core of it remains. And the core is that you were wrong about me.
Signed,
William Brauchler
they/them/theirs or xe/xir/xirs
bisexual, genderqueer, real, and valid.
