Buckle up, folks, because this is going to be a long one.
Now… I consider myself a good parent I suppose – I love my children, I cook healthy meals, I clean, I educate them, I encourage them to help around the house, I make sure they know right from wrong, that they’re polite, kind and are thoughtful of other people around them.
I’ve also taught them that they can be whoever they want to be because I will love them no matter what… which is how any parent should feel, correct?
I once (well, maybe a few times) allowed my son to dress up in pink and leave the house because he loved the colour and it made him feel good. In turn, that made me feel good that he was comfortable and happy expressing himself around me, and more importantly, he was totally okay with being himself around other people because, you know, that’s what we constantly preach to others, right?
As true as I’m writing this now, I got a truck load of shit for it and I couldn’t understand why.
“Why are you dressing him up as a girl?! You have a daughter to dress up!”
“Do you want him to grow up being confused?”
“People are going to make fun of him! You’re sick!”
Can we just get one thing straight, here?
The people and parents who behave this way are the ones damaging our children psychologically, not us.
I know this because I’ve been there.
My father wanted me to do ballet, I played football. I had to be quiet in his presence, I wasn’t allowed to express myself through fear of him being embarrassed or being punished for it.
I was bullied for most of my life because I had no voice; I didn’t know who I was then and I still don’t now… because someone I looked up to told me to keep my mouth shut because of what others would think.
I developed a personality disorder, Body Dysmorphic Disorder and an eating disorder because I had to be someone I wasn’t.
I was a pressure cooker waiting to explode and I’m now a product of everything my father hates which has a strain on our relationship and any other relationship I’ve ever had.
I’m ‘damaged’ so to speak.
So, back to where I was – I couldn’t give a flying fuck what my children want to leave the house as to be honest, because if they’re HAPPY then that’s all that matters.
My son has his nails painted, he wears makeup sometimes and pushes a pushchair around if he feels like it, because, actually, one day he may be a father.
You wouldn’t laugh then, would you?
He was invited to an Elves and Fairies party recently and guess what he wanted to go as?