Acceptance

If you look despair up in the dictionary you will be told it means: ‘the complete loss or absence of hope’.

Stephanie was desperate. She had just been admitted to the adolescent unit of a psychiatric hospital. She felt defective, like no one would accept her for her.

The adolescent unit was very structured. They got up every morning at 7:45 and showered before breakfast at 8:30. Then they had to go to school which broke at 1:00 for lunch. They attended group from 2:00 - 3:30 and had an activity from 3:45 until tea at 5:30. After tea, they did homework and had the opportunity to relax and mingle amongst themselves.

As Stephanie was the newest to the group, she found the schedule to be very comforting as it gave her little time to think or reflect on why she was actually there. During group, she rarely shared and, when she did, she played down her feelings not wanting the group facilitators to get inside her head in case they put her on any more medication. The medication she was on had some pretty shitty side effects; she was experiencing dry mouth, fatigue, and her right leg wouldn’t stop dancing.

Due to covid, there were no visitors allowed except on Friday afternoons. That was why Fridays were referred to as family day.

On a Friday morning the six inpatients were given the opportunity to cook for their families. They cooked, not only for their families, but because the facility saw it to be an opportunity to teach the young adults a life skill.

Being Stephanie’s first family day, she was nervous. She woke early Friday morning and lay on her bed, her arms behind her head, wondering whether anyone would show up to see her. The last time she had seen her father he had said some awful things, he called her a freak.

The nurse, just like every other day, called into each of the six individual rooms to wake the occupants. As Stephanie got up to shower, her heart was fluttering as if there was a kaleidoscope of butterflies living inside her chest. She was nervous but tried not to show it.

It was quiche on the menu, one of Stephanie’s favourite dinners. She was in charge of chopping up the vegetables alongside her only friend Kyle. Kyle was in a similar situation to Stephanie and the pair bonded over their issues.

As she was cutting up the peppers, she suddenly felt very nervous. Her hand started to tremble and her heart was pounding out of her chest. She was finding it very hard to breathe and started to see white spots. Sounds were muffled around her and then…darkness.

She opened her eyes to two of the nurses standing over her. They sat her up slowly and took her blood pressure. Stephanie had had a panic attack and fainted. She was helped out of the kitchen and led into her room to lie down and breathe, a nurse by her side.

‘What happened?’ the nurse, Wendy, asked in a gentle manner.

‘I dunno,’ Stephanie answered.

‘Do you think it has anything to do with family day?’

Stephanie started to cry. She picked up her Winnie the Pooh teddy bear and wept hysterically into it. The nurse told her to let it all out. This was the first opportunity she had given any of them into seeing how vulnerable she actually was. She hated herself, not for crying, but in general. She hated her body, and most of all, she hated her father. She didn’t dare tell the nurse that, however, as she was determined to just stay for as little time was humanly possible in the unit. She had plans for when she got out; she was going to run away.

She sobbed for what seemed like hours, Wendy by her side.

There was a knock on the door. It was Wendy’s colleague Stan. He was just letting them know that the families were starting to arrive. Stephanie saw Wendy nod at him with gratitude. She turned to Stephanie and asked her if she was ready for this. Stephanie blew her nose and wiped her eyes and together they left the safety of the bedroom for the minefield of the common area.

Stephanie, who like all of her fellow inpatients, had to wear a mask due to covid guidelines. The familie members, who were also masked, started to come in droves. She sat on the cream leather couch her body rocking, her eyes on the door. She couldn’t help but smile and run towards her parents as they entered the facility looking dubious.

Her mother, a very tall well put together lady hugged her only child so vigorously that Stephanie could feel her circulation being compromised. When she finally pulled away, afraid she was going to faint again, her mother kissed her on the forehead through her mask and looked in the direction of her father who was standing next to her.

Stephanie could see her father look her up and down. She had decided that morning to dress up a bit for her parents and abandon the usual sweat pants and hoodie. She was wearing a long black t-shirt with rhinestones in the shape of a heart that she had borrowed from one of the girls and a pair of leggings.

‘Steven,’ her father said, ‘why are you dressed like a girl?’

‘I am a girl daddy!’ Stephanie retorted, her worst nightmare coming true.

Her mother shot daggers with her eyes towards her father and pulled Stephanie away asking for the tour. Her father just stood there like the tool he was and hung his head in shame.

Once the tour was over, Stephanies mother grabbed her father and dragged him over to the table of food the gang had made for family day. They all helped themselves and filled their paper plates with salad and quiche.

Nurse Wendy announced that it was a good time to have a group discussion. Stephanie was taken aback. She was unaware that this was what family day entailed.

Each of the inpatients sat beside their respective families in a bigger circle than usual. ‘This is just a waste of time!’ Stephanie heard her father say to her mother. ‘Behave!’ her mother shot back. She smiled behind her mask, at least she had one parent on board.

‘Right,’ nurse Wendy began, ‘welcome to family day!’ The congregation clapped.

‘I think we should all go around the room and introduce ourselves!’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘Stephanie, why don’t you go first because its your first family day.’ Nurse Wendy crossed her legs and sat back in her chair, her eyes smiling at the young girl she was very fond of.

Stephanie stood up.

‘I’m Stephanie and these are my….’

‘Steven!’ Her father blew up, ‘your name is Steven!’

Stephanie sat down immediately and through her eyes asked Wendy for help.

‘For god’s sake George!’ her mother spoke up. ‘If he wants to be called Stephanie, why don’t we just let him?’

‘Her!’ Stephanie turned to her parents. ‘My name is Stephanie and I go by the pronoun her! Why can’t you understand that?’

‘Your name is Steven!’ her father piped up again. ‘You were born April 14^th at 2:15 am. You weighed six pounds seven ounces and you are a boy!’

‘George!’ her mother tried to diffuse the situation.

‘No mom, I got this!’ Stephanie had been prepared for this scenario. ‘I am a girl trapped in a boy’s body and…...’

‘NO!!’ her father exploded. ‘We do not have a daughter, we have a son! His name is Steven and he is standing in front of me playing dress up. Well, my son,’ Stephanies father pointed his index finger in her face, ‘you better get your act together and fast because if you think you’re ever coming into my house with makeup on again I will beat you into tomorrow.’ George took a deep breath, his index finger shaking.

Wendy approached him and asked him to leave as Stephanie sat in her chair, her eyes welling up at the thought that nothing had changed.

‘And you,’ her father started to lay into her mother now, ‘you had better stop encouraging him. You gave birth to a boy remember, a boy!’ He swatted away Wendys attempts of trying to make him leave. ‘Stop it!’ he shouted in Wendys face. ‘I’m leaving!’

Stephanie pulled her knees into her chest and rocked as the tears streamed down her face. She could hear her father as he was ushered out of the facility by three nurses. Her mother put her hand on her shoulder and looked at her with apologetic eyes.

‘He’ll come round!’ she said encouragingly as her father barked, ‘Virginia!’

Stephanie touched her mother’s hand and nodded, she knew her mother was trying and that her father was just pig ignorant. She could hear her father from the carpark as her mother left the group room.

The whole reason she had been admitted to a psychiatric facility in the first place was because she had tried to commit suicide. She was only fifteen. She knew she was a girl living in a boy’s body for several years but didn’t have the courage to say it as she knew what her father was like. She was just unable to escape the reality any longer. Last month an ambassador for the LGBTQ+ community came to talk to her fellow students in school around acceptance and bullying. It was that seminar that finally gave Stephanie the courage to tell her parents she was a girl.

She had been ridiculed by her father who even went as far as beating her. Her mother was afraid for her son’s wellbeing if he had a conflict with his gender identity. She was afraid of him being beaten up in school and mocked if he transitioned. But school was the only place Stephanie felt safe, it was at home where she was being bullied.

She couldn’t take the abuse any longer so she took every tablet from every bottle in her parent’s vanity and her mother checked her into the facility where she was hugging her knees and wishing herself dead. It was at home where the issue lay.

Wendy entered the group room, Stephanies parents gone. The others had learned more from her father’s outburst than they had in all of the six days she had been there. They were finally able to see that abuse can very well start at home. Wendy sat in the chair beside Stephanie and asked her if she was ok. Stephanie shook her head ‘no’.

Wendy took her back to her room and sat with her.

‘I had no idea!’ Wendy admitted. ‘Why haven’t you told us before that the bruises you came here with were by your fathers’ hand?’

Stephanie felt exposed. She felt vulnerable and clammed up. Wendy called the doctor who gave Stephanie a sedative that knocked her out until morning.

In group the following day, Stephanie started to share her experience with the others. She expressed the anger she felt toward her father and the gratitude to how her mother was trying. It was no longer a secret as to why she had taken the overdose. She felt more comfortable in her own skin as everyone in there was using the right pronoun, her. That meant so much to Stephanie, she finally felt accepted.  

 

 

 

picture from pixabay