BEL MOONEY: My grandson told me he is a woman now... then he ignored me
Dear Bel
One of my grandsons has decided he wants to become a woman. The only information I had was an email a couple of years ago. I'm afraid my reaction was rather terse and that caused this problem.
For the first 30 years of his life, I never had any indication of him being other than a man. After university, he went on a break and met a girl on his travels. They eventually married in America. Before that however, they had my hospitality for two years, until they could buy a house – when I helped them financially.
Some three years ago, it was necessary for me to move to a retirement home near my son. This meant, of course, selling the house after 40 years.
It was very traumatic, but I agreed and let the young couple have most of my possessions. They had a child two years ago and became regular visitors. Then came the email, telling me his new 'female' name.
On the eve of her 91st birthday my wife died and I was glad I had not told her about it. My grandson and his wife and child attended the funeral but since then I've been ghosted. Not had a single contact from them despite the fact that I had sent money for my great-grandson's birthday and Christmas.
I had also sent birthday cards and letters still no reply. Not even a curt 'Thanks'.
After everything I have done for this couple I feel humiliated, and very, very disappointed at their attitude. Unless I accept their decision unconditionally, I am at fault. What is your opinion of all this?
Adam
Bel Mooney replies: My instinctive response is blunt in the extreme, but I must be rather careful here and not publicly express my real feelings as frankly as I would face to face with you in private.
I like to think this column is a tolerant and caring space, but here we have an elderly gentleman who has been treated with inexcusable rudeness by a couple in their thirties to whom he was very kind indeed. I don't care whether your grandson now calls himself a man or a woman or a fluffy bunny, he has absolutely no right to be so damn ungrateful, bad-mannered (to be generous) or cruel (to be more truthful.)
When he sent you the email telling you he must now be called Rose (I made that name up) you were supposed to reply congratulating him on finding his true identity, and gushing how absolutely wonderful that your great-grandson now has two mums... or similar nonsense.
Yes, you were expected to indulge his fantasy, but you couldn't do that because you know perfectly well that a Roger cannot turn into a Rose just because he says so. I am so with you on that. You probably told him to sort his head out, or words to that effect. Now, I often advise parents and grandparents to keep their opinions to themselves in order to retain family harmony, and sometimes readers come back with a version of 'But why the hell should we?' And I always sympathise.
Peace at any price usually means allowing untruth to win. Being honest usually means causing family problems. That is what's meant by finding yourself between a rock and a hard place.
So I admit I wish you had just ignored the man's email, while at the same time I know his announcement that he is now 'female' would have irritated me too. I believe our society has gone completely mad in demanding we acquiesce to every single 'identity' shibboleth going.
When his email came you were taking care of your wife, and I too am glad you allowed her to die without knowing about the email. It won't help much, but at the moment I ask you to remember that your grandson's wife and child are having to deal with the fallout of his decision to transition. That can cause huge problems within a family, which is why there are online support groups for them.
I think the family's rudeness to you is appalling, but just want to point out that this cannot be an easy time for them either. What can you do? I imagine you have told your son how humiliated, sad and angry you feel. He might well agree. All I can do is offer you my sympathy.
Dear Bel
I am middle-aged, married and retired, with grown up children. Every day I suffer from low mood as well as a huge lack of confidence which I think has crept up over the years, although I don't know why.
For example, I no longer feel comfortable and happy driving, although I used to consider myself a good driver. I also suffer from anxiety which is horrible and stops me from doing things I wouldn't have thought twice about when younger.
I hope I'm young at heart – love music, theatre, painting, keeping fit etc. But I don't have as many friends as I used to. Recently I have let a couple go due to the friendships being not what they were.
My marriage has been difficult at times, we are very different people with different friends. I think it would be great to have a shared social circle, but it doesn't quite work like that.
Sometimes I think about my youth when I had so many friends, but I know you have to go forward – although I admit I enjoy looking back.
In many ways, I know I am lucky. I get on well with my kids and my wider family and there are things to look forward to. I guess I'm just dissatisfied with my present life, so how do I get my 'joie de vivre' back ?
Sarah
Bel Mooney replies: The subject of your email is one word: 'Languishing.' It conjured up for me an image of a boat in the doldrums, just wallowing and lolloping about on a calm-ish sea with no wind to drive it forward.
Such a situation can make you queasy – as anybody with experience of small boats will know. Similarly it's not always just the storms in life which make you feel like throwing up.
What I didn't know is that 'languishing' is now an accepted term in modern psychology, a concept seen as the opposite of 'flourishing' and first used related to mental health by an American sociologist in 2002. Some readers might be thinking this is annoyingly typical – an American academic giving a label to a normal human feeling which might be summed up as 'meh' or 'blah'.
You might ask, as I often do, whether it's helpful to society to give a label to every single mood, thus making it akin to an illness. ('School avoidance disorder' anyone?)
Yes, Sarah, you are right to imagine that many people feel the same way. I once thought of myself as a hot-shot driver but now dislike piloting my 12-year-old Mini. I find myself worrying about parking the darn thing, and also become anxious about (say) going on a perfectly ordinary holiday.
Why do we experience such changes? I'm afraid they are a common symptom of getting older, like having a stiff neck (just one thing that makes reversing and parking harder), hating increased traffic on our roads, resenting parking apps, getting exhausted at the very thought of an airport, realising that home is safer than elsewhere and (in general) having experienced most of life's inconveniences and knowing they tend to get worse, so dreading them even more.
Hands up all of you out there who recognise these symptoms! They are perfectly natural responses to modern life. No medicine or counselling needed here.
But two other problems lurk within your email: marriage and friendship. These most certainly feed into your lowness of mood. Like many people you feel wistful because you are not sharing your life with the 'soul-mate' (an irritating yet useful shorthand) many people dream of.
You are almost certainly feeling lonely within your marriage and just wish it were otherwise. However, it isn't too late to make a concerted effort to find something new that you and your husband might be able to share – whether finding out about University of the Third Age activities, planning changes to the garden or deciding to share your life with a pet.
I just ask you to try and think creatively along such lines, and talk it through with him. Anyway, couples can be very different, yet still show an interest in each other's likes.
It's quite normal to let certain friendships slide as we change. You can't keep everybody who has once been important. Don't worry about that, just focus on the friendships you have and vow to give them even more input. You can start to combat your own malaise by being pro-active.
Organise a lunch with three female friends and laugh over a bottle of wine (or two). Make a plan with your closest friend to go for a walk every week and notice something new in nature.
This is one way (NHS-approved!) to 'go forward', which is (as you say) essential. The natural world changes just as we do, and teaching yourself to identify with its great cycles can be both humbling and exhilarating.
What exactly is 'joie de vivre'? Is it possible to feel the joy of life all the time? Hmm, personally I take as my mantra (written into each year's diary) wise words from the great Norwegian playwright, Ibsen: 'Live, work, act; don't sit and brood and grope among insoluble enigmas.'
And finally... Suffering shows our humanity
Two weeks ago I told you I was off to 'learn something new'. Neither my husband nor I had ever visited the extraordinary sites at Pompeii and Herculaneum, overwhelmed by a catastrophic volcanic eruption nearly 2,000 years ago.
In the summer of AD79, nearby Mount Vesuvius erupted, spewing smoke, stones, lava and toxic gas 20 miles into the air, which spread to the towns and villages totally burying people and places for centuries.
We travelled with a company called Andante, which specialises in history and archaeology. Experienced archaeologist John Shepherd explained everything with tireless skill.
Yes, it may sound a bit geeky – but incidentally, I'd encourage single readers to investigate what the company offers because at least eight in our group were alone, and found the convivial nightly group dinners a real plus.
Anyway, I remain moved by imagining the horror of what those poor long-dead people endured. To see casts of the bodies in attitudes of agony and fear is indescribable. A couple huddling together, a dog in its death agony, a child... How can such things seem remote when you realise that these people were like us in so many ways?
Read the eyewitness of young Pliny: 'You might hear the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the shouts of men; some calling for their children, others for their parents, others for their husbands... one lamenting his own fate, another that of his family; some wishing to die, from the very fear of dying; some lifting their hands to the gods; but the greater part convinced that there were now no gods at all...'
Women at Herculaneum decked themselves in their best jewellery, hoping to escape. Our holiday left me thinking about universality – the real people who called out for loved ones, as we do.
