For most of my childhood I was considered a tomboy.
My friends were mostly boys. I climbed trees and built tree houses and was often a bit grotty from collecting bugs and playing in the dirt. I hated pretty dresses. I had short hair for a number of years and I absolutely detested the colour pink! When I was 8 I received a much wanted real tool box so I could build things, and build things I did. I had a motorbike and dreamed of owning a Harley Davidson one day.
At my single mum’s home, I was the “man of the house” when it came to finding out what the loud noises were at night and taking out the spiders and comforting her when she needed it. My mother had many dysfunctional relationships with men who took advantage of her and I fought off my mum’s attackers on more than one occasion.
As a young person I was always quite opinionated and a bit mouthy. I loved wrestling and play fighting and would often beat the boys (until they all hit puberty of course). People would call me a tomboy and I would ask them, “What even is that? Who says girls can’t do whatever they want?!”
I started the first girl’s indoor soccer team in my area. I played footy and was quite good at it until the boys were told they weren’t allowed to tackle me anymore – so obviously the game lost any interest for me. I was angry at the injustice at the time but no other girls at my school wanted to form a team, so I let footy go and moved on.
If the transgender agenda was around when I was growing up, I would probably have been “transitioned”.
I was a fairly late bloomer, but by the age of about 16 I discovered and embraced my more feminine side. I gave up trying to be the boy I thought my father always wanted and may have loved more than he seemed to love me. I started to wear a bit of lippy and flirted profusely with the opposite sex. I also found my first real teenage bestie girlfriend and I loved and enjoyed our friendship. I wore my hair long and started to get more into fashion for my newfound curves. I sold my motorbike for $100 so I could buy a pair of Doc Martins.
At 20, after a failed suicide attempt, I gave my life to Jesus and found a path of happiness. This new life perspective meant that almost overnight all that I wanted was to be a wife and a mum and to create a home that I had always craved for myself as a broken and lonely little girl. I found my inner strength and life’s purpose – it wasn’t to be angry and aggressive anymore. I could relax and just be me – the evolving me – but the me I may have always been if circumstances and my often traumatic childhood had have been different. Or who knows, I may have always liked “boy things” (whatever they even are).
I suddenly dreamed of being a nurturer, a mother, a home maker and I met better men through my church network who made me believe not all men were bad or disloyal or absent or abusive. I met my husband-to-be who helped me understand that there were men who had integrity and loyalty and who did not look at women (and especially not at little girls) as objects for their sexual gratification. He won’t even look at another woman and turns away when there are underwear ads. This was astonishing to me. We are now raising sons who honour women the same way.
I am convinced that how I presented protected me when we lived in a bikie club house with my mum, her biker partner and my sisters. It may have even been subconscious. Who knows?
With the new life I experienced through my spiritual conversion I was able to soften my masculine, defensive side and embrace all the innately feminine qualities that are so special and unique and that really were also there within me all along but I had locked away.
While biological gender is binary, gender expression is not.
If the transgender agenda were around when I wanted desperately to be a boy, I could have been permanently, physically mutilated. I could have been sterilised. I could have had my healthy breasts removed and tried to sculpt my body through plastic surgery into a way that I felt my personality was “supposed” to look.
Perhaps saddest of all, I would have never have had the ability to have my four, precious, beautiful children who have given me a richness to love and depth and breadth to the meaning of life that often overwhelms me and has certainly saved me when my PTSD flares up.
They are also the reason why I was so angry when the state decided to sexualise them with the comprehensive sexuality nonsense of the notorious “Safe Schools” Program. I know firsthand what depriving a child of their childhood and innocence does. I have protected my kids. I am a mumma warrior!
As someone who has also dealt with children who have had suicidal ideation due to genetic anxiety disorders, I simply cannot accept the fear of suicide as an acceptable reason to do this to kids.
Let little girls play soccer and let little boys do ballet. Who cares? I thought we won that battle!
Do not chemically castrate them and deprive them of a peaceful future or their human right to procreate if they so choose. Deal with their minds and hearts and traumas and pains and love them, don’t mutilate them. Definitely do not normalise this radical ideology so little girls and little boys from broken homes become collateral damage in indulgent adults’ cultrual war games.
Enough is enough!
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Marijke Rancie is an ordinary, "stay-at-home" mum who shrugs off the restrictive expectations of cultural feminism. She encourages other full time mums to not feel inadequate in their occupation as wife & mother, and champions traditional family values. Also known as “Political Posting Mumma“, Marijke's personal experience and concerned research led her to raising the alarm about the hidden, inappropriate sexual content of the so-called “Safe Schools” resources.