When “Non-Binary” Entered My Home: A Montreal therapist’s lockdown story of panic, grief, and unexpected healing

By SheBearSky

When I hear the word non-binary, I cringe. It makes me deeply uncomfortable.

One of my business coaches in the U.K.—someone I love and respect—often says that all genders are welcome at her trainings. Most of her clients are women in their forties and older; there are no queer folk there. She adds that the space she creates is “inclusive,” another word that now feels toxic to me. Everything that happened to our family started with “non-binary.”

Montreal. Covid. Severe Lockdowns.

We went from embodied living—commuting to work, going to yoga, attending school, dinner parties, the cinema, grabbing coffee, meeting friends—to PANIC, uncertainty, FEAR, dissociation, checking out, and isolation. Suddenly, we were living almost entirely in the mental plane. We were all HEAD.

I was working as a therapist during this time, and my caseload increased dramatically. So many people were suffering and needed help. Old clients messaged me non-stop, desperate to return. They told me it was impossible to reach anyone—even on free helplines, you had to wait for hours.

Some days I didn’t eat until eight or nine at night, having started work early in the morning. My vision grew blurry from staring at the screen all day. My back hurt tremendously. On top of that, we were in a period of global uncertainty, with no way of knowing when it would end.

I found that even “normal” people with robust coping skills could no longer cope.

The absence of physical activity made it worse. I began to feel profoundly ungrounded. Everything became disembodied.

Hot yoga had been my go-to for mental, emotional, and physical health. After a good evening class, I would usually sleep like a baby. It worked wonders for me. But everything was closed.

When the weather in Montreal wasn’t too cold, I would walk all the way to my yoga studio on Laurier as if I were going to class. I’d stand in front of the closed door and remember how warm and cozy it used to be inside. It was so much fun to see familiar faces—we all knew each other. Friendly banter in the women’s changing room, then seeing bodies in the mirror, sweating together, feeling healthy and truly present. The voice of a wonderful instructor giving cues, often in both English and French.

It was especially magical during the holidays. From the studio’s big windows, I could watch snow drift slowly through the air, lit by Christmas decorations.

So peaceful…

Grief and the Declaration

Now everyone was gone.

A wave of grief rose up in me—something immense I couldn’t quite name. Grief for how things used to be…Grief for how I envisioned my life was going to look like in used-to-be vibrant and exciting Montreal.

It was during this difficult time that my teen daughter declared she was “non-binary.”

I knew the term was becoming a trend in Canada—a social contagion spreading through online forums like Reddit and Discord where young people gathered—but I was so buried under my overwhelming caseload that I didn’t see it coming. There were no real signs to notice anyway.

And plus—what did it even mean to be “non-binary?”

I came of age in the 1990s, when artists like David Bowie and Depeche Mode played with androgyny, and it wasn’t a big deal. Many of my favorite male singers wore makeup. Back then, music WAS the big deal: it helped young people understand their feelings, offered an emotional release, and created a sense of community. We grouped ourselves around music genres, not around imaginary avatar identities online.

So my reaction to her “non-binary” declaration was almost a non-reaction. I didn’t want to solidify anything and simply said, “OK. Great. What’s for dinner?”

But I caught the look she gave me—a look that said, You don’t give a shit about me. In that moment, I knew in my gut that a new crisis was forming.

About two weeks later, she dropped another bomb and demanded that I listen: “I am trans. I never wanted to be a girl.”

I felt as if I had just received a cancer diagnosis. I knew that from now on, everything was about to change.

I had a chance to speak to another mother in a similar situation, and she told me:“We are three years into this nightmare, and there is no end in sight. It’s as if our child joined a cult—but I love her too much to give up on her.”

That last sentence became my mantra. In the darkest moments that followed, I kept repeating to myself: I love her too much to give up on her.

I had a feeling she was being groomed by someone online. Talking to her became impossible—she had answers to every question, and they all felt scripted. I sensed the presence of a third force between us. You can call that third force many things—a cult, an indoctrination machine, a new kind of marketing beast.

I felt like the bad mother from the Grimm’s fairy tale Hansel and Gretel—as if I had left my innocent child to wander alone through the dark corners of the internet forest. And of course, there were witches hiding in seductively attractive little houses, their walls glittering with candy in every color of the rainbow.

The lure of gender ideology, masquerading as edgy and cool, lay in wait inside those little silos and forums—ready to pounce and devour both body and soul.

As a parent, it was impossible to stand over her shoulder and monitor every click.

Plus, my own cup was empty; I had nothing to give.

At the end of the day, I craved a cigarette and a glass of wine alone on the porch.

Choosing Survival

For the first three months I put myself through the hell of never-ending research that induced constant panic, hyper-vigilance, and failed communication. It became clear to me early on—logic was not going to solve this problem, because it wasn’t a matter of having the right information. She didn’t want to listen to anything.

One of the most shocking things she told me was that once she started testosterone, she would begin her chosen male puberty and finally become a real man.

My words failed me completely at that point. I remember sitting there, unable to speak, realizing just how deeply she believed in this illusion.

My nervous system was a total wreck during this time. I couldn’t sleep and had nightmares every night. “Your baby girl is growing a beard. Your baby girl is growing a beard,” someone kept whispering into my ear in those terrible dreams.

Finally, I said, No more! If I didn’t make drastic changes, this would destroy our entire family.

I reduced my caseload.

I began taking brisk walks every day, no matter how cold it was—just to get back into my body and recharge my batteries. My daughter and I started an online painting class. It gave us something physical to do together, side by side, and opened up space to talk about things entirely unrelated to gender. It became a gentle bonding experience that brought us closer. I chose to focus on our relationship and became really fearful of open confrontations with her on any subject.

I began prioritizing my own well-being, realizing that we can’t heal our children without first healing ourselves.

Breathwork and a Return to Life

Discovering Clarity Breathwork completely changed my life and restored my emotional and mental health.

I didn’t want to work with a traditional therapist—and the good ones had long waiting lists anyway. Through some research, I found online breathwork group sessions. Although skeptical at first, I decided to stay open-minded and give the practice a chance. Almost immediately, I felt more connected to my life force, and the sick, choking sensation in my throat began to ease.

This somatic practice of conscious, connected breathing helped me become a calmer, more present parent. The positive shift in me created a ripple effect throughout our family—I could see my daughter relax in my presence and seek out more time together.

Mexico: Healing in Nature

Although I had begun to care for myself—cutting back my caseload and finding support through powerful breathwork sessions with a wonderful practitioner—I still felt isolated and alone. The atmosphere in Canada was becoming increasingly unhealthy, filled with warning signs of a creeping dystopian totalitarianism. I craved freedom and real health for myself and my family. I felt that I could not counter the larger forces at play…

That period is a blur in my memory. I think it was during yet another lockdown nearing the end of 2020. People around me were lining up for the experimental vaccine and talking endlessly about boosters. I wanted to find my own tribe. Around that time someone recommended Sasha Stone, and through him I discovered the Brave New Life project, which hosted weekly connection calls for people who felt out of step with what was happening in Canada and the United States—people like me who felt isolated and even ostracized by family and friends.

Through these conversations I learned that many people were leaving the cities, returning to the land, forming small communities. Quite a few were heading to Mexico, and it began to feel like a healthy alternative for my family too. During one call I met a local man—an artist from the former Soviet bloc—who told me about an extraordinary place in Mexico where he had once lived. We began to correspond, and the more I learned, the more I longed to go. At the time, though, it wasn’t even clear whether travel was possible. The Canadian and Quebec governments pushed a steady stream of fear-mongering. Finally, just before Christmas, the government announced that families could gather in groups of no more than five, and the airports seemed to reopen. I knew in my heart this was our chance.

When we finally made it to Mexico, all of us were exhausted. I honestly couldn’t believe we had escaped Canada in one piece. We chose to stay in a place that barely had internet, suggested by the guy from Montreal. There was limited Wi-Fi in a couple of restaurants, but it was painfully slow. It was perfect: I didn’t have the energy to fight over screen time, and suddenly we were free to roam the beautiful countryside instead of sitting in chairs watching other people’s lives.

A loose band of children—Mexican and expat—formed a kind of roaming tribe, and my daughter quickly found a new peer group. I never knew exactly what she told them about her trans identity, but from what I gathered, they didn’t really understand what she was talking about. Wanting to fit in, she let it go, went with the flow, and simply tried to be like everyone else. Her hair grew long.

She relaxed and stopped fixating on what she looked like. And here I want to say this to parents, because I’m often asked: there was no big declaration once she dropped the whole thing. She never came out and said, “Hey Mom, all of this was nonsense and not my idea at all. I fell under the influence of some TikToker or someone on Discord. You were right—no one can change their biology. You have to accept your body as it is.” So don’t wait for it!

Then a quiet miracle happened. An older boy started paying attention to her. I was lucky enough to witness how he looked at her—with the unmistakable, tender adoration of a teenage boy. She blushed and looked down. Nature took over, and I am forever grateful to that boy.

During those months, my goal was to fill our days with real-world activities, to help her notice the difference between the tangible reality of nature and the imaginary problems of cyberspace. I wanted her to re-inhabit her body and tire her out physically, leaving less energy for rumination.

My daughter and I volunteered at a local animal shelter, walked around the beach collecting plastic and fed homeless cats.

It became clear to me that we can’t outsource parenting to technology. To stay human we have to interact with other human beings - not their avatars. I am forever grateful to our experience in Mexico with all the adventures, difficulties, challenges and numerous scratches and mosquito bites.

PS. After 4 years in Mexico, my daughter chose to go back to Canada with her father. She decided to pursue higher education in the field of creative arts.

I made a choice to remain in Mexico from where I work online as a therapist/mental health coach, providing support for teenagers/young adults with gender distress and their concerned parents who prefer to work with a professional who is not ideologically captured. I continue to take care of the homeless cat population in the area and prepare to hold healing retreats for the parents in the near future.

Jennifer’s Newsletter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber at the bottom of the home page.

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You can reach SheBearSky bearskyshebearsky@proton.me for more information/to book a consultation or get on the retreat waiting list.

You can also subscribe to her free blog on Substack: @bearskyshebearsky

Donations to cover cat food/vet care or to sponsor a private session with her for a parent in need can be made here: paypal.me/bearskyshebearsky

BIO

SheBearsky is a mother who swiftly relocated with her 14-year-old daughter to Mexico, helping her avoid irreversible medical interventions and reconnect with her biological sex. With 25 years of experience in sexuality, sexual health, and identity development, SheBearsky holds an MA in Counselling Psychotherapy and a PhD in History. SheBearsky has lived, studied, and worked across Canada, Mexico, England, Japan, and Hong Kong. Her work encourages healthy, embodied living, relationships, and time in nature.

Working mostly online with international clients seeking non-affirmative care, SheBearsky supports gender-confused youth in realigning with their biological sex by addressing root causes and offers ethical, compassionate guidance to concerned parents.

At the moment, SheBearsky is finishing her first book, Quebecistan Chronicles: How I Escaped Trudeau’s Dystopia During Covid, a memoir of pandemic-era upheaval and hard-won freedom.

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Jennifer Bilek is an investigative journalist who has tracked the funding of the gender industry for over a decade. She is creator of the The 11th Hour, a platform highlighting the connections between technology, transsexualism, and transhumanism. Her research into the philanthropic backers of the gender industry has been utilized for legal briefs, and platformed in myriad publications, films, and other media in the US and internationally. She has appeared on The Megyn Kelly Show, Steven Bannon’s War Room, and James Patrick’s Big Picture, and on various other platforms and podcasts. She has been featured in films such as No Way Back (2023), Gender Transformation (2023), and The Gender Delusion (2023). Her work has been published in numerous books and magazines, among which: First Things, Tablet, Human Events, The Federalist, The Spectator World, The American Mind, and in the anthology Female Erasure. She is the author of Transsexual Transgender Transhuman: Dispatches From the 11th Hour.