That's really interesting, Crotch. I am similar but flipped - posh mum, working class dad.
Not that I can say I have strong insight into others though tbh.
So I think one reason I’m so troubled by the trans narrative being incontestible is that I recognise so much of it, personally. I was told I wanted to be a boy, that I was really a boy, over and over and over as a child. It was absolutely ENDLESS, though my parents never did it and were completely fine with me as I was. But everyone else had a big problem with me. Constant drama! I have such sympathy for the experience of being just wrong-fitting and not doing it on purpose at all.
And I remember telling a friend in infant school that I really was a boy and there had been a mistake, because that seemed like it must be the answer to all this ruckus. But my mother insisted that the things I liked were girl things, because I, a girl, was doing them. A gift! That belief really saved me. I feel obliged to pass that on. I can't agree that that be taken away from other girls.
When I reached puberty and was still, intractably, both myself and female, I was told I was mad and put in a special school away from other people. And I accepted it for ages - I internalised the belief that I was a very broken, wrong person, though I never hurt any body in my life or 'acted out' or even shouted or anything. I just existed, implacably at odds, in trousers and short hair, fiddling about on my own with a computer. I guess there are only two options for difference: defiance or madness. Criminal or disabled.
It was really only a few years ago, when I figured out a way to work from home that I started thinking... maybe I'm not actually that mad? I mean, there seemed to be no evidence at all. I seem to function perfectly well: I’m not at all depressed, I'm clean and tidy in my person and my house, I work full time, have plenty of friends and a happy relationship, exercise daily, cook from scratch, learn new languages, make art, sing opera, write, knit, volunteer, am a 24/7 carer, get on with my family, do my duty, vote, obey the law, pick up litter, donate, eat my vegetables, recycle, strengthen my core, tap dance… I mean, what more do they want from me, really! I realise now that on some level I relentlessly accumulate petty accomplishments thinking that they will absolve me, hanging them on my objectionable self like a wig and heels, seeing them like credit chips I can exchange for acceptance, though it is obvious that I cannot and they will not. It’s not the answer because I am not the problem.
My brother, who is strikingly similar to me in terms of personality (everyone comments on it), is a fulfilled and highly successful mathematician and it took me until my thirties to realise that really I’m probably not broken, I’m just Shakespeare’s sister.
There are so many "I"s in this post. I feel compelled now to add: I'm sorry!