“When a boy raised by two women struggles, the world rushes to blame the family structure, not the society around him”
BY RAGA D’SILVA, IMAGES PROVIDED BY RAGA D’SILVA
“Your children will be damaged. They’ll have mental health issues,” they warned time and again over the last 18 years. These words followed me through life and echoed loudly during TV debates as I stood for marriage equality in India. The accusation was clear: A boy needs a man. Women like you can’t raise boys. Shame had found a way in.
Shame doesn’t always come with insults or headlines. Sometimes, it arrives in polite questions, awkward silences, or the quiet, cruel certainty that the world doesn’t trust two women to raise a son.
It wasn’t until I was nearly 50 that I came out publicly, despite having shared my life with my same-sex partner since my mid-30s.
I was once married to a man, raising twins, a boy and a girl. For the past 18 years, I have raised them with my same-sex partner. They are now 27. And while our home is full of love, support, and fierce dedication, judgment never left us alone.
As two women raising a son, we were questioned constantly. Strangers, friends, even professionals, seemed to suggest that our daughter would be just fine, but our son? That was different. That was dangerous.
And I began to wonder, is it because girls simply don’t matter as much? Because patriarchy has taught the world that boys need shaping, disciplining and guiding, by men. That daughters will just cope somehow, but sons are the legacy.
This isn’t just a queer issue. It’s a feminist one.
Women raising sons are judged harshly. Single mothers are scrutinised. Queer mothers doubly so. Two women raising a boy? That’s when people get uncomfortable.
My son struggles with his mental health, through adolescence, into young adulthood and even now. There were moments of deep depression, times I fear he might not find his way back. He speaks of wanting to end it all. I live in fear; fear for his safety, fear of what might happen, fear that all the blame would come back to me.
I got him help. But I didn’t speak about it. I carried the burden of shame alone.
The one time I confided in a friend, she said, “I told you he needs a man. You both do not have the capability.”
It hurt more than I can say. And though I knew she was wrong, a small voice inside me had heard that message before, from school gates, media stories, offhand remarks. Shame doesn’t need proof to take root. It just needs repetition.
But let’s be clear: children from all kinds of families struggle. And they also thrive. There is no magic formula. Dysfunction exists in every type of household, heterosexual, single-parent, same-sex, and extended. To single out queer families is both intellectually lazy and deeply harmful.
The research is definitive. The American Psychological Association has stated that parental sexual orientation has no bearing on a child’s development. A 2023 New England Journal of Medicine study found no difference in mental health outcomes between children raised in same-sex and different-sex households. Love, support, stability, these are what matter.
And yet, when a boy raised by two women struggles, the world rushes to blame the family structure, not the society around him.
The truth is, I was told to feel shame for something I should have been proud of, showing up every single day as a mother, with integrity, courage, and care. We gave our son our best. But in society’s eyes, it wasn’t enough because it didn’t come wrapped in patriarchy.
And why, I ask, are mothers raising girls not scrutinised the same way? Is it because society doesn’t see girls as needing “serious” parenting? Or is it because the outcomes of daughters don’t carry the same weight of perceived consequence? It is exhausting. And it’s unfair.
To the mothers reading this, especially queer ones; please know this, your love is not second-best. You don’t need to justify your family. And your children’s struggles do not reflect a failure in your home. They reflect a world still hostile to difference.
To everyone else, it’s time to stop pretending that only men can raise boys. It’s time to stop treating daughters like background characters. And it’s time to acknowledge that queer families, like all families, deserve respect, support, and space to tell their truths.
Shame thrives in silence. But I’m choosing to speak. Not just for me but for every mother who’s ever questioned her worth because of what the world said she lacked.
We did not lack. We loved. And that will always be enough.
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