This should hardly be a controversial statement. The diagnostic language around the psychological distress that drives a transgender identity describes a conflict (or “incongruence”) between one’s subjective identity and one’s objective biology. What’s controversial are differing opinions on whether or not the outcome of transition is positive and healthy.

As a medical intervention for gender-related distress, a transition purports to align the body and the mind — by putting the body into conflict with reality to assuage the conflict of the mind.

As a social intervention for gender-related distress, a transition requires the participation of everyone around the individual involved. Society itself must assuage the conflict of the mind by pretending that the conflict of the body does not exist.

Many people went along with this in the past — surely it was polite to refer to a man as “she” if it distressed him otherwise — but we are now reaching a tipping point where there is a broader understanding of what a comprehensive rejection of sex classes would mean.

It would mean allowing males to undress in changing rooms next to females; it would mean permitting male athletes to compete against female athletes; it would mean having male prisoners share cells with female prisoners; it would mean that females taking testosterone could be labelled “pregnant men”; it would mean that estrogenized males could be encouraged to breastfeed babies; it would mean that schoolchildren could be punished for addressing a “nonbinary” teacher “incorrectly”; and it would mean that a child who insists on rejecting their own sex be treated in a way that disregards everything we know about human development.

To achieve “trans liberation” would be to succeed in a widescale collapse of the differences between male and female.

There is likely only a small number of people who would bother undergoing medical interventions to appear as a facsimile of the opposite sex if they weren’t also granted society’s blessing to opt into the demographic of that sex.

Society never actually gave its blessing for this suspension of disbelief, though. It used to be that the success of a transition was measured by how well an individual “passed” — that is, whether people largely participated unknowingly in affirming a person’s identity. The modern trans movement instead has issued affirmation as a top-down command from activists. Deny what your eyes see before you or be vilified as hateful.

There were a couple of mass shootings earlier this year that involved male perpetrators who identified as transgender, and people often brought up an explanation for this behaviour in which society is blamed. We are told it cannot be easy to live as “trans” in a world full of bigots.

“Bigots,” of course, refers not only to people who are cruel, but to every person who will not uncritically affirm the experience of a trans-identifying person (no matter how polite they are about their firmly-held belief in reality). To activists, failure to affirm is itself a cruelty.

The need for affirmation extends all the way to casual reminders that a trans-identifying person is not the gender they claim to be, such as hearing that only women get pregnant or seeing anatomy diagrams of the two sexes. These are things that obviously aren’t meant to be personally offensive in any way but which come as painful little reminders. Reality is inescapable, so these moments are pretty much constant.

Instead of encouraging an individual to build the mental resilience to overcome those moments, the answer proposed is to revise the textbooks, rewrite the government websites, publish research that argues that sex is “assigned” at birth rather than immutable and unchanging, and “correct” people’s birth certificates.

The underlying message in blaming society, however, is that, until we have achieved the goal of “liberation,” we should continue to expect violence from a small number of trans-identifying individuals. This isn’t a civil rights movement asking for simple integration and equal rights. This is a hostage situation demanding a restructuring of society.

I don’t think every person who chooses to transition is violent, and I think most of them are more of a threat to themselves than to anyone else. However, I do think everyone who claims that violence committed by transitioning individuals is a result of mental illness rather than trans identification is ignoring the fact that subjectively identifying as something that you objectively are not is a symptom of mental illness.

It is not society’s burden to create an environment that stabilizes individuals whose lifestyle involves a disconnect with reality. It is the burden of trans-identifying people to find coping methods that don’t involve making threats of violence if society fails to comply with their method of choice.

Interventions offered to people seeking to ameliorate gender-related distress rarely ever revolve around improving one’s state of mind. They focus on changing outside circumstances: altering one’s appearance and convincing others to affirm the identity (with persuasion, deception, or coercion).

Even with perfect affirmation from society, though, the internal conflict for a trans-identifying individual persists. This internal conflict can often be projected onto innocent people whose only crime is not identifying as “trans.”

Subreddits dedicated to transition are full of, for example, men relaying how they are jealous of women who got to experience a “normal” girlhood and expressing feelings of “missing out” on female experiences (like having a period or becoming pregnant). People even become angry that normal women and men aren’t grateful enough for the privilege of being born without the distress of a “trans” experience.

This happens because transition exists in service of “should” statements: “I should have been born the opposite sex.” “I should look different than I do.” “People should treat me how I feel internally.” “Institutions should change to accommodate me.”

“Should” statements are considered cognitive distortions according to certain styles of therapy. They are wishful thinking. They are rejections of reality. They are judgements about what is true. Those painful little reminders of reality that trans-identifying people experience are painful because “should” statements cause feelings of shame — that one is not doing enough or being enough.

But that internal judgement will exist even without reminders from the world, because your own body is a reminder of what you truly are. No matter how many surgeries you have, an altered male never becomes female, and an altered female never becomes male.

Trans activists are fighting a losing battle. You cannot win against nature. You cannot win against God.

People can decide for themselves how to interact one on one, but I don’t believe we have created a net good for humanity by telling both adults and children to suppress their instincts about biological sex.

I think it’s bizarre that I grew up in a culture where celebrating difference was progressive, only to have activists turn around and say that real progress is denying that meaningful differences exist.

If anyone can be a woman or a man just because they genuinely feel that they are one, then medical transition serves no purpose whatsoever. If a vagina has no connection to being a woman, there’s no reason for a man to claim to be a woman when he experiences distress over not having one — and there’s no reason for a woman to claim to be a man when she experiences distress because she does. There has to be a universally understood blueprint for a transitioning person’s “embodiment goals.”

Activists might claim that a penis can be female. Politicians might place men on their all-female panels. Journalists might refer to a male shooter as a female.

But let’s be frank. Everyone knows what the blueprints are. Pretending we don’t isn’t getting society anywhere healthy.

Look for part two of this topic where I discuss how the conflict with reality caused by transition continues in detransition and the subsequent task of radical acceptance.

It’s abusive behaviour to repeatedly target and harass individuals whose only “crime” is having a different opinion (except when I do it to the people I think deserve it).

It’s abusive behaviour to release someone’s phone number publicly (except when I do it to the people I think deserve it).

It’s abusive behaviour to post screenshots of innocuous things someone has said and ascribe nefarious motivations to it (except when I do it to the people I think deserve it).

It’s abusive behaviour to take secondhand information and create your own narrative which is only a half-truth (except when I do it to the people I think deserve it).

It’s abusive behaviour to hold hours-long Twitter Spaces all about one specific individual (except when I do it to the people I think deserve it).

It’s abusive behaviour to curate your entire online personality around attacking other people (except when I do it to the people I think deserve it).

It’s abusive behaviour to create groups where you monitor the behaviour of the people you don’t like and pick apart every single tweet they write or action they make (except when I do it to the people I think deserve it).

If you think like this, the only people you will attract to your life are people who also think like this (not just as friends but as enemies).

If you are surrounded by people who think like this, you are surrounded by abusive people.

If you are surrounded by abusive people, you will eventually be abused.

It is a mistake to judge someone as having integrity because they are attacking the people you think deserve it. There is more to being “allies” than hating the same people.

Someone has integrity when they resolve issues with discussion, when they learn to let go of things that aren’t that big of a deal, and when they use the proper channels for justice if things are a big deal.

Every person on the planet thinks their personal grasp on justice is the correct one. That’s why we don’t let victims choose punishment for someone who is deemed guilty.

When the jury doesn’t agree with your version of justice, you don’t start a smear campaign against the jury. You appeal. If you lose the appeal, you move on. Otherwise, you will lose yourself.

It’s actually that simple.

“’Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”
Matthew 22:37-40 (NIV)

I started regularly attending church services just over a year ago (December 2024). This might surprise long-time readers due to some of my past rhetoric about religion and faith (generally drawing parallels with transgenderism as a faith-based belief). It certainly surprised me. The choice came out of a desperate need for community and for meaning. It ended up being a good choice that has only affected my life positively.

One of my defining personality traits, for better or for worse, is tenacity. I can be dedicated, loyal, and reliable. I can also be stubborn, inflexible, and headstrong. I might, to my benefit, stick with something long after everyone else has given up. I also might, to my detriment, hold onto something long past the appropriate time to let it go.

It would never be enough to simply go to church on Sunday and forget all about the message on the other days of the week. If I have convictions, I will be fully committed. Half measures will not do. If I’m going to wear a cross around my neck or put a Bible verse in my bio, then I have to hold myself to the same standard God would hold me to. I cannot call myself a follower of Christ if I am not trying to emulate Christ as best I can at all times.

Now, I’m not so naïve as to think every person who claims to be Christian is actively pursuing that same kind of integrity in their faith. There is no shortage of people proclaiming Christ as king with one breath and speaking hateful words with another. But to be frank, I didn’t expect to be so annoyed by the hypocrisy. It feels a lot like my days as a social justice warrior: people manage to get away with obscene, cruel, and unjust behaviour as long as they claim to be doing it for righteous reasons.

Releasing my frustrations about it has been a challenge, but at the end of the day, of course, the Word itself would not categorize these people as Christians.

Whoever says, “I know him,” but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in that person. But if anyone obeys his word, love for God is truly made complete in them. This is how we know we are in him: Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did.
1 John 2:4-6 (NIV)

There is a second frustration, though, which is that people like to argue about the parameters around loving your neighbour. This particularly goes for non-Christians, ever fond of claiming “there’s no hate like Christian love” when a Christian doesn’t wholeheartedly affirm their worldview. Scripture directly answers the questions, though, of both who your neighbour is and what it means to love.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 (NIV)

The passage in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians is regularly read at weddings, but it was not intended as a description of romantic love between a committed couple. It was rather a lecture to the Corinthians about how to demonstrate the sacrificial love of Christ in their actions, particularly towards each other.

Let me just go through it quickly.

“Love is patient” (or: “Love suffers long”)

Loving means waiting and enduring. It means tolerating them when they are annoying or hurtful or otherwise difficult, without returning that behaviour in kind. It means setting aside inconsequential disagreements with them.

“Love is kind.”

Loving means showing mercy. It means being helpful to them. It means offering them support and encouragement. It means caring about their well-being.

“[Love] does not envy.”

Loving does not mean being resentful of the blessings bestowed upon others. It does not mean coveting their success or their possessions.

“[Love] does not boast, it is not proud.”

Loving does not mean pursuing glory for doing the right thing. It does not mean seeking status and praise. Loving does not mean acting superior to others. It does not mean arrogance and big-headedness and self-promotion.

“[Love] does not dishonour others.”

Loving does not mean being ill-mannered. It does not mean acting indecently. It does not mean disrespecting the dignity of others. It does not mean being inconsiderate.

“[Love] is not self-seeking.”

Loving does not mean putting one’s own interests before the interests of others. It does not mean being selfish and chasing one’s own satisfaction to the exclusion of all else.

“[Love] is not easily angered.”

Loving does not mean being irritable. It does not mean becoming provoked by the behaviour and words of others.

“[Love] keeps no record of wrongs.” (or: “[Love] thinks no evil.”)

Loving means letting go of the past and not counting up harms like a scoreboard. It means assuming good faith from others rather than vilifying them. It means practicing forgiveness and releasing grudges held.

“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.”

Loving does not mean rejoicing in immorality. It does not mean taking pleasure in the suffering of others. It instead means embracing honesty and integrity and celebrating what is real and true.

“[Love] always protects.” (or: “[Love] bears all things.”)

Loving means guarding the reputations of each other. It means speaking about others respectfully, not gossipmongering or insulting. It means being understanding with others’ flaws.

“[Love] always trusts.” (or: “[Love] believes all things.)

Loving means giving each other the benefit of the doubt. It means assuming good intentions and anticipating that people will be truthful with us. It means not being suspicious or overly critical.

“[Love] always hopes.”

Loving means expecting positive results in all situations. It means not being cynical about others but having faith that the future will bring something better. It means desiring the best for them.

“[Love] always perseveres.”

Loving means persisting through all things, even through dark moments. It means remaining true even when things start to become difficult. It means never giving up.

“Love never fails.”

Loving is unconditional and eternal. It is the most important action we can take.

Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.
1 John 4:8 (NIV)

The Apostle Paul names nine characteristics he calls the “fruit of the Spirit” – the qualities exemplified by a Christian who has allowed themselves to be transformed by Christ which are seen as evidence of living in the Spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Really, though, all of those characteristics branch from love – the definition in 1 Corinthians that I’ve just gone through essentially includes all nine traits.

I think it’s worth pointing out that, in this modern day with all of the nuances of living, we could potentially misinterpret that definition as being self-sacrificial to the point of self-harm. Paul tells us that “love believes all things,” but that doesn’t mean it’s unloving to be cautious around someone who has repeatedly been untrustworthy. Love “keeps no record of wrongs,” but that doesn’t mean people who have broken the law should not face any consequences. Love “always perseveres,” but that doesn’t mean we cannot draw boundaries between ourselves and the people who harm us.

1 Corinthians provides direction specifically to believers in how they treat each other, so the love they are being advised on is expected to be reciprocal. Given that context, it may be more understandable to direct a person to, for example, give the benefit of the doubt to someone whose moral code obliges them to return the benefit of the doubt.

That said, I think it would be a false reading to think Christians are called only to love other believers. In fact, we are directly called to love our enemies.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
Matthew 5:43-48 (NIV)

In Paul’s letter to the Romans, he advises to “hate what is evil,” but we are in no way being called to hate people. Later in the same chapter, he writes:

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord.
Romans 9:17-19 (NIV)

So why am I writing this?

Well, I’ve been trying to disconnect from advocacy for a long time. I’ve been telling people that I’m retired for at least a couple of years, but I have had difficulty separating myself entirely, particularly from Twitter. Over the last year, though, I have started to feel more convicted about staying away. Opening Twitter feels like a transgression… a kind of guilt arises and a thought that I shouldn’t be here.

I spoke to a friend about this who said he feels the same and that Twitter is practically designed to find and exploit people’s vices. It’s full of calumny and detraction. It encourages gossip. Even just logging in tempts us into sin and draws others into sin, as well. No wonder I feel bad upon login.

I know it is possible to use Twitter – and all forms of social media – to do good, but even among those of us fighting the good fight on the “gender” front, there is so much behaviour from people that I can no longer tolerate: jumping to conclusions that assume the worst of others, non-consensually posting pictures of others’ bodies, crashing out over not receiving accolades they think they deserve, running smear campaigns on misinterpreted tweets, publicly disclosing private information to ruin reputations, obsessively digging into people’s histories for “dirt”, making unfair sweeping statements about people who’ve medicalized or their motivations, tribalistic vilifying of people who dare to disagree on certain topics… the list goes on.

None of this is new. It’s been going on since I joined Twitter five years ago. And I’ve certainly participated in it. I can easily go back through my articles on this blog and find examples of my having been extremely uncharitable.

But I’ve come to the conclusion that “healing” does not just mean moving on from my pain or becoming a truth-teller. Healing means it is well with my soul. It means getting right with God.

Healing is spiritual as much as it is mental and physical. It means I am peaceful and joyful. It means I am patient and kind. It means I am faithful and gentle. It means I practice goodness and self-control. And it means I surround myself with people who want to nurture those qualities in themselves as well.

Those people will never be found on Twitter. That’s not an irreconcilable fault with the people; it’s an irreconcilable fault with the algorithm rewarding outrage, slander, and humiliation.

I believe we can do better. Genuine love is worth the pursuit.

Some commentaries I consulted while interpreting 1 Corinthians 13:4-8:

- https://www.bibleref.com/1-Corinthians/13/1-Corinthians-chapter-13.html
- https://enduringword.com/bible-commentary/1-corinthians-13/
- https://anchorofhopeministry.com/7-characteristics-of-christlike-love/

In the week following, I started to venture out of my comfort zone for the first time. I created a Reddit account so I could participate in r/detrans (which, up to that point, I had been deriding as irredeemable). I read portions of Irreversible Damage by Abigail Shrier (though I couldn’t yet stomach chapters that strayed outside of the focus on medicine). I sought out everything I could find that was written by the very few “detransitioners” that were public at the time (…some of whom have recanted since). I also announced on my Facebook page that I was taking a break from social media (and I spent the following several months watching fairly inoffensive Twitch streams and TikTok videos).

Just before that epiphanic moment, I had been spending a lot of time meditating on how “cancel culture” was mostly abusive rather than restorative. It’s a system of vigilantism that does away with due process, is violent towards the accused, and privileges the accuser’s narrative over any other – often using an accuser’s marginalized identity as the reason for preferring their story. This kind of system is easily manipulated by people with malintent, who find their way into positions of authority by projecting malintent onto others.

This system is how all conflicts were resolved within “social justice” spaces – not just conflicts between individual people but conflicts that individual people had with ideology. Pointing out that a “trans woman” is biologically male could get you cancelled as transphobic. Suggesting that being obese is unhealthy could get you cancelled as fatphobic.

There was no point in which you could state your case to a neutral jury. The jury had already decided your guilt (because the ideology has already determined the truth) and you were immediately subject to punishment. You would be expected to give public atonement and a promise to educate yourself and do better – or you would be permanently exiled. Oftentimes, an apology is not considered good enough, and you’re exiled anyway.

On social media, I’d been following a few people who were deconstructing the cancellation system and discussing problems with it. One of these people explained that her yardstick for measuring truth had changed and that she now focused primarily on the material over the subjective.

This explanation of hers left an impact on me. I suppose I’m the type of person who likes a good rule for understanding. Right away, though, I thought about trans. I was identifying as non-binary at the time, and it came right to the forefront: there is no material proof that I am “non-binary,” but isn’t it still true? How could I ever prove it is true?

Everything sort of fell into place after challenging myself on this. It’s not true. It was never true. I was essentially bullied into believing that women who felt negatively about being women were actually “trans men” because I would be excommunicated if I questioned the thousands of stories I read about them. I expected that I would start to fit in after leaving school, but I still felt like I didn’t belong anywhere as a young adult, and knowing that I wasn’t a “girly-girl,” I became convinced that “transitioning” was the answer to my feeling like I was “different” from everyone else. I “educated” myself by autistically reading everything I could from the “experts.” I could recite a vast amount of information, but I wasn’t actually knowledgeable; I was just brainwashed.

I kept finding myself in places where there was one accepted method of doing things: affirmation of the marginalized. There was a clear hierarchy of who should be believed in any circumstance, and it had nothing to do with actual truth. It had to do with “social justice,” which meant prioritizing the “knowledge” of those who were historically oppressed. This framework is called standpoint epistemology – its origins found within feminist philosophy – and the idea seems to have been that the marginalized have a social position that gives them unique knowledge.

I don’t want to act like I’m an expert on the theory. What I understand are the impacts that I witnessed and personally experienced of this being implemented without challenge.

A woman accusing a man of misogyny? Affirm the woman’s narrative. A black person accusing a white person of racism? Affirm the black person’s narrative. A gay person accusing a straight person of homophobia? Affirm the gay person’s narrative. A trans-identifying person accusing a non-trans-identifying person of transphobia? Affirm the trans-identifying person’s narrative.

This way of dealing with conflicts of knowledge has infiltrated other institutions as well – including education, politics, and medicine.

When I say that leftist policies ruined my life, this is what I’m talking about. The entire field of “gender medicine” is ruled by standpoint epistemology — specifically affirming the narrative of the marginalized patient.

There has never been empirical evidence that “trans” – an immutable condition wherein one has a “gender identity” that differs from the sex they actually are – is a legitimate condition. When people claim that “trans people” have existed for thousands of years, they’re saying people who have claimed or desired to be the opposite sex have existed for thousands of years. This surprises no one.

There has never been strong evidence that altering a person’s sex traits reliably results in improved happiness, in mental stability, and a productive member of society. The weak evidence that does suggest it is “weak” specifically because it is entirely reliant on the subjective experiences of the patients themselves.

There has never been strong evidence that halting a child’s puberty is a “lifesaving” treatment. The weak evidence that does suggest it, again, is “weak” specifically because it is entirely reliant on the patient claiming that it saved their life.

Every guideline and every standard that governs how doctors treat their “trans” patients is determined by “trans” patients themselves. It wasn’t always like this. It has morphed over the past 25 years from a process that many considered to be “gatekeeping” into what is essentially a free-for-all. The change was not a result of improved evidence. It was a result of a change in who was considered to have authority at WPATH.

Throughout it all, it has been said that “trans people” know best. The social standing in which “trans people” are situated allegedly means that they have the capacity to understand things that doctors can’t, and therefore they should be taken as authority over even doctors themselves. (Never mind the fact that “trans people” are often fixated on “transition” as a means of resolving their problems to the exclusion of everything else. Contrast with doctors who are meant to have a holistic approach to medicine — this is why things like differential diagnosis exist!)

Now we have even reached the point where even children calling themselves “trans” are said to know themselves best – better than anyone else in their lives, even, to the point where refusing to affirm them has resulted in removal from their parents.

Affirmation erases all nuance from life. It might be useful in specific circumstances, but it’s no way to resolve conflicts between people, it’s no way to conduct justice, and it’s no way to practice medicine.

I don’t support any ideology that requires me to take what someone says at face value.

I don’t support any ideology that doesn’t allow me to ask questions to gain understanding.

I don’t support slogans like “Believe Women” or even “Believe Detransitioners.” Having a specific identity or experience doesn’t necessarily mean your narrative is entirely truthful.

Being able to challenge information is necessary for a pluralistic society. Without it, we lack fundamental freedom. Without it, we become ruled by authoritarianism. Without it, we commit atrocities.

When I started speaking publicly about four years ago, one of the first things I tried to do was nail down a definition of a “detransitioner.” At one point, I intended to write a blog post about it. I’m kind of glad I never got around to that. My idea of who counts as a “detransitioner” was once very narrow, but the more people I have met, the more that my personal definition has expanded over the years. People don’t want my personal definition, though. They want an objective one. They want the definition that we can put in the dictionary.

I think we can all agree that a “detransitioner” is a person who “detransitions.”

First, then, we should ask: what does it mean to “detransition”?

Dictionary definitions of “detransition”

There are, at last, some online dictionaries that list “detransition” as a word now. I’ll list the definitions for the verb, since that’s the action that a “detransitioner” does.

The Oxford English Dictionary:

intransitive. Of a person who has undergone or is undergoing a gender transition: to halt or reverse the transitioning process.

The Cambridge Dictionary:

[to] stop making changes, which may be social, legal, or medical, that [a person] made to live as a person of a different gender to the one they were said to have at birth

The Collins Dictionary:

to start living your life in your previous gender again after having transitioned to a different gender

I tend to think the Cambridge definition is the most fulsome. Dictionary definitions, though, aren’t meant to capture all of the nuances of a word. Many people would say that it’s impossible “to live as a person of a different gender to the one they were said to have at birth” because you can only ever “live as” the sex that you are. Many people would say that “transitioning” to a “different gender” itself is impossible because you cannot ever change sex.

Of note, some of the “example” sentences given in these dictionaries appear to be ideologically-motivated. The OED actually quotes a post from the r/detrans subreddit, and of all of the posts one can find on r/detrans, the chosen example is “I had a period of doubt where I heavily considered detransitioning but I decided it was not for me.”

How do researchers define “detransition”?

“To date there has been little agreement on a definition of the word ‘detransition,’” Elie Vandenbussche says in her 2021 paper on detransition-related needs and support.1

With that in mind, I may go overboard quoting definitions here, but bear with me. The following are descriptions of “detransition” from researchers with a variety of personal identities and connections to this issue. We are looking for common themes that most people seem to agree upon.

In a 2020 paper, Rowan Hildebrand-Chupp writes that “detransition is, in one sense, a descriptive verb that refers to the act of returning in some way to a pre-transition state [and] can have both medical and social components.” Hildebrand-Chupp’s paper describes “detransition” as having three related concepts: “the act of detransitioning, the ‘detransitioner’ identity, and the negative transition experience.”2

Jack Turban et al. in 2021 describe detransition as “a process through which a person discontinues some or all aspects of gender affirmation.” Gender affirmation is described as “the process of recognizing and supporting a person's gender identity and expression,” “including [in] psychological, social, legal, medical, and surgical domains.”3

Turban and co. interestingly claim that the word “transition”* has “largely fallen out of favour,” and that “the term ‘detransition’ has become less acceptable to [trans and gender diverse] communities, due to its incorrect implication that gender identity is contingent upon gender affirmation processes.” It uses the term “detransition” almost reluctantly, stating that “there is a need for more affirming terminology that has not yet been broadly adopted by [trans and gender diverse] communities or in the literature.”

In a 2021 paper describing a proposed “typology” of gender detransition, Pablo Expósito-Campos defines detransition as “the process of reidentifying with one’s birth sex after having undergone a gender transition.”4

Kinnon MacKinnon et al. offer definitions for several terms related to detransition in their 2023 paper calling for “robust, sensitive research to inform comprehensive gender care services for people who detransition.” The definition of detransition provided is “the process of discontinuing or reversing a gender transition, often in connection with a change in how the individual identifies or conceptualises their sex or gender since initiating transition.” The paper also suggests that “conceptualisations of detransition as always comprising regret, requests to reverse treatments, or treatment non-compliance do not accurately reflect, and may even exclude, the diversity of self-understanding and experiences among people who detransition.”5

Lastly, endocrinologist Michael Irwig writes in a short paper published in 2023 that “detransition refers to the stopping or reversal of transitioning which could be social (gender presentation, pronouns), medical (hormone therapy), surgical, or legal. Although they are sometimes mistakenly viewed as synonymous, detransition and regret are different concepts that may overlap in some people.”6

Elements of a “detransition”

Based on all of the definitions above, I would isolate three elements that generally compose a detransition. (I will discuss nuances a bit later.)

1. Discontinuation of medical transition

2. Discontinuation of a “cross-sex” presentation

3. Cessation of transgender identity and reidentification with their birth sex

No longer identifying as any flavour of “transgender” (including “nonbinary”) is probably the one that would get the most pushback from the general public, but to be frank, I consider it to be the most important element of the three.

Hildebrand-Chupp’s paper offers a hypothetical, which I will paraphrase here for my own purposes: a “trans woman” who has stopped taking hormones may consider himself to “technically” be “a woman who has [medically] detransitioned” but would be unlikely to identify as a “detransitioned woman.” A “detransitioned woman” is a formerly trans-identified female, not a currently trans-identified male who has discontinued hormones.

“Regret” – the fourth element

Several papers make it clear that “regret” and “detransition” are not synonymous. (I agree with this statement.) They likely feel that this is a necessary distinction to make because research has conflated the two in the past.

For example, in a paper titled “Regrets After Sex Reassignment Surgery” published in 1993, Friedemann Pfäfflin writes:7

Regret, in this study, is defined as gender dysphoria in the new gender role and after [sex reassignment surgery] which is expressed in behavior, i.e., attempts at re-reorientation of gender role behavior and/or re-adoption of the former sex/gender-role behavior and/or applications for legal name/gender change and/or attempts to have [sex reassignment surgery] reversed.

In other words, seeking a detransition is essentially the same as “regret.” This does make sense from a research perspective; they were looking at objective actions to indicate regret rather than relying on subjective feelings being expressed to clinicians.

As written in 1998 by A.J. Kuiper and Peggy Cohen-Kettenis:8

[Sex reassignment surgery] regret can be inferred from their overt behavior, such as a second social role reversal, or their statements that they regret the steps they have taken. However, their statements and behavior do not always correspond.

And further:

Because it must be very difficult to acknowledge significant doubts or feelings of regret after having made such an important decision in life, some individuals, for example, will not easily express such feelings, even if their behavior strongly points in that direction.

My own reason for considering “regret” to be inessential to detransition is my desire to respect each person’s right to their own experience. However, I believe that supporters of medical transition are working to separate them in order to downplay the truth: these people never needed medical intervention in the first place, regardless of how they feel about it.

The “spectrum” of detransition

Based on the elements I’ve given above, I will describe a few different experiences that tend to lead people to detransition-focused spaces (e.g., support groups, subreddits, Discord servers, other social media) for various reasons.

Not all of these terms are widely accepted. I’m just coming up with brief descriptions.

• “Detransitioner”

  • discontinued medical transition

  • discontinued a “cross-sex” presentation

  • ceased identifying as transgender

• “Desister”

  • never prescribed medical transition interventions

  • discontinued a “cross-sex” presentation

  • ceased identifying as transgender

• “Social desister”

  • continuing medical transition

  • discontinued a “cross-sex” presentation

  • ceased identifying as transgender

• “Cross-dressing desister”

  • (usually) continuing medical transition

  • continuing a “cross-sex” presentation

  • ceased identifying as transgender

• “Socially trans”/”Regretter”

  • continuing medical transition

  • continuing a “cross-sex” presentation

  • continuing to identify as transgender (or transsexual, or FTM/MTF, etc.)

  • experiences medicalization regret

• “Trans detransitioner”

  • discontinuing medical transition

  • (usually) continuing a “cross-sex” presentation

  • continuing to identify as transgender (including nonbinary)

Different people with all of these experiences have either called themselves a “detransitioner” or have had other people refer to them as a “detransitioner.” Not everyone agrees with whether that label is accurate or not.

Where are the nuances?

Medical transition - Hormones

There are people calling themselves “detransitioners” who are continuing to take the same exogenous hormones that they were prescribed while they were actively pursuing medical transition.

Anecdotally, every detransitioner I’ve met who does this is a male who has had surgery on their genitals. In other words, their body is unable to produce its own testosterone. In my discussions with a few of these men, they continue to take estrogen largely due to the increased libido from testosterone, which can be difficult to manage without a penis; the possibility that hair growth might resume where it used to grow, including inside the cavity constructed from their scrotal skin; and because the third option (taking no hormones at all) has its own side effects (e.g., brain fog, potential loss of bone density, etc.).

There are people who would claim these men are continuing to transition, but I reject this argument. If they were to live their lives over again, they would have never taken estrogen to begin with and are now trying to cope with the existing damage. Continuing hormones in this way is simply maintenance; there are no further feminizing changes occurring.

Aside from women who are tapering their testosterone dosage rather than stopping cold turkey, I have not come across a female detransitioner who is still taking testosterone. This could be because female detransitioners are less likely to have had their gonads removed than male detransitioners, but regardless, I have yet to hear a logical reason for a woman to continue taking testosterone, particularly when we are well-aware of how damaging testosterone can be to the female body.

Medical transition - Surgeries

When I write that a detransition involves “discontinuing medical transition,” I also mean that no further surgeries are planned in service of a “cross-sex” presentation.

If a woman has decided to stop taking hormones, but still intends to pursue a cosmetic double mastectomy in the future, they plan on continuing “medical transition” by this definition, and I wouldn’t consider them to be a detransitioner.

On the flip side, though, the intention to have surgeries to “reverse” what has resulted from medical transition is not a continuation of that same treatment. If a woman has had a double mastectomy and is subsequently planning to have breast reconstruction, this is not “continuing medical transition” in the same way that it is not “medical transition” for a woman who had breast cancer.

Correcting iatrogenic harm is not “affirming.” That said, I always encourage people who are detransitioning to wait some time before making any surgical decisions.

“Cross-sex” presentation

The term “cross-sex” has appeared in quotations throughout this article because it can be difficult to draw a line between when someone is “presenting” as the opposite sex or not.

Consider the following:

• Is a man with long hair presenting as a woman?

• Is a woman with short hair presenting as a man?

• If a woman grows facial hair and fails to remove it, is she presenting as a man? If so, does this only apply to women who have had exposure to exogenous testosterone, or does it also apply to women with, e.g., PCOS?

• Is it incumbent upon a woman whose vocal range has been lowered (due to exogenous testosterone) to “train” her voice higher into a typically-female range?

• Is it incumbent upon a man whose vocal range rests in a higher range (often due to years of vocal training and muscle memory) to train it back down?

• Is a woman without breasts required to have breast reconstruction to present as a woman?

• Is a man with gynecomastia required to have removal surgery to present as a man?

There have been a couple of “high-profile” detransition announcements in recent months where the response from people on both sides has been that those involved are not making enough of an “effort” to look like their birth sex. (This sort of response seems to only happens to people who have medicalized.)

I understand the sentiment, and I even know a couple of unambiguously-detransitioned people who are annoyed by this lack of “effort.” Personally, I can’t be bothered to care that much about a man looking too feminine or a woman looking too masculine, especially if they’re in the first few months of their detransition. It just feels too much like “trans-think” to be worried about “passing” and ridiculous to claim someone isn’t passing as their own sex when I’ve heard the “we can always tell” line a million times.

There are more steps than just aesthetic ones that count towards “presentation,” including having legal documentation that reflects reality, using washrooms that align with your sex, and how the people with whom you have relationships refer to you.

Who is a “detransitioner”?

What is a “detransitioner”? Someone who “detransitions.”

But who is a “detransitioner”? Not everyone who fits into the definition of a “detransitioner” will choose to claim it as a label for themselves, and not everyone who claims it as a label fits neatly into the widely-understood definition.

People who are familiar with my views know that I have had arguments about the label in the past and that those arguments tend to revolve around whether people who have not medically transitioned should call themselves “detransitioners.”

I have reflected a lot on this to try and isolate exactly what bothers me, and it’s not so much the personal label – I’m not that bothered by a “desister” off-hand referring to themselves as a “detransitioner” in order to save a lengthier explanation about what that means.

What bothers me most is the mental gymnastics some of these people have done in order to shoehorn themselves into the definition when they know the general public wouldn’t see them as one if they were completely honest.

It bothers me when someone calling themselves a “detransitioner” claims that they took “hormones” when the “hormones” they were on was the same birth control taken by millions of women, rather than testosterone.

It bothers me when someone calling themselves a “detransitioner” who was on Lupron as an adult for a hormone condition claims that they were on “puberty blockers.”

It bothers me when someone calling themselves a “detransitioner” claims that they were socially transitioned for a decade when they spent much of that time publicly living under their birth name.

I can’t stop anyone from claiming the label, but if you have to manipulate the public into accepting you as a “detransitioner” by withholding or reframing information, maybe you aren’t one. (Not to mention, you destroy the credibility of other detransitioners by making us look like liars.)

Someone I confronted about this issue once claimed that my problem with her claiming the label was that I wanted “the attention” to myself. She accidentally gave away her game when she said this. To her, the label meant clout. To me, being a “detransitioner” is humiliating. Maybe it’s “fun” to be a detransitioner if you don’t have to shave your face every day, if you don’t see a scarred chest when you look in the mirror, and if you don’t mourn the fact that you’ll never become pregnant. Maybe it’s “fun” when you get to be a near-miss instead of a walking freak show. I don’t know.

Pretty much immediately after that conversation, I made my point by removing the “detransitioner” emoji (the lizard) from my name on Twitter. I originally labelled myself in order to find the people I shared my experience with. Turns out I know who those people are regardless of what they call themselves.

* Note: I am aware that some gender critical people do not like the term “transition,” primarily because they say it implies the idea that one can “change sex.” I am not currently fussed about using the word “transition” for a number of reasons, including the fact that, as evidenced by this quote, some gender ideologues don’t like it! They think it implies that a “trans person” becomes their desired gender by engaging in interventions, rather than simply already being that gender. Perhaps one day I will write something more substantial on this topic, but for now, both sides can remain unhappy with my language.

The 12-year-old version of me — who has already had her self-esteem destroyed, who has already become convinced that she is repulsive and unlovable — probably could never have predicted her eventual medical masculinization, but she would be unsurprised that the 37-year-old version of me is unmarried and childless.

Maybe the other kids were right to act as if they'd caught the damn plague when they accidentally touched me. Maybe they were right to give me a wide berth. Maybe there was a reason barely anyone spoke kindly to me.

Maybe when I was 19 and my boss told me that everyone in the store hated me, there was a reason.

Maybe when I was 22 and one my roommates told me that everyone in the house was talking about me behind my back, there was a reason.

Maybe when I was 32 and detransitioned and people started to slowly drop out of my life or quietly fade out or went down calling me a bitch, there was a reason.

Maybe they’re right. It’s hard to believe that many people think I’m dirt — even people who knew me quite intimately — and for it to not mean anything. Consistent. Since childhood. Every step of the way.

Maybe I was never going to be the most important person to anyone. Maybe it was all destiny to be ruined, sterile, repulsive, and alone. Maybe every time I try to overcome it is embarrassing to watch. Maybe this is just it forever.

I'm in recovery
and my people are survivors
lost and confused and looking for truth

we're deep in this pit
and we're travelling out together
and I keep thinking to myself
"we're getting out of here"
"we're getting out of here"

"I'm getting out and all my friends are coming"

ii.

but they're not all coming
they're getting tired
they're slowing down
they're sitting down and pulling out a glass and let's just stay here for one night and then I'm watching this sweet woman waste away in front of me for days before I realize that I'm not the one who pulls her out of this

it kills me to leave

I feel like two scenarios were offered to me
(both in which she drowns)
and that I'm meant to feel sorry for swimming
instead of sinking next to her

I spend months looking behind me to see if she's coming before I can look forward again

iii.

"I'm getting out and most of my friends are coming"

but most aren't coming
they're getting bored
they're taking detours
they're walking off the trail and I don't want this kid to get lost or hurt but when I try to follow him he doesn't want me there so I wait for him to come back so we can keep going

he does come back
until he doesn't

how long do I stay in one place
when do I call off the search party
can I move forward without feeling I like I failed him somehow

I'm an atheist but I'm on my knees praying he meets up with us somewhere down the road

iv.

"I'm getting out and some of my friends are coming"

but some aren't coming
they're getting angry
they're lighting torches
they're picking up pitchforks and ready to charge and I'm trying to wrestle one out of his hands even though everything is already on fire and there's nothing left to stab but each other

in the morning
I'm covered in ash and bruises

black dust and glowing embers
in every direction
and he's nowhere to be found

v.

I'm in recovery
and I'm getting out of here
even if I take every step alone

When my lawsuit had its viral moment in February 2023, I had quite a few interview offers that I ended up turning down. I don’t necessarily regret doing so, but I’m keenly aware that I could have drawn a lot more eyes to my story than I ended up doing.

A few months after that, I had solidified exactly what I was frustrated about, and it was the fact that my motivation was to fight for a truthful and healthy society, but I had to do so within the framing of being a victim.

A story is compelling. It’s what draws people in.

A detransitioner’s story is one of medical trauma; of being told you were being made well while you suffered iatrogenic harm; of being betrayed by institutions you were meant to trust; of being coerced into believing things that weren’t true; of participating in the very thing many of us now speak out against.

We have to use this background in order to be heard by the greater public. In fact, we are expected to use it.

Detransitioners have a prescribed role in the movement: be the victim. The movement needs victims to point to.

In the public sphere, we are rewarded in some ways for fulfilling this role. We garner attention. We receive support. Our social media presence gets engagement.

But we are also “punished” in some ways for trying to move outside of the role. Posts about how awful our surgeries were, how much pain we’re in now, and how difficult our lives have become all have infinitely more chances of going “viral” than posts about how far we’ve come, how we’re picking up the pieces, and encouraging others to be resilient and move forward.

It’s not this straightforward, though. A lot of people either don’t realize that this is the role that we’ve been slotted or they are bitter about detransitioners occupying that slot.

And these people punish us for fulfilling that prescribed role. Some of them (quietly or loudly) don’t actually believe we’ve been victimized at all. On some level, they believe we deserved what happened to us. When we step out of line, they are almost gleeful about the chance to put us in our place.

When they talk about “protecting women and children,” they aren’t actually including people who are currently in the cult or anyone who has ever left it. They mean “innocent” people who have not been marred by medicine and who have never fallen for the lie. To them, those are the real victims.

Leaning into victimhood as a means of “clout” (if you can even call it that) means you have inherently positioned yourself as inferior to everyone else (ironically). Detransition is a humiliating experience, and being public about it is essentially standing in front of a crowd of people saying “I was wrong about something massive.”

There are people who admire this – because it is, indeed, admirable to admit you were wrong.

And there are also people who become laser focused on the fact that you were once wrong – and will permanently hold this against you. If you were wrong once, you could be wrong again. When we disagree with them (about anything), they are quick to berate us for being stupid former cult members. This mistake will always be held against us, no matter how much growth we undergo.

I think most people are well-meaning, and most people want to believe that detransitioners are respected. But I don’t think we are. We are formerly trans-identified people. If detransitioners were respected, then people would have to be more thoughtful about how they treat current trans-identified people – specifically how they talk about our medicalized bodies.

This is something that I think most people in the movement don’t really care about. The discourse has been many years long. A lot of people are tired and frustrated. It’s easy to lash out by making fun of a man’s botched surgery; easy to call women on steroids repulsive and disgusting; easy to mock our voices; easy to call people “ruined” and predict that they’ll kill themselves in ten years.

There doesn’t seem to be a thought about what will happen if those people detransition. Or about how their “allies” who have detransitioned feel about this kind of public shaming of people who look and sound like we do.

Our well-being is ultimately unimportant. I have thought many times that I would be more useful to the movement if I killed myself.

It’s taken a long time to truly and fully accept that formerly trans-identified people will not be treated as equals in any space that is focused around being gender critical. I used to think there were exceptions, but currently, I believe the only exception is spaces that were designed by detransitioners, for detransitioners.

In these spaces, my deepened voice and my altered body represent the very thing being rallied against. I become a symbol of the ideology that we all hate. It doesn’t even matter that I hate it, too. I feel like the scapegoat, even when nothing has happened.

I see people claiming that detransitioners have to be understanding of the distrust they receive. I see people hissing about how detransitioned lesbians need to take responsibility for destroying the lesbian community. I see people treating detransitioned men like rehabilitated predators.

How much of ourselves do we have to sacrifice before we become people again?

How much deference is required before we are forgiven?

No wonder so many detransitioners turn to religion.

In spaces where we are critiquing ideology, I only feel equal to other detransitioners.

I attended the LGB Alliance Conference last week. My motivation to go to events like these is the desire to be around people who understand how destructive gender identity ideology can be. But the experience of actually being there usually isn’t what I expect.

People talk about how horrible it is to be medicalizing gender nonconformity, and I sit there, in my permanently medicalized body, knowing they are talking about my experience without ever having lived it.

They aren't wrong. It is horrible. But the longer I sit there and listen to it, the more shame I feel about everything I've been through; the more separate I feel from everyone else in the audience. It’s not discourse to me. It's my life, forever. I will die in this medically altered body.

This time, I am able to do about 90 minutes before needing my first break. I shuffle my way out of the room and sit out in the main area to wait for my friend Ritchie, who hasn't arrived quite yet. When he gets there, the energy shifts for me. It feels safer. I feel more like a person. I’m less in my head and more present.

When I inevitably have to leave, I don’t know how to bring that feeling home with me. What I do bring home is the sense that something has been ripped out of my chest and left a hole even the Atlantic couldn’t fill.

In the meantime, I am slowly finding a place for myself outside of gender-focused spaces.

I don’t really talk about my detransition in my daily life. I know I am markedly different – the voice is hard to ignore and the people in my dance class have surely realized I don’t have breasts – but people tend not to ask questions. (This means they make assumptions instead, but it’s good practise letting go of what other people think.)

I am resentful of the position I’ve put myself in with advocacy, but I’m still here because I don’t think I’m finished yet.

Onwards.

Trans ideologues have made headlines recently for their attempt to have British author J.K. Rowling arrested under Scotland’s new hate crime laws, which ban “deliberate misgendering” for trans-identified individuals. As is commonly the case, the activism from the trans side inevitably leads back to a supposed assault on “trans kids,” a group they see as being most threatened by “transphobic” language or attempts to gatekeep access to medical transition.

It’s certainly an emotionally persuasive argument. After all, who would want something bad to happen to kids? The problem is, it ignores two things: what a trans kid is and what harm is, in this case. As someone who formerly identified as a trans teen, let me break this down for you in a little more detail.

When I began my medical transition in the early 2010s at the age of 17, the vast majority of what we would now call “trans kids” were gender nonconforming gay boys and lesbians. As trans ideology has spread, it’s begun to include people at younger and younger ages, with pediatric gender clinics popping up in every major city in the country. For context, no such clinic existed when I began my transition. Nowadays, many of those GNC gay kids still get pulled into medical transition, but there are just as many feminine straight girls who spend too much time on TikTok and become convinced there’s something wrong with them simply for being female.

Let’s set aside the social contagion kids of today’s generation and pretend that we still live in the early 2010s world where most people who transitioned young would be defined as “true transsexuals” by even the strictest definition. It’s rare that you’ll see someone from that group talk in detail about their transition. Most go on to live stealth lives (like I did) and do their best to keep their sex a secret, and from my own experiences, most live with a regret that they try to hide even more than their trans status.

Still, when it comes to the subject of trans kids, teens and adolescents, who better to ask what is hurting them and what is helping them than someone who used to be one of them? Someone like me.

Most of the people crowding today’s conversation on this subject are people who are pre-transition, very early into transition, still very young, very old transitioners who begin medicalizing after decades of living as straight men and creating stability in their lives, as well as well-meaning liberals who don’t think deeply on the subject and consider “trans” to be synonymous with “gay” and “acceptance” to be synonymous with “do whatever you want.”

Encouraging people to do whatever they want is often the most harmful thing you can do for them.

Ever since I was a little boy, I wanted to be a girl. I was a hyper feminine child who never really fit in with other little boys and gravitated toward everything feminine and essentially nothing “boyish”. At the time, whenever my siblings and I would make up games, I would be the girl, and it felt like being myself. This is called play, and it’s part of childhood. Allowing your child to play and have an imagination is harmless, and discouraging it is absolutely harmful.

When I went through puberty, I instantly knew I liked boys and came out as gay to my family. No one was surprised, but that didn’t mean it was accepted. I received a lot of backlash and turned to online LGBT support groups, where I quickly discovered trans ideology and instantly connected with it. As a vulnerable and impressionable teenager, without any structured education, I easily fell for the lie that I had a feminized brain and that it would be this way for life if I never transitioned.

Still, despite the fact I had a long history of wishing I was a girl, it wasn’t accompanied by any deep-seated self-loathing. I wished I was many things when I was young. I wanted to be a pop star, but did that mean I hated myself because I couldn’t sing a note? Did that mean I should devote my life to trying to become that when it was impossible in the body I was given? 

Of course not. Because no child needs blind affirmation. No child needs to be encouraged to become the impossible. A responsible adult, a responsible society, does not affirm people—whether they’re 4, 14, or 24—in a delusion. No matter how real it might feel inside that person’s head.

And don’t get me wrong. It does feel very real. There were times in my childhood where I was genuinely baffled that I wasn’t actually a girl. That’s part of growing up: learning your place in the world and learning to accept things you may not understand at first, then maybe even growing to like them.

In my case, I would go on to medicalize at the age of 17. When I began the hormones, I was sure. When I began dating my most serious boyfriend, I was sure I wanted to marry him and be his wife. When I had my penis inverted in my early 20s, I was sure. When I started getting into my mid 20s, I was confused. When I got into my late 20s, I realized I’d made a mistake.

Many people see this type of come-to-Jesus moment as one where I decided that I felt like a man inside and chose to detransition to affirm that gender feeling. But that’s their lens. What I really decided was that gender wasn’t a feeling at all, that I was a surgically and hormonally modified male regardless of how I tried to paint that with my own perception.

And when you see the truth, you can’t unsee it. My choice became to live a lie, to die, or to live in truth. I chose to live in truth. I detransitioned.

When you frame it this way, true happiness in transition becomes impossible. Why? Because it requires a belief system to uphold. If someone says they are happy with their transition, what they are saying is they believe the damage they caused to their bodies makes them the opposite sex or at least lets them “live as the opposite sex,” but they won’t see it as damage.

However, anyone who has read about the effects of cross-sex hormones or seen the surgeries performed on trans patients knows that’s objectively what it is. How can you support something where the line between life-saving care and horrifying mutilation is the personal belief of someone who was either so mentally underdeveloped or so mentally unwell that they would fall for such a belief system in the first place?

The vast majority of detransitioners like me see their surgeries as medical abuse and suffer horrifying effects. Is it that we’re just unhappy customers while the rest of these patients are happy, or is that we’re all being lied to and mutilated and some people haven’t woken up to that realization yet?

Looking back on my life now, after having reached a point of return… a point of coming home… I see my past for what it is. A simple youthful confusion based on being feminine and gender nonconforming that was pathologized. It was something that could have been a passing thing and is now permanent. 

And it was the trans community that first taught me to hate myself. Not to hate myself for being confused, but to hate my body for not aligning with that confusion and to severely damage it in an impossible quest to change it into something it could never be.

If that isn’t the definition of “harm,” I don’t know what is.

I put my cat, Willow, to sleep in January of 2023. She was 16.

Adjusting to her absence was strange because I hadn't realized how much of my life was centered around her presence until she was gone.

I'd sit at my desk and feel strangely light without my seven-pound lap warmer; extend out my legs on the couch, then immediately pull back, thinking I might accidentally kick where she used to nap on the other end. But there was nothing there.

Even now, my sense memories still know exactly what her weight in my arms felt like and how soft her fur was. I can picture rubbing under her chin (her favourite spot) and the way she'd stretch her neck towards me when I did so. I can remember what it was like to risk running my fingers through her belly fur (the softest forbidden zone) and exactly how long she'd be willing to tolerate it.

It was those memories that caused sudden bursts of tears in the months after.

I put my dog to sleep yesterday morning. He was almost 14.

My cat departed this world, and I went home to my dog.

My dog departed this world, and I went home to an empty house.

Cody was living at a foster home out in the boonies when I adopted him. I took public transit as far as it would take me and a taxi the remaining distance.

He was outside in the grass with his two sisters and one brother (and other foster dogs) when we arrived. I had him selected before arriving, but I did consider each of the puppies before leaving with him. His brother was feistier, more nippy. Both of his sisters were sweet, though one of the two appeared to have some vision loss. 

Another family, a pre-teen girl and her mother, were there selecting a puppy as well, and they were leaning towards one of the girls. I had a friend with me, and I asked him which puppy I should choose. He liked the little blind puppy most. She was the calmest and my second choice, but I was concerned that she might come with extra veterinary costs due to her disability. (The other family had the same concerns.)

I went with my initial choice. The other family took his other sister. We found out they were from Toronto, and they drove us home. I sat in the back seat with the girl, the two newly-adopted puppies sleeping on top of each other on the seat between the two of us.

The first night he was home, Cody slept on my pillow next to me. (The one and only time he did so!)

Cody grew into a handsome young man. He started out with sweet floppy ears and surprised me when they decided to stand straight up. During his awkward teen years, they were too big for his head. 

Though we bonded quickly, I found out he was very much a one-person puppy who didn't really like strangers. He would get used to individuals eventually, but he ducked away from strange hands reaching out to pet him, barking indignantly. This was true the rest of his life, even though I was out socializing him immediately and had him in about a dozen different training classes meeting new people frequently. 

He was a lot like me in his approach to others -- quiet (sometimes aloof) until he felt comfortable. I warned everyone that I introduced him to that he needed time to warm up, though, and he always did. I can't think of any friends who didn't adore him afterwards (certainly not into old age - he was a little more difficult to tolerate in the bouncy puppy years).

Cody became a different dog in 2019. He injured one of his back paws and refused to put weight on it. We saw a vet who, in my opinion, downplayed the seriousness of this injury. A week later, he leapt off the porch steps towards a squirrel, landed full on the remaining "good" back leg, and made the most horrifying noise I've ever heard come out of him. 

Unable to walk and screaming when he tried, my frantic roommate and I took him to the emergency vet, who advised us that he had torn ligaments in both of his back knees. The surgery to stabilize him would be expensive for one leg, never mind two. It was estimated to be about $10,000 for both.

I did research that suggested he might be able to get by with no surgery, and since I worked from home and would be able to monitor him 24/7, I chose this more conservative route. He was able to walk consistently after a few months. 

Cody always did some things differently after this event. He couldn't balance on one leg to urinate anymore, so he shifted his hips forward instead. He had difficulty squatting to poop for the rest of his life, though he managed by putting most of his weight on his front legs. He was eventually able to run again, but not as fast, and he had to adapt by planting both back legs at the same time instead of one after the other.

His favourite thing was water -- he once jumped into a lake in chilly November before I was able to stop him -- and though he was able to swim after the injury, he would stop much sooner, and in the last two years, he stopped leaving the shallow end and only waded in the water instead of paddling.

In his last couple years, he developed arthritis in all four legs. He had a sudden onset of vestibular disease symptoms in December of 2022. He was outside walking around and then suddenly he couldn't walk straight anymore. (This went away after a few days.)

Repeatedly I thought "this is it" and he just kept powering on.

The arthritis started getting bad enough that he didn't seem to want to go on long walks much anymore. When I got into hiking last year, I took him on one very long walk to a provincial park six kilometers from my home, thinking he'd really enjoy it. When we got home, I found that his paws and toenails were bleeding. He hadn't been able to lift them high enough to keep them from dragging on the ground.

I thought about his quality of life many times in the last five years. He had slowly lost the ability to do the things he really loved doing: chasing balls and frisbees, swimming in the lake, and finally just going on walks.

If I'd had to leave to go to work every day, I may have made the decision sooner. It would have been cruel to leave him alone for eight hours a day on top of everything else. But I worked from home nearly the entire time I had Cody, and we kept each other company. 

Earlier this year, his arthritis got bad enough that he stopped coming upstairs with me to go to bed every night. On the occasions that he did, he would sometimes go back down in the middle of the night and fall down the stairs. A month ago, I started to sleep on the couch so that he wouldn't try to come up.

On Monday night when I was up late reading, Cody stood up to walk to his water dish and his coordination was clearly off. His head was tilted like it had been the last time he'd had vestibular symptoms. 

The following few days, he repeatedly fell over. He couldn't get down the three steps that led into the backyard without help. He stopped eating and drank very little.

I made the call on Thursday morning and set the appointment for the following day. (I didn't want him to dehydrate over the weekend.) 

Yesterday morning, I woke up and made a pizza. After years of giving him my leftover crusts, I planned to give him one to himself as his "last meal." I let it cool and called him over. He approached with interest, took the piece I gave him, then dropped it on the ground and looked at me like he had no idea what to do with it.

This was a dog who, days before, would've risked chomping my fingers off if it meant he could eat a pizza slice. Food was probably one of the last things he got any enjoyment from. I broke down crying.

We walked to the vet shortly afterwards. It's normally about an eight minute walk (half a kilometer), and I gave us extra time to get there since I didn't know how difficult it would be for him. 

His last barks were the excitement of realizing I had his leash and was taking him out. 

Halfway there, he was already tired.

Having held my cat in my arms as she passed in this same vet office the year before, I knew exactly what to expect (though this time they had bedding set up on the floor).

The vet gave him the first sedative and left the room to let it take effect.

I lay down next to him and pulled him into my arms as it started to kick in. The last thing he was fully conscious for was me holding him, telling him he was my baby.

When the vet returned to administer the final injections, I had my face pressed into his, looking directly into his eyes. If there was some chance he could still see something in his last moments, it was me. All I could see was the puppy I'd brought home 14 years earlier, sleeping on my pillow next to me.

Like I experienced with the loss of my cat, there is a part of me that is confused.

I woke up this morning for the first time without him. It's the first time I've slept in my own bed for the past month. 

He's not in the bed with me, and he's not downstairs either.

He's not waiting to be let outside first thing in the morning.

He's not laying in the bathroom next to the tub while I shower.

He's not following me to the next room every time I leave.

He's not underfoot, getting in the way while I try to make myself food.

He's not eyeing my plate when I eat, hoping for scraps. 

He's not watching me dancing in my living room.

He's not on the floor next to the couch when I'm watching TV. 

He's not in my back entrance, keeping an eye on the door.

But I keep expecting him. I keep thinking I hear him, but it's just the house creaking. I think I see him for a split second, but it's just something I've left on the ground.

I am raw with grief, and every touch stings. 

There is no resolution today. Just a loss that will get easier to bear with time and a hole in my heart that will never completely close.

(Not just a good boy, the best boy.)

You attract radical feminists, who have been railing against the concept of “gender identity” and discussing its impact on the rights of women for decades. 

You attract parents of trans-identifying children, who are desperately seeking answers regarding an intervention that is being pushed on people younger and younger. 

You attract concerned health care professionals, who see something dangerous happening within the medical system and want to correct it. 

You attract social conservatives, who want to maintain traditional values that have guided society for many years. 

You attract people whose values come from religion – also traditional, but with perhaps more of an emphasis on morality and spiritual well-being. 

You attract gay men and lesbian women, whose orientation is challenged by an ideology which posits that “homosexual” can mean attraction to both sexes (so long as the opposite sex has a special identity). 

And you attract what might be termed old-school transsexuals, who tend to frame sex-trait modification exclusively as a treatment for “gender dysphoria” and who are discontented with the mainstream trans rights movement.

(...and I certainly haven’t named every kind of person you may attract.)

Together, these people make up what social justice leftists have taken to calling the “anti-gender movement” (e.g., see Wikipedia for a biased explanation). They tend to give the impression that everyone in the “movement” has a common goal and common values. This simply isn’t true. Many of these people don’t even consider each other allies. Radical feminists often won’t work with social and religious conservatives due to conflicting opinions on abortion, for example.

I was fresh out of social justice culture when I joined Twitter and highly critical of what I’d just left behind – not just the ideology around transgenderism, but around leftist identity politics as a whole. I’d watched as people with certain “marginalized” identities were given credibility and authority, and bad faith actors weaponized those identities in order to gain power and abuse others. The result was a movement full of narcissistic leaders who could not be criticized, lest you be deemed a bad person and ex-communicated. (Note: I’ve observed the same dynamics in parts of the “anti-gender movement.”)

I was still calling myself a leftist at this time, though. I was simply a dissident leftist instead. To me, “left” was progressive (and therefore correct), and I still wanted to be seen as a “good” person. I didn’t want my friends to think I was “transphobic,” just that I had concerns that should be taken seriously. I also wanted to remain in touch with my friends who were still transitioned; I hoped that if they ever changed their minds one day, they could come to me.

If your goal is to reach the left on the topic of sex-trait modification, then using identity politics to your advantage might be a decent strategy. Because of this, I was quite willing to work with heterodox transsexuals early on. These are primarily people who were satisfied with their own “treatments,” but believed that medical professionals needed to re-adopt the restrictions that once existed, particularly for people under the age of 18. They also tended to emphasize “gender dysphoria” as a medical condition in need of treatment rather than the mainstream emphasis on “gender identity” as a natural human variation.

I believe this remains what is considered a “moderate” view for most: that there is an exceedingly small number of people who truly need to have their sex traits chemically and surgically modified and who must live in the “gender role” of the opposite sex or else they will be forever miserable, and therefore all of the health risks outweigh the benefits.

This is now exactly as convincing to me as the idea that there is an exceedingly small number of people who truly need to have their legs amputated and live as disabled people or else they will be forever miserable, and therefore all of the health risks outweigh the benefits.

That is to say, it is no longer convincing to me at all.

Two years ago, I wrote a blog post during which, in part, I defended transsexuals in the movement. I described the concerns people had — “the very act of existing as an ‘out’ transsexual is seen as ‘promoting’ an unhealthy lifestyle” — with some reservations. I also argued that “detransitioning” isn’t accessible for every person and that “having transsexuals who openly condemn the mainstream trans rights movement is — I think — important.”

I no longer have reservations about those concerns (I now agree that being an “out” transsexual is promoting an unhealthy lifestyle), and I disagree with my former beliefs (I think “detransition” is often more accessible than people are willing to admit, and I don’t think it’s necessarily “important” to have transsexuals who openly condemn the mainstream trans rights movement).

Because this is a departure from things I’ve said in the past, I think it deserves a well-thought-out explanation.

I also want to acknowledge that there is no way to write this that will not be taken as condescending to “happy” transsexuals, in the same way that telling people who believe they have an incongruent gender identity that they are wrong will be taken as condescending, and in the same way that telling someone who is reliant on alcohol that they need to go to rehab will be taken as condescending.

My intention is not to force anyone to “detransition.” I have a right to my opinion about someone’s actions (in this case, their choice to medicalize and present themselves as the opposite sex). That is not the same thing as imposing on their behaviour. We all have free will.

My intention is also not to force anyone to disassociate themselves from individual transsexuals. My criticisms are primarily with medicalization and secondarily with how transsexuals try to justify it for themselves. I believe these people are victims of “gender medicine” as much as I am — not necessarily “bad” people, but people who are fundamentally self-harming.

My intention is twofold: to provide an opinion on a specific medical and psychosocial intervention and its effects, based on everything I have seen — not only in the past three years, but since I started “questioning my gender” fifteen years ago; and to explain why I have changed my mind about presenting “happy” transsexuals as role models just because they’re telling minors to wait.

You may have assumed that, after three years involved in the discourse and a lot of exposure to dissident transsexuals, I would have begun to accept that there were indeed people who truly benefited from the intervention. The opposite is true. The more I met, the less convinced I became. Many give the outward appearance of “successfully” living in an opposite-sex “gender role” while quietly having difficulties in their personal lives that have been caused or exacerbated by chemically and surgically altering their bodies and trying to live in an opposite-sex “gender role.”

But it wasn't only meeting transsexuals that changed my mind. It was also meeting detransitioners.

My personal story is very much one born of social influence. I was a tomboy my whole life (save for a feminine phase in my teens), but I did not have any distress around my gender when I was young. I was different from other girls, but I was also different from other children in general. Not like the girls, but not necessarily like the boys either.

When I stopped identifying as transgender, I very quickly stopped believing that anyone was “born in the wrong body,” but I did think it was possible that some people were benefiting from medicalization — perhaps some rare cases who have had persistent dysphoria their entire lives, as most of these “old school” transsexuals said they did. 

Then I started meeting detransitioners whose stories were literally the exact same… and who still realized the whole thing was bullshit. I also met people who had what could be termed childhood dysphoria but who were managing it without medicalizing.

And I just can’t ignore it anymore.

I have framed sex-trait modification as a coping mechanism for a long time. Medicalization does not “cure” one’s distress around being male or female in the same way that antidepressants don’t cure depression. It may alleviate distress, but if you can never stop medicalizing, the problem has not actually been resolved.

One of the traps of sex-trait modification, though, is that you often feel more distress the further into it you get. A TikTok video recently made rounds on Twitter of a man explaining exactly this: that every step he took in changing his body fed his desire to change more. (“Some things I have dysphoria about now that I never had before.”) At first, he only wanted his face to change, but the feeling of being “affirmed” spurred him on. He used to be okay with being androgynous, but now he wants to be able to “pass” seamlessly as a woman.

He frames this as having his experience “evolve” through the process when, if you take a step back, the treatment is clearly exacerbating his distress. First, he is convinced that he is not a man. Then, as he begins obscuring his biological sex (e.g., softening of skin, growing breast tissue, etc.), each step he takes that makes him look more “female” (to him) gives him a little thrill. Then the thrill wears off, he becomes more anxious and desperate regarding the traits giving away that he is male, and he starts looking for a new “embodiment goal.”

If that sounds a bit like an addiction, it’s because it is. He is psychologically reliant on being affirmed in his delusion that he is a woman. It’s masking something else for him. Whether it’s internalized homophobia, a paraphilic disorder, or something else entirely, I don’t know. But it is not healthy for him.

The transsexuals who boast that medicalization “worked” for them are, essentially, high-functioning addicts. They may have gotten lucky with surgery results; they may be holding regular employment; they may still have their families; their lives may not have fallen apart. But they are still psychologically reliant on being affirmed.

They’ll try to convince you they’re not, though. They may claim they don’t care what pronouns you use for them… then become upset or accuse you of being “disrespectful” when you use sex-based ones. They may acknowledge they aren’t actually the opposite sex… then continue to use the opposite-sex washroom.

Some seem to think that, if they say the right things, they will be entitled to special privileges. And other people are indeed falling for this! If someone says “use whatever pronouns you like,” they will often get their preferred pronouns. (“I respect her pronouns because she gave me a choice.” No, you got manipulated, and he knew exactly what he was doing.)

They often try to separate themselves out from other people who identify as “trans” by pointing out those who have clearly been socially influenced as “fake,” condemning over-the-top bad behaviour, and mocking people who don’t “pass.” This is all done to create the illusion that there are “real” transsexuals: the ones who were not influenced online, who behave appropriately, and who blend in seamlessly. (And by the way, mocking people who don’t “pass” often coerces them into medicalizing if they haven’t.)

Ultimately, they want to be coddled the same way TRAs expect to be coddled. They won’t insist that “trans women are women,” but they will insist that there are “true” transsexuals or that transition “works” for some people, and if you don’t agree with them, well, you’re transphobic — or at least an extremist of some kind. I mean, it’s a black-and-white take, isn’t it?

But “men can never be women” is also a black-and-white take.

Sometimes the truth isn’t “nuanced.” And sometimes it is very uncomfortable.

I don’t believe there are “real” transsexuals. I don’t even believe “gender dysphoria” is a legitimate condition anymore. Distress is merely a symptom with varying causes, none of which is “incongruence” between one’s sex and one’s identity, and none of which should be “treated” by helping someone dissociate from their body and denying reality.

What there are, are people who altered their bodies and decided it was worth the risks. I’m not saying they aren’t happy; I’m saying they aren’t healthy. Messing with your endocrine system and removing healthy body parts to assuage your troubled mind is objectively a bad idea. 

So what’s the draw here? Why are “happy” old-school transsexuals so invested in the “anti-gender movement”?

I don’t believe most of them are primarily interested in stopping harm from happening to others. Instead, I believe they’re scrambling to try and protect themselves. They don’t want to lose access to their addiction, whether it be exogenous hormones or their ability to quietly enter opposite-sex spaces, and the complete insanity of the mainstream trans rights movement has put that access under threat.

Most of them focus almost exclusively on criticizing pediatric sex-trait modification, because anyone with half a brain knows that chemically altering the sex traits of children, sterilizing them, and/or cutting off their healthy body parts in service of a psychiatric condition is entirely unethical. Restricting access until the age of 18 is the easiest position to take while still ensuring that medicalization will be available to them as adults.

This doesn’t make them good role models, though. How can they be? “Hey kids, transition was the right thing for me, I can’t live without it, but you have to wait until you’re 18.” Like telling kids not to do drugs while smoking crack.

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

Claiming that sex-trait modification “worked” for you is still proposing it as a viable option. It is still marketing for the gender industry. Telling children to wait until they’re 18 is not solving the problem. If these kids think there are “real” transsexuals, they will be convinced that they are one themselves. It is doing nothing for children, except maybe guaranteeing that they’ll show up at a Planned Parenthood looking for hormones on their 18th birthday — and some of the transsexuals in the movement quite openly have no problem with that. It doesn’t matter if the kid’s been brainwashed their entire childhood.

Indeed, many of my clashes with the purported “good ones” have been over the fact that I don’t believe sex-trait modification should be offered as a medical treatment at any age.

One seemed surprised when I got hostile with him after he told a detransitioned woman that there was nothing wrong with the fact that she’d gotten a testosterone prescription from Planned Parenthood after a single 30-minute phone call as an adult. (“I support detransitioners; I’m on your side.” If you’re in support of doing away with safeguarding for adults, we are not on the same side.)

Some have conceded that there appeared to be negligence in my case, but others have thrown the good old “take some personal responsibility” line at me when I said that what happened to me simply should not have happened. 

Perhaps unsurprising to many, a couple of these “reasonable” transsexuals have come off as manipulative narcissists after I got to know them privately.

And one more inconvenient fact to point out before moving on…

Most of these transsexuals are same-sex attracted. This inadvertently pushes the message to young gays and lesbians that medicalizing our gender non-conformity is “good” for some of us.

One of the strongest messages we have is that medicalization is often “transing the gay away.” How do we square that with putting mastectomized lesbians and castrated gay men up as examples of “real” transsexuals for whom medicalization “worked”?

We don’t. Absolutely not.

As someone recovering from medicalization, I have struggled to process while around people who are actively engaging in and singing the praises of the thing that irreversibly altered my life for the worse. It’s annoying, to say the least. For others, though, it’s dangerous.

Those who have acknowledged sex-trait modification as a coping mechanism and are trying to figure out how to disengage with it as much as possible are, essentially, addicts in recovery. Whether the addiction continues to affect them, and how much, differs from person to person. The detrans subreddit often has people saying that they’re “jealous” of those who continue to medicalize or that they’re constantly thinking about “re-transitioning” (in other words, relapsing).

By definition, “high-functioning” addicts are rather stable. They make medicalization look good, but it’s a false front. They give off the impression that everything is fine even though they don't have control over the addiction and are creating health issues for themselves. (This false front doesn’t only influence young people who think they are born in the wrong body, but also influences people in recovery. It’s tempting to plug yourself back into the Matrix rather than face reality.)

Contrarily, those newly in recovery are extremely unstable. They recognize they have a problem, their worlds have been pulled out from under them, and they are often trying to completely rebuild their lives from scratch. If they seem more erratic than high-functioning transsexuals, it’s because one of these groups is upheaving their lives to live in reality and restore their health, and the other is not. 

If a “transsexual” and a “detransitioner” held mirrors up to each other, we would both see ourselves.

Every “transsexual” is a potential “detransitioner.” Every “detransitioner” was once a “transsexual.”

I am done with the pretense that the “good ones” are separate and apart from everyone else who has undergone the same intervention. My story may not be your story, but your story is invariably the story of one of my friends.

I said at the beginning that I cannot tell anyone what to do. But if your question is actually “well, what would you have me do?” this is my answer: stop going by a name that traditionally invokes the opposite sex; stop requesting “preferred” pronouns; stop presenting yourself in a way that explicitly intends to deceive others about your sex; and stop telling people that sex-trait modification is “good.”

I have compassion for every person who has irreversibly altered their body and does not know how to move forward. Some people will continue to be mistaken for the opposite sex for the rest of their lives, and not every moment has to be a teaching moment. I don’t expect anyone to be “correcting” strangers every single time. I certainly don’t. 

My alternate answer, which I imagine people of all stripes will not like, is to stop being “out” and go stealth. You might not be living in reality, but you shouldn’t be influencing others to do the same.

I was originally willing to work with transsexuals because I thought it would be more convincing to the left. I thought if I could reference “reasonable” transsexuals who believed the same thing I did, that people might listen to my arguments. It turns out that identity politics doesn’t work that well for dissident transsexuals. They just get accused of being self-loathing instead of being taken seriously.

It didn’t matter that transsexuals agreed with me. I didn’t convince anyone to listen. I made compromises that both disturbed my recovery and alienated people who would have otherwise agreed with me, and I still ended up losing my existing friends.

Many moderates have decided that they must work with transsexuals on this matter for the same reason I did. They think it gives legitimacy to their arguments. Again, I recognize that this is a strategy some will continue to employ and that I will not be able to stop them from doing so.

The curse of being "moderate" is that you end up alienating both sides of the debate. The "moderate" orgs I've been involved with have a high turnover rate. It's not hard to figure out why. Trying to compromise with extremes is very stressful. Even people within the orgs can't agree on which compromises to make.

It's certainly not an enviable position to be in.

I'm solo from here on out.

My writing will always be free to read. If you’re interested in supporting me financially, please donate to my fundraiser, which will allow me to cover costs associated with my legal action: https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva. Thank you.

There are a few online events occurring for Detrans Awareness Day 2024:

• Ritchie will be releasing another round of his “Just Chatting” series (in which he speaks frankly with other people who have lived experience with transition procedures) throughout the week. The schedule can be found as follows. (I did “Just Chatting” with Ritchie back in November, which can be found here!)

Ritchie @TullipR

Detrans Awareness Day 2024 Schedule

In-between falling in love, working and catching up on sleep after a deadly bout of man-flu, I managed to record some brand new Just Chatting Episodes for this years Detrans Awareness Day. The Interviews will be streamed from March 11 2024 and will be made available on X and…

Read more

2 years ago · 70 likes · 10 comments · @TullipR / Ritchie

• Genspect’s Beyond Trans program is once again raising awareness on March 12 by hosting content created by detransitioners, including written pieces, videos, and art. Of particular interest may be a webinar at 11:00 p.m. GMT in which detransitioners give their perspective on the recent release of the WPATH Files.

• The Canadian chapter of “Our Duty” is hosting an X Space on the former Twitter with founder of Detrans Alliance Canada, Kellie Pririe, as one of its guests. A link to this space can be found here. The space begins at 7:00 p.m. EST on Tuesday evening.

If you are looking to directly support a detransitioner on Detrans Awareness Day:

• I am still raising money for the lawsuit I brought against my health professionals in Canada! I am halfway to my goal and extremely grateful for everyone who has donated so far. The statement of claim was filed in November 2022. Pretrial proceedings (examinations for discovery/depositions) are finally scheduled for next month (April 2024).

  • https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva

• I’m happy to say I was able to start taking on more paid work (my regular job, not advocacy) this year after being on disability payments for the last few years. I hope to be able to support myself by the end of the year. However, I do need some help paying off some bills before I am financially comfortable. Also, the day after Detrans Awareness Day (March 13) is my birthday… :)

  • https://www.paypal.me/MichelleAlleva

I have grievances with a specific medical intervention.1 I have personal experience undergoing this specific medical intervention. I believe this specific medical intervention is being wrongly applied to thousands of people. In fact, I believe there is a possibility it is never being applied correctly.

The people who are convinced this specific medical intervention is "lifesaving" (reminder that we're not talking about a physical condition where we can empirically judge whether someone was prevented from dying) think I want them all to die because I don’t agree that the benefits are worth the risks.2

Despite the ideologue claim that this specific medical intervention isn't experimental, it has not been widely available for very long. It was relatively rare to undergo this specific medical intervention until about 30 years ago (you know...after Internet access became widespread). Demand started to spike suddenly about 10 years ago (you know...after social media became widespread).

When it wasn't widely available, it was also a lot more stigmatized than it is today. Undergoing this specific medical intervention was something to be hidden at all costs. So obviously, you didn't kick up a fuss when it didn't turn out to be what you were led to believe it was. You kept your head down and restarted your life quietly, or you got placed on the TDOR list.

(Quite different than regretting knee surgery, you see...)

There was very little long-term data about this specific medical intervention when it wasn't widely available. There continues to be little long-term data now. We are waiting for the data.

(And we all know I’m talking about this specific medical intervention as a whole, and not just the pediatric version of it, right? Cool, just reminding you.)

I began undergoing this specific medical intervention 14 years ago. That makes me one of those data points. In the grand scheme of things, I was early, a few years before demand surged. My breasts were removed 12 years ago and my uterus, 6 years ago. I took testosterone on and off for the better part of five years. I was fully bought in for ten years.

Something went wrong here.

This is the point I’ve tried to begin from for the past couple of years. If we can’t at least agree that something went wrong — even if my case was a rare occurrence, even if I’m a complete idiot, whatever it is you want to think — if we can agree that this is some kind of health care failure, then we can move forward somewhere. If we can’t agree on that, there’s no point talking about this topic with me.

What I’ve really found shocking is the fervour with which people have tried to shut others down from talking about their own experiences of what seems to be medical negligence.

Nil nisi bonum

Every person in my position, who underwent this specific medical intervention and has grievances with the way it was applied, has been vilified for speaking about it, regardless of what our opinions are outside of how the specific medical intervention was applied to us personally.

Speaking about this particular medical intervention disparagingly is usually not allowed. On the off chance it is allowed, it must always be accompanied by a disclaimer that grievances are rare and this experience is exclusive to the speaker. If it sounds at all like a warning, you're bigoted. If you think other people should avoid this specific medical intervention, you're bigoted. You cannot say "I do not recommend." 

I understand ideologues won't like me outside of my personal experience, though. That's because I think the way this specific medical intervention was applied to me was part of a systemic failure of the health care system. I think this specific medical intervention is one massive medical scandal, and not only when applied to children (though it is certainly most shocking to see it applied to them).

By publicly calling this specific medical intervention into question, I risk the possibility of being extremely publicly wrong in my larger assessment of it. But people have been raising red flags about it for years, and the emerging evidence continues to vindicate them. This specific medical intervention irreversibly harms, at the very least, 1 in 100 of the patients it is meant to treat — and I really do think it’s a lot more than that.

A lot of ideologues seem to think that detransitioners didn't fully commit to the intervention. But the thing that really spurred me to go public with my grievances was precisely how completely insane it felt to have been so committed that you'd give body parts, just to realize that it was bullshit. 

If it happened to me, it could happen to anyone. I can't shake that feeling.

After that experience — and personally meeting dozens with the same experience — how could I ever believe someone when they say this specific medical intervention is lifesaving? They all sound exactly like we used to. 

While deprogramming, I struggled a lot with how I was going to present my feelings about this specific medical intervention. I had been hurt, but I felt like I wasn't allowed to be sad or angry about it. I didn't have space to grieve my life with any of the people who actually knew my life.

Twitter was the platform I used to speak freely without feeling scrutinized by them, but eventually, I started to feel repressed in a different way.

Ad meliora

Speaking publicly about my grievances meant inducting myself into a "movement" of people discussing grievances that have sprung up around this specific medical intervention. The intent was for my words to change things for the better. My story had a purpose as a cautionary tale.

Many who go public with transition grief think some version of "I've been hurt by this, and I don't want someone else to experience that same hurt." We understood that we were presenting ourselves as people who were harmed. I didn’t predict how much our lives would get flattened in the process, though. We became no more than symbols of an outcome to be avoided. And it's so personal. Our use is in giving testimony about how terrible it is to live in our altered bodies (which we then have to live in).

I’ve noticed there's a fine line between "I don't want this to happen to you" and "I don't want you to be me." It's also one thing for me to say it, and another for complete strangers to be pointing at me as the thing to avoid becoming.

It's not a comfortable position to be in. I stopped feeling like a person a lot of the time. And hey, I consented to it. I said it myself: I'm the data point. I'm part of the early warning system kicking in. But I'm also a useful idiot and a story to weaponize. Celebrity, even niche Internet microcelebrity, means your life becomes public domain. I can't control who speaks about me or how.

In the past year, I've focused less on criticism of that specific medical intervention and more on how to improve things for those of us who are on the other side of it. I wrote something of a "guide" to talking about it, which I don't think has seen much use, but at least it was cathartic to write.

My concern when I wrote it—but really at all times—was the mental wellness of people like myself (and of people who might have grievances in the future). I worry about the effect of calling people's lives "ruined" and their bodies "mutilated." I worry that repeatedly witnessing images of altered bodies alongside words of pity, disgust, and scorn will forever cement negative connotations in our minds (when we could perhaps have arrived somewhere more neutral about our own bodies). I worry that the discourse around being post-transition will lead people who are post-transition to feel like their lives no longer have worth.

I also know people won't stop doing these things that I worry about because emotional manipulation inspires action. This is where detransitioners get exploited. Our "job" within the movement comes with abuse built into it: be the victim, including letting yourself be victimized even more, or else you don't really care about saving the kids.

In my work collaborating with others, I also feel sort of torn. I come only with my lived experience and nothing else. I have lived experience with this specific medical intervention because I have mental health and neurodevelopmental disabilities. I don't want too much to be expected of me, but I want to be taken seriously. I'm still recovering from what happened, but I'm not entirely incapable. I was wrong about something quite big, but I think the skills I learned in the process are valuable. 

Like other people who had their truth-telling moment, I made sacrifices. I risked my reputation. I lost relationships. You'll find my psychiatric history every time you Google my name from now until the end of time. I permanently branded myself a freak show because I thought it would help change the world. I gave everything I was capable of giving.

Sometimes I haven't felt respected as an individual, though. I haven't felt like my insight was valued. I felt like I was being tokenized.

Many of the people who came into my life during advocacy correctly recognized that I would need mental health support. Some of them genuinely helped me hold feelings that were burdening me, but the eventual realization that these people were going to be transient in my life was crushing. I don't need crisis workers. I need people I see regularly, who make me feel like a person and who aren't going to leave me when the movement's goals are met. 

Maybe that was always the hard truth, though. I don't have expertise. I don't have credentials. My value does lie entirely within my lived experience. I genuinely don't have any use outside of sharing that. Not for making change in this specific arena, anyway. 

Protegimus invicem

At times, I've had sort of an unelected leadership position for the aggrieved. I'm not a great direct-support person, but I have been a point of contact for a lot of people and organizations. I took my unofficial duties pretty seriously. If people were going to put their trust in me, then I didn't want to stand for anything that would harm us, especially since we'd all already been harmed before. I didn't want to vouch for people I wasn't certain would care for every one of my friends the way I would care for them.

The problem, I’ve discovered, is that no one will.

We were never meant to be the priority. We're the lost causes—for now, anyway. There's no long-term plan for us. Our stories are needed, but we aren't. I've seen people get asked to do things completely out of the range of things they should ever be asked to do (and then proceed to do that thing free of charge). I've seen them be pursued for media participation when they've already refused. I don't think very many people understand the personal cost, and so many push too hard.

Other times, the help we were offered fell short of expectations. Criticisms were dismissed. After all, beggars can’t be choosers.

I've been slowly pulling away for a long time. I'm not sure that it's possible to vouch for anyone in this movement at all when it comes to properly caring for someone post-transition. Most just can't meet my standard, and I can't deal with feeling betrayed over and over.

The mantra that guides my advocacy means "we protect each other." My motives for speaking out were not only that I didn't want anyone else to experience medical negligence. They were also that I didn't want anyone else who had experienced medical negligence to go through speaking about it publicly and begging to be taken seriously.

I can't change the discourse. Protecting the harmed is not the priority; protecting the unharmed is. It's a values clash. Nothing I can do about that. I can tell other people with grievances to avoid public advocacy because, in my view, it hampers personal recovery. Tried it. Can’t say I recommend it. Like a specific medical intervention. But I can't stop you from doing it if you think differently. I can also emphasize once more that most people will choose not to prioritize us, including people who do otherwise mean us well.

My advice for every person who is thinking about publicly airing their grievances about this specific medical intervention is still "don't." But if you're going to anyway: always remember that you are worth more than the larger movement. Put yourself first every single time.

Per aspera ad astra

I guess there's a question to be answered here. If we aren't helping aggrieved transitioners, then what do they need that will actually help them? And you're going to get varied responses depending on who you ask, but this is mine.

1. Bare necessities: access to food and water, permanent shelter, uninterrupted sleep, gainful employment, physical safety

2. Health care: some are reliant on exogenous hormones, some have complications from surgery, some have chronic pain as a result of the intervention. We don't want to be referred to the gender clinic; we want non-ideological physical and mental health care. 

3. Connection: a sense of belonging or feeling of normalcy: feeling understood and appreciated for who we are; able to express ourselves without feeling out of place or alienated. 

4. Aspirations: something to look forward to; examples of the type of things we could be doing or the type of person we could be. It's hard to imagine what a successful life will look like when it has been changed so dramatically.

This isn't much different from the well-known hierarchy of needs proposed by Maslow. Desistence can sometimes feel like your life is starting over, and when you feel like you have absolutely nothing, I think it's helpful to begin with foundational needs.

I think there is also a fifth need, but I'm not sure what to call it yet. Maybe "resolution"? After you've been wronged, you want to feel a sense of justice. It tends to be a pretty desperate feeling, especially when you realize how many times it's happened. People can't just keep acting this way without any pushback. And then you get sucked into advocacy work.

But we shouldn't have had to do it. Harmed people shouldn't have to publicly force a discussion. I hope the bravery of the recent bunch of people in the NYT marks the end of it. I hope people start coming to their senses. Based on the response from organizations like GLAAD, it certainly doesn't sound like it, but I don't think we need one single more cautionary tale. Can we be done now?

My ideal outcome is the medical profession properly self-regulates. It takes complaints seriously. It disciplines doctors who provide inadequate care. There have been and continue to be whistleblowers from within health care fields trying to put out the fire around this specific medical intervention (usually as applied to minors, though). To me, that looks like the beginning of self-regulation. Does that mean I can be done, at least?

What would have been better, though, would have been to feel resolved without relying on external forces to act. Some people never get closure after harm. We still need to move forward.

A couple of months ago, I spoke with friends about what we thought we really needed, and the fourth need came up a lot. It's important to convey the gravity of our experiences, but at the same time, our lives didn't end at the point of desistence. We aren't exactly selling how much better off we are now when the narratives surrounding us are about misery all of the time.

This can't define us. We need to have fun. We need to thrive. There has to be life left after this.

Everyone needed something to look forward to. We planned to meet up a few weeks after that and then spent a few nights together, laughing until we couldn't breathe, about things of no consequence whatsoever. It was worth more than 100 therapy sessions.

Some of the most beautiful places I've seen in my lifetime, I've seen in the last couple years. The bravest, funniest, smartest, kindest, most generous, most attractive, most impressive people I've met in my lifetime, I've met in the last couple years. Transient in my life as they may be, I will remember many of these moments and these people until the day I die.

However, continuing to talk about my grievances no longer feels like a recovery process. Every moment in which I feel alive is one in which I have managed to forget I had any in the first place. Those moments are getting closer together than they used to be.

Surprising no one, I love cult documentaries. I once did a six-hour interview with an ex-Mormon where we talked about high-control (“culty”) group dynamics and evaluated my experience in trans activism using an online tool he developed. Jonathan also did a massive amount of work tracking down video examples of the things I was speaking about in the interview—finding, e.g., TikToks exemplifying the behaviour I discussed and using interviews from other detransitioners sharing the same experiences.

It’s one of my favourite interviews, as it’s so different from any of the others I did, but gets the least amount of attention. So I’m going to plug it right now before I get into the meat of this post:

(Part 1: here; Part 2: here; and Part 3: here)

Back to cult documentaries.

When I heard that Netflix had just released a three-part docuseries investigating allegations around a particular cult-like community, and that gender and transition were somehow involved, I was curious to see how it was handled. (I’ve since been informed that Prime Video also has a three-part docuseries released in October on the same group.)

The Netflix show, “Escaping Twin Flames,” examines the community of the Twin Flames Universe (TFU), which, from the outside, seems like a matchmaking business gone horribly wrong. Many of the participants seem to have discovered it by searching online for “twin flames,” which is a New Age concept describing your “other half” or what we might more colloquially call a “soulmate.” In searching this term, people stumble upon TFU, which offers an online community and classes costing thousands of dollars.

Within these classes, members would talk about people who they have been interacting with in their personal lives. Jeff and Shaleia Divine, the founders of TFU, are able to confirm to members whether or not the person they are pursuing is, in fact, their true Twin Flame.

Twin Flames Ascension School guarantees that its members will end up with their Twin Flame. This is, of course, impossible. No one can guarantee that two people will sustain a healthy relationship forever. In order to stick by that promise, though, the organization’s leaders appear to encourage their members to pursue their Twin Flame at all costs, including stalking people who are already married or who have set clear boundaries.

Like other cults, TFU asks members to sink more and more costs into the group, creating a reliance on the community. They are told to cut off concerned family members, and many end up making their income from coaching other members. This makes it very hard to leave the group, as doing so would cost them everything they have worked towards.

You may be asking: where does gender come in? It starts in the second half of the second episode.

Jeff and Shaleia suggest that each partner in a Twin Flame union represents the yin and the yang, the Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine. You’re one, and your Twin Flame is the other. Of course, this is a rather “heteronormative” approach, and they must have realized that their model would appeal to a wider audience if, for example, a man could embody the Divine Feminine and a woman could embody the Divine Masculine. This would allow their worldview to account for gay men and lesbians, as well as people who identify as transgender.

Where it all goes wrong is when it becomes clear that many in the community aren’t making progress with their Twin Flames. In order to deal with this problem, Jeff and Shaleia change the rules of the group. They claim that there can be false Twin Flames (even ones previously “confirmed” by Jeff and Shaleia themselves), and now, instead of someone’s Twin Flame being anyone in the world, it would be someone within the community. With straight women being overrepresented in their membership, they began to assign women together as couples, telling one of each of the pairs that she is actually a Divine Masculine. In one of the videotaped meetings shown in the series, Jeff appears to be pressuring a(n actual) lesbian woman to pick a male name and use male pronouns. The alleged claim is that her failing to fully embody the Divine Masculine would push away her Divine Feminine partner.

Anyone watching this show can see that what is happening is abusive. However, throughout the second and third episodes, the producers interweave comments from Dr. Cassius Adair, a woman who has medically altered her body to appear male and is described as a professor at The New School in NYC and the author of “The Transgender Internet” (which doesn’t appear to have been published yet).

Without these comments, I would have been fine with this docuseries (although obviously horrified about what happened within the cult). The inclusion of the comments is clearly meant to make a distinction between “real” transgender people and people who have been coerced into adopting an identity that doesn’t belong to them.

The problem, of course, is that every single person who has been told that it is possible that you aren’t the sex that you are—that male and female are not material realities—is being lied to. This is coercion. The trans community engages in this behaviour all the time. Daisy Strongin, who was featured in the PragerU documentary “DETRANS,” was recently dog piled on Twitter by people insisting that she is really a man—or at least she could be “genderfluid”—because she admitted she still has some dysphoria and sometimes thinks about being a man.

The outright lie that this is possible is coming from people at all levels of society: from medical professionals, from therapists, from religious leaders, from teachers, from journalists, from scientists, from politicians... it’s everywhere. A concept that would have been considered completely absurd 10 to 15 years ago is now embedded in nearly all aspects of the western world, and there is no empirical evidence supporting it.

Netflix is complicit in this coercion. They have been for years, but this is explicit. The idea of embodying the Divine Masculine or Divine Feminine is presented as a ridiculous concept while having an internal gender identity that differs from your sex is presented as perfectly reasonable. There is no difference. Both concepts are, as Amy Hamm put it nicely this week, “anti-scientific, metaphysical nonsense.”

In a series about a cult, they chose a member of a different cult to explain why one cult is invalid, but another cult is totally normal.

I’ll now dig deeper into specific moments throughout the show.

Close to the end of the second episode, a former TFU member, a trans-identified man, is shown briefly. Again, this is obviously damage control for the trans cult. They put a “successful” transitioner out in front before they start to dive into what happened within TFU. “I was 13 when I realized that I was meant to be a woman,” he says. “I was transitioning before I joined TFU.”

A couple minutes later, there is a shot of Adair watching Shaleia explain, “You can look androgynous, sport that look, but it doesn’t mean that it’s reflective of the truth of who we are, as either a masculine energy 100% or 100% a feminine energy.”

 “There’s no evidence in biology, in psychology, in social theory, nobody who studies gender in a serious way believes that all human beings can be sorted into some sort of essential masculine and some sort of essential feminine. Gender is something that you can explore on your own and discover.”

I’m not sure how Adair is defining “gender” in this way, whether she is using it as a synonym for “sex” or not. However, human beings can, of course, be sorted into a binary. We have been doing so since the beginning of time. This is based on biological features, your phenotype, which either develops and is organized around producing small gametes (male) or around producing large gametes (female). (Whether or not your body actually produces said gametes is irrelevant.)

I’m frustrated that Adair is deferring to “evidence” and then claiming something lacking any credible evidence: that “gender” is something that you can “discover,” as if it was there, hidden, all along. This is never pushed back on. The emphasis is always that someone else assigning you a “gender” is bad (because power and control), but if you figure out your “gender” for yourself, that’s totally fine (because “autonomy”).

The trans-identified former TFU member later repeats the same thing: “It is not their fucking place to decide what gender somebody is or what they’re meant to align with [...] That is something people need to do on their own.”

As a thought experiment, replace the word “gender” there with the word “race.” It doesn’t matter if it’s an autonomous decision or not. One is more direct abuse, but in both cases, someone has been indoctrinated.

Near the beginning of the third episode, a woman named Victoria describes a conversation she had with her TFU coach, Keely, and Victoria’s assigned Twin Flame, a woman named Angie. (All three women have since left TFU.)

“[Keely] said, ‘Hi Victoria. Do you know why you’re here?’ And I said, ‘You’re going to tell me that Angie is my Twin Flame.’ And she said, ‘Yeah.’ And I said, ‘No.’ And I remember Keely looking shocked by that, and just, ‘What do you mean, no?’ And I said, ‘Well, I’m not a lesbian.’ And she said, ‘Well, no, you’re not. In spiritual truth, Angie’s a Divine Masculine.’ I didn’t have a way out of that. I just felt violated in that moment, thinking, ‘How much power have I given to these people?’”

I highlight this quote for one reason: this is exactly how people in the trans cult treat those who are not attracted to someone’s “gender identity.” Victoria is able to say she felt violated (without societal backlash) because she was forced to be with a woman, but if Angie were “genuinely” a transman, Victoria would be shamed and lambasted as a transphobe.

There is no difference.

Two mothers with daughters still involved with TFU speak about their daughters starting to identify as men after joining. One of the daughters has gone through with a double mastectomy. Throughout the episode, the mothers are understandably unable to bring themselves to say “my son”—they say “my child” instead—but both refer to their daughters as “he.” (I have to wonder whether each of them chose to do this or if the producers asked them to do so.)

In a particularly emotional moment, one of the mothers suddenly receives a text from her daughter while filming, and she breaks down over its content: “She appreciates my message... She appreciates the message... He appreciates the message... I can sleep tonight.”

It’s absolutely heartbreaking to watch.

Again, let’s contrast this with other parents who have children suddenly identifying as transgender out of nowhere. The pain that they experience is just like the pain that these mothers on-screen are experiencing. Their children have often cut them out of their lives for not going along with their identity, just as these children have cut their families out of their lives for not supporting the cult behaviour. These parents are confused that their children, who have never given signs of ever being uncomfortable with their sex, are suddenly claiming to be something else. It’s clear that they have been influenced by someone.

But such parents cannot say anything without a backlash. They can’t speak frankly in the way that these on-screen mothers are doing. The on-screen mothers have someone specific that they can blame: Jeff and Shaleia. There are people who are responsible for other parents’ children identifying as transgender, but because the ideas are now so widespread, those people are able to escape blame.

“It’s not impossible that some of those people who start out in the group as straight cisgender women realize that they happen to be trans, but I don’t hear in the testimony of the people in Twin Flames Universe something like ‘I want to get closer to who I am.’ What I’m hearing them say is, ‘I want to get closer to who I’m supposed to be.’ That raises a red flag for me. That doesn’t feel right to me. We don’t want there to be a ‘supposed to be’ about gender. We want gender to be something that you are allowed to discern on your own.”

Translation: Our process of indoctrination looks more autonomous than theirs does.

Just after this, we listen to a woman explain that “I had been exploring being Divine Feminine for three years, and although I mastered it and the external, it never felt like a fit. Like, it never felt like it was completely authentic to me. I really felt like I had to work at it every day.”

Angie comments, “This is somebody who’s been in for a while, knows all the right things to say to keep people happy. And there’s not a word of truth to it.”

...but is what that woman said much different from what any trans-identified person says? “It never fit.” “I never felt authentic.” It’s someone who “knows all the right things” to say when it’s within the context of a very niche group, but it’s totally legitimate outside of that? How do you tell the difference?

Victoria: “It had become a form of conversion therapy.”

Presented without comment.

“What I think is very troubling about the Twin Flames Universe story is that people might hear about this group and say, ‘Oh, this is proof that transness is some kind of cult, that transness is something that is coerced.’ And nothing could be further from the truth. This is a group that is not in the mainstream of what trans people do and what trans people believe.”

“The mainstream of what trans people do and what trans people believe” has shifted dramatically over the past 15 years. This used to be a small group of people who were doing their own thing to alleviate distress over their gender. I can’t say I support their decisions, but at least they were trying to keep to themselves.

“Transness” today is, in fact, a full-blown cult that has managed to infiltrate society, and “Escaping Twin Flames” makes it so abundantly clear. It doesn’t matter that they’ve inserted somone in the middle to try to run interference.

(Here’s my colourful initial reaction to this particular bit. I’m a bit louder than the television is. Sorry for cursing!)

“I hope that people who are watching with horror, what Jeff and Shaleia are doing, come to realize that you have a lot in common with the trans community, because we, as trans people, want everyone to have ownership of their own body and be able to present ourselves and find love as who we are. And that’s what Jeff and Shaleia think is a threat to their business model.”

You’re wrong, though, Cassius.

This is the lie of transition. You are not claiming ownership over your body by permanently altering it. You are admitting you have no control over yourself. Like someone who cuts themself to feel something or someone who is starving themself to lose weight, the idea that you are exercising control is an illusion.

You are not becoming who you are. You are running from who you are.

And acknowledging that is a threat to the business model of the gender industry.

I really hope people don’t fall for this.

One of the ending screens just before the credits reads the following:

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

There aren’t any words to express how angry I am.

I like watching these documentaries so much because it really gets into the psychology of what it’s like to be convinced of something that just isn’t true, what it feels like to deal with the sunk costs, and how difficult it is to turn around and come back after years of involvement. I had that experience throughout transition.

I hope one day we’ll be looking back on this with amazement. How did we not see it?

I look forward to the day my experience—and the experience of so many others like me—is actually taken seriously.

My writing will always be free to read. If you’re interested in supporting me financially, please donate to my fundraiser, which will allow me to cover costs associated with my legal action: https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva. Thank you.

Only one person has ever asked me what it means. It’s my clumsy attempt at creating a Latin motto for myself and roughly translates as “we protect each other.” If I remember correctly, I came up with it around the time I came home from the conference in Killarney and spending time with about a dozen people who’d been through something similar to what I’d been through.

In the couple months before then, I’d been working on the script for a video (which I ended up recording while walking around Killarney National Park) in which I speak frankly about the experience of being a public-facing detransitioner.

I’d been public for two years at that point and had grown extremely jaded about where the discourse was heading: tired of “allies” in the movement using negative emotive language for our bodies, frustrated with journalists more interested in clickbait than the truth, and annoyed that a lot of the new players in the movement seemed driven by personal ideologies (whether religious or political) rather than objectivity.

I had been very tempted to disappear forever. At the very least, I was going to take a break. But the primary feeling when I came home was that I didn’t necessarily need to leave advocacy; I just needed to switch my focus to supporting other people like me. I had to commit to protecting them, in whatever way I was capable of doing. It was becoming clear that no one was going to prioritize us the way we would do for ourselves.

This past weekend, I came away from my second conference this year in which I was able to spend time with other detransitioners. These meetings have been very important to me, particularly as someone who is very isolated in everyday life. There’s something about being with other deep-voiced women who went through the same surgery I did which can’t be replicated in any other friendship. (I have kinship with the men, too!)

There’s also a bit of a surreal feeling to being around so many people who know who I am. I wasn’t presenting this time around, but many people I’ve never met approached me to say kind things. Something in particular that gave me whiplash was arguing with a jerk on Twitter who claimed that detransitioners have nothing to offer except horror stories, about an hour after a parent had told me he appreciated how my writing focused on understanding the phenomenon of gender and transition as a whole.

That Twitter argument prompted me to leave in the middle of a presentation that I really wanted to listen to. I’m embarrassed that a dozen people can tell me to my face that I made a positive impact on them (and my advocacy work got shoutouts from two different speakers), but one dickhead online can still manage to ruin my morning.

Overall, there were a lot of great presentations, but most of what I heard were things that were not new to me. The value I found was in the people present – and not just other detransitioners.

Different organizations have tried to support detransitioners as best they can, but it has been difficult for each of them to escape the perception that they are only helping us to further their own motives. Many of them are involved with health care (including mental health) and feel that they have an obligation to fix the problems that people like them caused, but I—and likely others—will always be a bit perturbed that the industry which profited off of harming us in the first place will also profit off of our continued suffering.

The problem is further complicated by the fact that “detransitioners”—like every group of people—are not a monolith. Not everyone wants to be public; some people want to be recognized. Not everyone experiences grief about their medical treatment; some people believe they were mistreated. Not everyone has the same relationship with hormones. Not everyone changes their name afterwards. Not everyone looks substantially different after “detransitioning.” Some people believe the focus on our narratives is exploitative; some people find comfort in telling their stories.

Sometimes the criticism levelled against these organizations can be used to make better decisions. Sometimes it’s unfair or it’s a problem that simply cannot be resolved.

No matter what you do, there will be someone who is not happy.

Detransitioners have tried to organize for ourselves multiple times. Some of these for-detrans by-detrans orgs have had a bit of success, and some have fallen apart or slowly faded from view. It’s tough. People who have detransitioned are ultimately the same types of people who transition in the first place. Most are still in the process of recovery, many have strong personalities, and everyone has different opinions on where our focus should be.

I’m not sure how we will move forward from here. We need movers and shakers to step up—and it will have to be people that other members trust—and then we need financing. That’ll be the difficult part.

A lot of people lately have been saying we need to be able to gather outside of a political or advocacy context. I certainly feel this way, too. But we are a small population of people, most of us are broke, and I imagine it will be a little difficult to convince people that a small vacation to allow us all to spend time together is a good use of charitable donations.

Perhaps having one organization to speak for all of us will never work out. Perhaps, like labour unions, we need a lot of small groups – one for women, one for men, one for gay men and lesbians, one for people who have had genital surgeries... or maybe by location (US, Canada, UK, etc.) Ideally, we would have as many as possible, a representative from each group could meet together every so often, and this “board” could likely advise organizations that are not detrans-led with thoughts from a spectrum of perspectives.

Maybe that’s a bit of a pipe dream. It would be nice, though.

I have no good way to end this except to say that I do have hope for some upcoming projects. I’m sure we will manage to formally organize eventually, but in the meantime, we continue to loosely network behind the scenes.

One of our existing active organizations is Detrans Help, which could use more help itself. Reach out to them if you’re a detransitioner interested in getting involved (or if you just need access to resources and/or advice).

My writing will always be free to read. If you’re interested in supporting me financially, please donate to my fundraiser, which will allow me to cover costs associated with my legal action: https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva. Thank you.

They aren’t wrong about that. I thought they were, but they’re not.

I met good people very early on after going public, so I knew this wasn’t a universal experience. I know there are people out there who have gone above and beyond to care for me privately: who have driven out of their way to see me, who have called me when they were extremely busy, who gave me their phone numbers when I was in crisis, who check in when I don't seem well.

So I didn’t want to believe that a vast number of people don’t really care about me past my medical trauma. It was easy to ignore it early on, when I was angriest about what happened to me. In those days, I would’ve certainly gone on about how I felt like my life was “ruined.” But now I’m trying to heal. I’m trying to grow. And I’ve started seeing how the narrative created around both detransitioners (and transitioners) is, in my view, unhelpful.

As I’ve started pushing back on it, people have become hostile with me. There’s a suggestion that stopping more medicalization should be the focus, and, to some people, this kind of harm reduction is the only kind that matters. To them, once medicalized, our lives are basically over. I have seen multiple people tell detransitioners directly that it’s too late for us, and our only purpose now is to save the children. There is no circumstance under which this is an appropriate thing to say to someone.

I have enough self-awareness to admit that I’ve recently become hostile myself, even towards people who were not hostile to me first. I regret this. I try to keep to being a voice of reason, asking for nuance. It’s extremely frustrating, though, to be in an environment where people have been chanting “Listen to detransitioners!” and to find out the hard way that they only want to “listen” as long as what you say is politically useful to them.

There are three things that have been bothering me:

• the use of graphic surgery results, particularly when sourced from personal accounts and used without consent

• the use of emotionally charged language, particularly that which implies someone can never recover

• the overall focus on the trauma and pain of detransitioners, with little boosting of our growth and resilience

I have also spoken before about the tendency for people to go to extremes about our futures: either pessimistically predicting that we will kill ourselves in the throes of regret or optimistically believing that we can somehow get our bodies back if we just have more medical procedures to “fix” everything. Neither view is helpful. That's not today's focus, though.

I want to start off by saying that I don't “cancel” people for not using the same political strategies as me. I’m not compelling anyone’s speech; I’m just asking that people consider what I’m saying. You’ll make your own choices at the end of the day. I will not come after you. I will not demand that people unfollow you. I will not contact the organizations you’re involved with and complain. I will not try to get your events cancelled. I will not declare you a safeguarding risk. Hell, I’ll probably even be nice to you if we meet in person!

However, I will block/mute people who do these things, because this behaviour isn’t conducive to my growth. We all say what we like, and we all have a right to personal boundaries. I do not have to put up with behaviour that causes distress, especially not from complete strangers. I do not owe anyone anything.

I also want to emphasize that I understand why people believe these are useful strategies. I don’t need that to be explained to me. I’m trying to explain why I think the harm they do overrides the help.

Graphic Imagery

On its face, it is cruel and invasive to take images of a person — yes, even ones that were posted on public social media accounts — and repost them with the intention of publicly shaming their body (or their surgeon, but comments in response to these images rarely target the surgeon, and it’s not the surgeon whose body is being weaponized).

I am speaking primarily of people who still identify as transgender here. Even if one genuinely has compassion for a person who has been medically altered through transition, that person certainly does not see the sharing of their photos as “compassion.” They see it as harassment. It feels extremely threatening to have someone who clearly has a political disagreement with you to be collating information about you or images of you.

There were people who have been doing this for years, posting images of well-known transitioners next to text about how much the author pities them. Behaviour like this had absolutely zero contribution to my detransition.

The primary response I’ve gotten when I object to graphic imagery is that “they” need to see “the truth.”

First of all, who is “they”?

Surgeons? The surgeons who are conducting these procedures already know what the end results look like. They aren’t being shown anything they haven’t already seen.

Prospective patients? The people who are going to have these surgeries have also seen multiple end results. Transbucket, which is a photo-sharing site hosting transition surgery results, has existed for more than a decade. It was around when I was choosing a surgeon back in 2011. It’s short-sighted to think prospective patients aren’t doing the research.

Trans-identified prospective patients also aren't going to listen to people who are spending their time non-consensually posting surgery results. In fact, doing so only reinforces what "the cult" is telling them — that “TERFs” will steal your images and post them so that everyone can comment on your body. And these comments range from a mix of pitying “oh, so sad!” comments to disgusted “look at this freak” comments.

Trust me, this isn’t convincing them of anything.

So is it “normies” who need to be convinced?

I hate to break it to you, but normies are actually the people who have been the absolute cruellest to me. They’re rarely interested in “gender-affirming care” itself; they already think it’s a bad thing if you describe it to them (no pictures required); and they are the source of the worst comments because they have no skin in the game.

Now the second part of the excuse: the claim that sharing the pictures is telling “the truth.”

Well, kind of… but also, not really. The choice in images used is often manipulative in itself and is not actually the whole truth. For example, people will pick photos taken immediately after surgery, which obviously isn’t what the final result looks like. Many of the people who post these images don't have any real knowledge of what happens during these surgeries or what a normal outcome looks like versus a botched one.

For example, here's a photo of my chest one week after surgery:

And here’s my chest eleven-and-a-half years after surgery:

Obviously, immediately post-surgery, it looks terrible. Today, my chest looks like neither a man’s nor a woman’s chest (in my opinion), but it's not two huge, unhealed gashes either.

Both the surgeons and the patients know that what you look like immediately post-surgery isn’t what you’re going to look like forever. This type of manipulation isn’t fooling them, and it isn’t telling “the truth.”

Also, don’t think it has gone unnoticed that people seem to cherry-pick “pretty” girls for a before and after comparison. The focus seems less on the medical negligence and more on the loss of their sex appeal. Ironically, this is the kind of thing that pushes young women to get mastectomies in the first place.

If you are going to post images anyway, since I certainly won’t convince everyone, I am asking that you please try to minimize the harm you could potentially be doing:

• use drawn images rather than real life photos, if you can

• censor the person's face/identifying information (e.g., tattoos)

• do not tag detransitioners when posting these images

• if you’re including a caption, think carefully about the words you are using (see next section)

• if possible, use photos meant for widespread public consumption

On that last point: there are graphic photos available in some research papers, on the results section of surgeon's websites, and even photos of detransitioners who have given permission for their images to be used in this way. These would all be more ethical choices than just taking from someone random.

Anyway, here’s a prime example of what not to do:

Emotionally-Charged Language

Detransition can be an emotionally-charged topic. Not everyone who discontinues hormones and reconciles with their birth sex necessarily has strong emotions about what they’ve endured, but many do. Despite the impetus to stop further harm from happening, it’s important to be mindful of those of us who are still in recovery (assuming you want us to keep participating in the discourse).

I don’t think it’s helpful to claim that people’s lives have been “ruined.” It’s not appropriate to refer to someone else as “mutilated.” That might be confusing to some, because there are plenty of detransitioners and people in transition recovery who refer to themselves in this way. Some feel like this kind of language has helped them to understand and accept that something terrible has happened to them. Other times, though, it’s being said in a moment of weakness, and they may change their mind later on.

Words like “ruined” and “mutilated” imply something that one can never come back from — so yes, there is some truth there. Of course, there are irreversible effects from hormones. Surgeries can never be reversed (i.e., restitutio ad integrum is impossible). However, when we are dealing with people who may have been traumatized by their experiences, we don’t want them to feel like life has nothing left to offer them… but we also want to validate the gravity of what they’re experiencing.

I’ve also seen a tendency for people to conveniently forget that detransitioners were once transitioners… so the language used towards transitioners with regard to their surgeries and ways their bodies have been altered affect us, too. (Not that it’s ever acceptable to talk about people in this way, whether you agree with them ideologically or not.)

It’s alienating to refer to someone who has had a mastectomy as “zipper tits” or to call the results of a genital reconstruction surgery (i.e., penile inversion) a “rot pocket.” These are more frequently aimed at people who are still living transitioned than they are towards people who aren’t, but there’s literally no difference. It’s the exact same surgery.

Again, when I object to these terms, I get people accusing me of wanting to use euphemisms and of demanding that people “lie.” And hey, once again, some people feel like those words are appropriate to their own situations. I’m not opposed to people using harsh language for themselves. Everyone in this “movement” has an issue with feeling like they have restrictions on what they can or can’t say. I don’t want to contribute to that.

But I’m thinking long-term here: what kind of narrative around detransitioning are we creating? What kind of world is someone stepping into when they realize that transition was a mistake? That’s such a difficult moment. Other people in transition recovery — we’re trying to create a soft place to land for those who are coming after us. I don’t want new people, fresh off of the realization that they’ve been harmed and feeling quite vulnerable, arriving in a spot where the only thing as far as the eye can see is just pain, trauma, and people describing them as “ruined.”

There was also another interesting line of questioning that came up when this discourse was happening at the beginning of June, which was the comparison to female genital mutilation (FGM). Particularly, do I think that’s an inappropriate term as well? At that time, I declined to answer, because I have not experienced FGM. I’ve since done a small amount of research that I think is worth mentioning.

“Female genital mutilation” is said to be an internationally agreed-upon term. It started being used as a replacement for “female circumcision” in the 1970s and has been used by the United Nations since the 1990s. Part of the argument for the term “mutilation” is indeed because people believe strong language is necessary to emphasize that it is a human rights violation. However, even the term FGM isn’t without controversy, and since the late 1990s, some prefer the term “female genital cutting” instead.

“There is concern that communities could find the term ‘mutilation’ demeaning, or that it could imply that parents or practitioners perform this procedure maliciously. Some fear the term ‘female genital mutilation’ could alienate practicing communities, or even cause a backlash, possibly increasing the number of girls subjected to the practice.”

https://www.unfpa.org/resources/female-genital-mutilation-fgm-frequently-asked-questions

It’s clear that acceptable terminology is very subjective. I think it’s worth pointing out that there has never been any sort of consensus on using the word “mutilated” to refer to the bodies of people who have transitioned, so deferring to a few people who choose to use it may end up estranging people who don’t want to be referred to in that way.

Again, I do have advice for alternative choices in order to reduce harm where possible, but I think this topic is a lot more nuanced than sharing images. So my advice is really just my own, and people may still not agree with me. For example, I think it’s better to target the action rather than the result, but vilifying surgeons may not be a good strategy in the long run. I really don’t know. (But honestly, I’m less concerned with the well-being of the people getting rich off of “gender-affirming care” than I am with the well-being of their patients.)

We can (and should) use strong language. Just aim it somewhere else.

Instead of commenting on people’s bodies:

• Make judgements about the actions themselves

  • This isn’t a perfect solution, but calling the surgery “mutilation” is (in my opinion) slightly better than called a person “mutilated.” It’s a small, subtle difference.

• Make judgements about the people who carried out the actions

  • Take a page out of JBP’s book, and call the surgeons and therapists “butchers and liars”

• Make judgements about the environment that led them to surgery and exogenous hormones in the first place

  • Talk about how institutions have been captured by a pseudoscientific ideology

  • Talk about how society isn’t properly supporting people with mental health diagnoses

  • Talk about how gender non-conformity is perceived as a moral failing

  • Talk about how same-sex attraction is demonized

  • Talk about the pressures that are placed on girls and women, such as being expected to express ourselves in a way that is sexually appealing or to remain quiet, submissive, and obedient

    • We are doing our strong, independent girls a disservice by telling them they are acting like boys.

  • Talk about the pressures that are placed on boys and men, such as being expected to take responsibility for violence that they themselves have never committed or to suppress their emotions (whether anger, sadness, or otherwise)

    • We are doing our gentle, sensitive boys a disservice by telling them they are acting like girls.

Trauma Porn and Perpetual Victimhood

I have noticed over the past two years that our posts which “go viral” are almost invariably ones where we are extremely angry or extremely upset.

Our pain gets likes. Our growth gets crickets.

I’m not surprised that many detransitioners seem to disappear from the face of the earth once they start recovering. Being on social media isn’t all that beneficial to our mental health in the long run. We want other detransitioners to know that it’s possible to recover, but it’s disappointing to see how much engagement drops off once you’re speaking positively with a growth mindset.

The movement has created a whole narrative around detransition being purely doom and gloom with nothing else to offset it. There’s also this low-key implication that the regrets experienced by detransitioners will lead to mass suicides when everyone “wakes up” from this.

To be fair, I am quite concerned about a looming mental health crisis myself. I’ve said so before. However, when I’ve suggested that we try and change the narrative so that we can prevent that crisis from being as destructive as it might be, I am accused of either not wanting to stop further medicalization from happening or of weaponizing suicide to control people’s language.

This is completely unfair. Either we’re fragile, vulnerable victims on the brink of ending it all or we’re not. I won’t let people emphasize our pain while simultaneously dismissing our concerns about how that emphasis might actually contribute to more pain… not without calling them a damn hypocrite who doesn’t really care about us.

I’ve been criticized for not focusing on people (mostly children) who haven't been through transition yet. (The ones that can be “saved” and avoid my fate.) Sure. I’m definitely biased because of my position as someone who detransitioned two and a half years ago and who feels an obligation to create the resources people are going to need when they themselves detransition. I’m thinking primarily of the people who will surely be dumped to the side when the culture war has been sufficiently “won.” Most of the behaviour in the movement indicates that they clearly don't care about us. Someone has to care about them, so it's going to be me.

I’ve also been criticized for “attacking” people who are supposedly on my “side.” Presumably, I’m supposed to choose another battle.

Well, I tell my story so that I can effect change in the medical system, but I am here for other detransitioners first and foremost. If you perpetuate this narrative that we are beyond saving, if you keep detransitioners trapped in perpetual victimhood, if you care more about “winning” than about overall harm reduction, you’re not really on my “side,” are you?

I also have to ask an obvious question: who the hell would ever choose to detransition when the only narrative around it is how awful everything is? Why would you not want to stay trapped in the fantasy of “trans joy”? Is it any wonder people end up retransitioning? Why would you want to be called ruined and mutilated when you can have people tell you how beautiful you are?

I’ll personally never retransition because I value objective truth. But not everyone feels the same way that I do. Sometimes it’s easier to lie to yourself than accept reality. That’s how we all ended up transitioning in the first place.

Only one bit of advice here: share our wins, and stop predicting our deaths. Detransition is not a death sentence.

What those retransitioners I mentioned at the start have picked up on is that many of the people in this movement legitimately dehumanize anyone who has transitioned, whether they have detransitioned or not. Detransitioners might get a pass, but at the end of the day, we used to be “trans.” We are watching people say things about bodies that look like ours. We are watching them mock women who sound like us. We are watching them overconfidently give simplistic reasons for our behaviour. We are watching them make excuses for abusive parents who disown their trans-identified children. 

It’s not surprising that this looks like an “anti-trans” movement. When this is how some people behave, others will see it for what it is. If you want it to look less like one, look at the people doing something ridiculous (like gluing her hand to the floor) and ask yourself, “What if that was my best friend?” “What if that was my sister?” “What if that was my daughter?” and then choose your words. You don't have to be nice, but you could at least assume she’s not being malicious.

People within this movement are often wrong, often manipulative, and often unnecessarily cruel. If you're going to be unnecessarily cruel, at least be honest that you’re legitimately anti-trans. Don't lie.

About a year ago, a news site published a story on a man in transition recovery who hadn't spoken to the author. He wasn't expecting the sudden attention, the article got several facts wrong, and there was already an article about to be released where he had spoken to the journalist. He expressed distaste for this.

This was around the same time a somewhat prominent YouTuber was publicly coming to terms with her own transition grief. The video went viral. A “meme” that included an screenshot of her crying from the video started to be passed around. She also expressed distaste for being used in this way.

I remember writing that if people can’t be respectful and treat people in recovery like human beings, we will stop talking publicly. And I remember someone got quite angry with me about this, declaring that if we refuse to speak up, we don’t care about saving the children.

Let me be clear: this is emotionally manipulative, and detransitioners do not owe the world a damn thing. We can walk away at any point that we decide to do so. We do not have to sit here and take abuse in order to be considered a good person.

Our lives have worth. 

Our lives have meaning outside of advocacy.

We do not have to be martyrs for the cause.

Now, no one has to listen to us. No one has to change their language to please us. But this is a universal truth: if you cannot treat someone with respect, that person has every right to stop engaging with you.

That is not a threat; it’s a boundary. We are not friends. People don't get to act like I’m betraying them for saying no. They are using me. They are using my images. They are using my videos. They are using my story. I may have given consent for those things to be used, but doing so is a massive sacrifice on my part, of which some people clearly do not appreciate the depths.

I do not have to do this if I don’t want to. None of us do.

My writing will always be free to read. If you’re interested in supporting me financially, please donate to my fundraiser, which will allow me to cover costs associated with my legal action: https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva. Thank you.

Listening to other people's positive experiences with transition feels similar to listening to someone who is currently dating someone who once abused you.

You want to believe that it could be different for them. You want to be happy that the people you care about seem to be enjoying themselves.

But you also feel like you have a duty to warn them. And you can't, really, because the abuse you endured was between you and that person, and everyone else is brushing you off because, well, they seem like such a nice person, no one else is complaining, and look how happy they are!

So instead, you get to sound like an intolerant asshole who won't just leave things be, while society gaslights you into believing the abuse you endured was your own fault and your friends accuse you of being radicalized.

And you get to hold your breath and just wait to find out if those people are going to be hurt in the same way you were.

I could never have predicted how many "friends" would brush me off when talking about what is objectively the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And I desperately tried to temper my anger and grief over literally having lost body parts and the natural functions of a woman that I should still have so that I could sound as reasonable as possible.

How many trauma survivors are expected to calm all of their emotions and be logical in order to be taken seriously?

This is fucked.

If the scale of this medical scandal ever comes to light the way I think it will, I will never forget who gave me the space to try and understand where I was coming from and who called me a transphobic bitch.

Never.

My writing will always be free to read. If you’re interested in supporting me financially, please donate to my fundraiser, which will allow me to cover costs associated with my legal action: https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva. Thank you.

In the middle of February, I asked a journalist friend to break the story on my lawsuit. I'd just gotten home from vacation and needed to immediately distract myself. I wasn't prepared for the response that I got. It went live on Tuesday night, and by Friday morning, I was overwhelmed.

I'd been publicly talking about my detransition for nearly two years, and I'd never had a problem with it before. But suddenly, it was like I could hear this sound, which had probably been there the whole time, but I'd never tuned into before.

And it sounded something like this: “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!”

For some of you, I might have to provide some context. Jerry Springer was an American talk show that ran from 1991 to 2018. It was known for covering controversial topics like adultery, incest, cross-dressing... Guests got hostile, got into fights, and when the audience got particularly excited, they'd chant. It was basically a televised freak show.

So you know where I'm going with this.

I had this overbearing feeling that every single person I've ever known was all talking about me at the same time. All of them learning that in my early twenties, I had a mental health crisis in which I delusionally believed that I was the opposite sex, and then pursued surgeries and hormones to try and make myself look and sound more like a man.

I've compartmentalized that really well, but in breaking what anonymity I had left, it really did hit me all at once that I have now reached the point of no return. There is a possibility being a walking freak show is going to be my brand for the rest of my life. How do I proceed with my dignity intact?

My mind went into emergency shutdown mode. I started ignoring new media requests; I cancelled every interview and podcast I had planned; I certainly throttled my own crowdfunder. And that felt better – the noise got quieter – but I was feeling extremely self-reflective.

And I was in two minds over cancelling everything. It felt like a test of my values – my sense of justice versus my sense of self-preservation. Should I be proud of myself for being assertive and drawing a boundary? Or should I be disappointed with myself for dropping out early and being a coward?

About a week after I shut everything down, I watched an interview of a detransitioned woman. It was an old interview, I'd seen it before, and no one in it did anything wrong but I was looking at it after I'd felt more jaded than I ever had before, and I hated it.

I hated that we provide the three pictures - before, during, and after transition - to really spell out exactly what happened. I hated that her life has been flattened by this visualization of "female to male to female." The people she needs to convince don't know what's happening at all. The people who do already have their minds made up.

She has approximately seven minutes to provide the context of who she is as a detransitioner - which is predicated on the audience knowing what transition is as well - before explaining what she's arguing for in a niche field of medicine and why regular people should care. She has her work cut out for her.

And I'm angry because her qualification is her lived experience of what is arguably medical trauma. She's a layperson who did her own research. She hasn't been trained in public speaking. She doesn't have a PR team behind her. She's been harmed by the people who swore an oath not to. She isn't even done recovering. And the weight she has on her shoulders...

She's impressive as hell, but she shouldn't have to be there.

My impulse in that moment is to pull her out of there and put her somewhere she'll never have to do something like this again.

And I realize two things:

1. That impulse is why I went public in the first place – I can't save her, but I saved someone else from having to do what I did.

2. I'm not a coward for wanting to save myself.

We shouldn't have to be here. There shouldn't have to be such a thing as detransition advocacy. It is incredibly messed up that health care is doing so poorly that victims of negligence, malpractice, misdiagnosis, iatrogenesis...insert your word of choice... have to beg to be taken seriously. And it isn't being taken seriously, so there's a sense of urgency.

And that urgency means that public-facing detransitioners are largely doing advocacy while they’re still in the process of healing. So instead of fully recovering from everything they've been through, and then stepping forward to talk about it after finding their feet, a lot of them are still very unstable. And there is nothing stabilizing about going public.

Now you're entering the discourse, which means you're inviting unreasonable levels of scrutiny upon yourself from pretty much everyone, including the people who claim that they're on your side.

You're going to be surrounded by people, the majority of whom have never transitioned themselves, but who think they definitely understand why you did it better than you do, which effects hormones had or didn't have on you, and whether or not you "passed."

People will demand every detail of your story from you. There are ones who've made a snap judgement about you and become obsessed with catching you in a "lie." And there are ones who will listen to you but maybe feel like their sympathy entitles them to details you aren't ready to share.

You can do everything right, and people will still criticize you. You can talk to all the right people, and when the wrong people inevitably use your story without permission, you will be told you should have known better.

Because of the ideology attached to the negligence, there are always people who will never fully trust you. You used to believe the bad thing, so you're automatically in danger of believing the bad thing again. To these people, sometimes you're a helpless victim and sometimes you're a former cultist. They'll use your story in one breath and weaponize it against you in the next.

They're also ruthless against the people who do still believe in the bad thing, and they'll conveniently forget that you went through a lot of the same experiences. So prepare to watch people who had the same surgery as you be called degrading nicknames like "zipper tits" and have graphic post-surgery photos plastered in your replies.

People on all sides hold standards of purity, accuse others of guilt by association, and publicly shame the people they've decided don't do activism in the right way. It's imperative that you're able to trust your own judgement because you will not be able to stay grounded without it.

Throughout it all, you might get placed next to people with real credentials, and then feel like you need to keep up with them somehow, feel worried that you said something the wrong way, and that you need to get better at this because it's the only thing giving your life meaning, even though the truth is you're an autistic trauma survivor with no training and a frail support system, and if anyone is expecting you to be anything else, they're going to be be very disappointed.

People keep asking where all the detransitioners are when, really, it's surprising that anyone would willingly submit themselves to this.

We shouldn't have to be here.

I am here, though.

I don't regret being the canary in the coal mine. It taught me who I am, what I value, and what my limits are. It gave me real life examples of my own courage. I came into the discourse trying to manifest nuance, and I got it for myself.

There has never been another point in my life where I unconditionally care about so many people with so many different perspectives. Before a couple years ago, nearly all of my conflicts ended with the dissolution of the relationship. Now most end with the mutual understanding that we're good people who had a miscommunication or one of us overreacted (usually me).

I grew up with a lot of unhealthy beliefs about myself, the most enduring ones being that I'm irredeemably unlikeable and even repulsive. But I stood up and demanded to be taken seriously, even as people laughed in my face, declared me a bad person, and called me a freak, a thing, and an "it". And the words don't hurt anymore because I know they're wrong.

It's not all bad. This is the most personal growth I've had in years. But still, advocacy should not be a step in the healing process.

We shouldn't have to be here, but we do have to be here.

The question I'm concerned with, though, is: do I have to be here?

My writing will always be free to read. If you’re interested in supporting me financially, please donate to my fundraiser, which will allow me to cover costs associated with my legal action: https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva. Thank you.

Edit (June 27, 2023): Added length of time to follow-up for each study. Time until experiencing regret differs widely. One study found the average time to regret was 130 months (just over 10 years).2 Some studies on detransition suggest females tend to detransition 2-5 years after starting transition with males detransitioning 5-7 years after starting.34 This is in no way universal, though (e.g., I’m a female who detransitioned after 10 years.)

What is “loss to follow-up,” and why is it significant?

“Loss to follow-up” describes a situation in which researchers lose contact with their subjects, resulting in missing information.5 If too many participants in a study drop out or are unable to be contacted, the internal validity of the study is threatened (i.e., the observed results may not represent the truth of the population being studied6).

In particular, it introduces the possibility of attrition bias. It depends on why people refuse to participate, decide to leave, or why they cannot be contacted, but sometimes those who are lost to follow-up all refuse to participate for similar reasons.

In one study examining detransition, 76% of respondents did not inform their health care professionals that they were detransitioning.7 There is a lot of shame around transition regret. It stands to reason that regret might not be so low if loss to follow-up is so high.

The rate of transition regret is frequently compared to regret for other routine surgeries. I personally hold that an abnormally low regret rate for experimental surgeries that have no consistent standards of care, and which often leave body parts partially or completely nonfunctional, is actually a red flag, not a green one.

Of relevance, many studies on transition satisfaction also have the reverse problem (self-selection bias). The results of these studies are heavily based on self-reported information from self-selected participants, and people who are motivated to participate in studies are generally different than those in the same population who choose not to.

Some have suggested that <5% loss leads to little bias, while >20% poses serious threats to validity. This may be a good rule of thumb, but keep in mind that even small proportions of patients lost to follow-up can cause significant bias. One way to determine if loss to follow-up can seriously affect results is to assume a worst-case scenario with the missing data and look to see if the results would change.8

In this situation, the “worst-case scenario” is that 100% of those lost to follow-up experience regret, making the regret rate much higher than it appears to be. I think it’s unlikely, but it’s entirely possible. We just don’t know.

1. Blanchard et al, 1989

134 patients underwent surgery (2 dead)
111 participants, 4 expressed regrets

Regret rate of sample: 3.6%
Loss to follow-up: 15.9%

Time to follow-up: mean = 4.4 years, range = 1 year to 13.6 years

Blanchard, R., Steiner, B. W., Clemmensen, L. H., & Dickey, R. (1989). Prediction of Regrets in Postoperative Transsexuals. In The Canadian Journal of Psychiatry (Vol. 34, Issue 1, pp. 43–45). SAGE Publications. doi:10.1177/070674378903400111

2. Bouman, 1988

67 patients underwent surgery
55 participants, 1 expressed regrets

Regret rate of sample: 1.8%
Loss to follow-up: 17.9%

Time to follow-up: mean = 2.3 years, range = 2 months to 6.3 years

Bouman, F. G. (1988). Sex Reassignment Surgery in Male to Female Transsexuals. In Annals of Plastic Surgery (Vol. 21, Issue 6, pp. 526–531). Ovid Technologies (Wolters Kluwer Health). doi:10.1097/00000637-198812000-00006

3. Cohen-Kettenis et al, 1997

22 patients underwent surgery
19 participants, 0 expressed regrets
2 refused, 1 non-responsive

Regret rate of sample: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 13.6%

Time to follow-up: mean = 2.6 years, range = 1 year to 5 years

Cohen-Kettenis, P. T., & Van Goozen, S. H. M. (1997). Sex Reassignment of Adolescent Transsexuals: A Follow-up Study. In Journal of the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry (Vol. 36, Issue 2, pp. 263–271). Elsevier BV. doi:10.1097/00004583-199702000-00017

4. De Cuypere et al, 2006

107 patients underwent surgery
62 participants, 2 expressed regrets
15 refused, 30 non-responsive

Regret rate of sample: 3.2%
Loss to follow-up: 42.1%

Time to follow-up: mean = 4.1 years for males, 7.6 years for females

De Cuypere, G., Elaut, E., Heylens, G., Van Maele, G., Selvaggi, G., T’Sjoen, G., Rubens, R., Hoebeke, P., & Monstrey, S. (2006). Long-term follow-up: psychosocial outcome of Belgian transsexuals after sex reassignment surgery. In Sexologies (Vol. 15, Issue 2, pp. 126–133). Elsevier BV. doi:10.1016/j.sexol.2006.04.002

5. Garcia et al, 2014

25 participants chosen by random selection of former patients, 0 expressed regrets

* Limitation: only patients "able and inclined to present to our clinic were evaluated."

Time to follow-up was different for three kinds of phalloplasty surgeries:
* suprapubic phalloplasty: mean = 2.23 years
* radial artery forearm-flap phalloplasty without cutaneous nerve to clitoral nerve anastomosis: mean = 6.80 years
* radial artery forearm-flap phalloplasty with cutaneous nerve to clitoral nerve anastomosis: mean = 2.24 years

Garcia, M., Christopher, N., Luca, F., Spilotros, M., & Ralph, D. (2014). Overall satisfaction, sexual function, and the durability of neophallus dimensions following staged female to male genital gender confirming surgery: the Institute of Urology, London U.K. experience. In Translational Andrology And Urology (Vol. 3, Issue 2, pp. 156-162). doi:10.3978/j.issn.2223-4683.2014.04.10

6. Imbimbo et al, 2009

163 patients underwent surgery
139 participants, 8 expressed regrets
24 refused

Regret rate of sample: 5.8%
Loss to follow-up: 14.7%

Time to follow-up: range = 12 months to 18 months

Imbimbo, C., Verze, P., Palmieri, A., Longo, N., Fusco, F., Arcaniolo, D., & Mirone, V. (2009). Original Research—Intersex and Gender Identity Disorders: A Report from a Single Institute’s 14-Year Experience in Treatment of Male-to-Female Transsexuals. In The Journal of Sexual Medicine (Vol. 6, Issue 10, pp. 2736–2745). Oxford University Press (OUP). doi:10.1111/j.1743-6109.2009.01379.x

7. Jiang et al, 2018

16 patients underwent surgery
14 participants, 1 expressed regrets
2 non-responsive

Regret rate of sample: 7.1%
Loss to follow-up: 12.5%

Time to follow-up: mean = 8.7 months, range = 2 months to 18 months

Jiang, D., Witten, J., Berli, J., & Dugi, D., III. (2018). Does Depth Matter? Factors Affecting Choice of Vulvoplasty Over Vaginoplasty as Gender-Affirming Genital Surgery for Transgender Women. In The Journal of Sexual Medicine (Vol. 15, Issue 6, pp. 902–906). Oxford University Press (OUP). doi:10.1016/j.jsxm.2018.03.085

8. Johansson et al, 2010

49 patients underwent surgery
33 participants (32 SRS, 1 mastectomy), 0 expressed regrets
1 dead (from surgery complications), 15 non-responsive/refused

Regret rate of sample: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 30.6%

Time to follow-up: mean = 9 years, criterion = “5 or more years in the process or 2 or more years after completed sex reassignment surgery”

Johansson, A., Sundbom, E., Höjerback, T., & Bodlund, O. (2009). A Five-Year Follow-Up Study of Swedish Adults with Gender Identity Disorder. In Archives of Sexual Behavior (Vol. 39, Issue 6, pp. 1429–1437). Springer Science and Business Media LLC. doi:10.1007/s10508-009-9551-1

9. Krege et al, 2001

66 patients underwent surgery
31 participants, 0 expressed regrets

Regret rate of sample: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 53%

Time to follow-up: criterion = more than 6 months

Krege, S., Bex, A., Lümmen, G., & Rübben, H. (2001). Male-to-female transsexualism: a technique, results and long-term follow-up in 66 patients. In BJU International (Vol. 88, Issue 4, pp. 396–402). Wiley. doi:10.1046/j.1464-410x.2001.02323.x

10. Kuiper et al, 1998

Based on what I'm looking at, this study is either the wrong citation or there have been some major errors with interpreting it.

• The meta-analysis claims "Kuiper et al followed 1100 transgender subjects that underwent GAS." However, the citation appears to be a qualitative study that recruited ten participants with regret (rather than following up with a sample size of 1100).

• Kuiper et al, 1998, shows the mean age of the 10 participants as 46.4 -- which is also what is recorded as the mean age in the meta-analysis chart (for a sample size of 1100). This appears to be in error.

• The meta-analysis reads “ten experienced regret (9 transmasculine and 1 transfemenine)." This is backwards based on the original citation. It's 9 transfeminine (i.e., "MTF") and 1 transmasculine (i.e., "FTM").

• "The overall prevalence of regret after GAS in this study was of 0.9%." The claim that 10 of 1100 regretted surgery is being used as a major point in this meta-analysis. It is reflected nowhere in the citation.

If I'm correct, this is a massive flaw in this paper.

Kuiper, A. & Cohen-Kettenis, P. (1998). Gender Role Reversal among Postoperative Transsexuals. In International Journal of Transgenderism (Vol 23, Issue 2). https://www.researchgate.net/publication/270273121_Gender_Role_Reversal_among_Postoperative_Transsexuals

11. Lawrence, 2003

727 patients underwent surgery
307 with unknown/invalid address, 3 dead, 62 refused, 120 non-responsive, 3 ineligible
232 participants, 15 expressed regrets

Regret rate of sample: 6.5%
Loss to follow-up: 67.7%

Time to follow-up: criterion = “at least 1-year postoperative”

Lawrence, A. A. (2003). In Archives of Sexual Behavior (Vol. 32, Issue 4, pp. 299–315). Springer Science and Business Media LLC. doi:10.1023/a:1024086814364

12. Lobato et al, 2006

30 patients underwent surgery
7 lost to follow-up, 4 ineligible
19 participants, 0 expressed regrets

Regret rate of sample: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 23.3%

Time to follow-up: mean = 24.9 months, range = 1 year to 2.5 years

Lobato, M. I. I., Koff, W. J., Manenti, C., Seger, D. da F., Salvador, J., da Graça Borges Fortes, M., Petry, A. R., Silveira, E., & Henriques, A. A. (2006). Follow-Up of Sex Reassignment Surgery in Transsexuals: A Brazilian Cohort. In Archives of Sexual Behavior (Vol. 35, Issue 6, pp. 711–715). Springer Science and Business Media LLC. doi:10.1007/s10508-006-9074-y

13. Nelson et al, 2009

17 patients underwent surgery
12 participants, 0 expressed regrets
3 unknown addresses

Regret rate of sample: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 29.4%

Time to follow-up: mean = 32 months, range = 8 months to 5 years

Nelson, L., Whallett, E. J., & McGregor, J. C. (2009). Transgender patient satisfaction following reduction mammaplasty. In Journal of Plastic, Reconstructive & Aesthetic Surgery (Vol. 62, Issue 3, pp. 331–334). Elsevier BV. doi:10.1016/j.bjps.2007.10.049

14. Olson-Kennedy et al, 2018

93 patients underwent surgery
68 participants, 1 expressed regrets
2 refused, 24 non-responsive

Regret rate of sample: 1.5%
Loss to follow-up: 28%

Time to follow-up: range = less than 1 year to 5 years (29% less than 1 year, 29% 1 year, 28% 2 years, 14% more than 2 years)

Olson-Kennedy, J., Warus, J., Okonta, V., Belzer, M., & Clark, L. F. (2018). Chest Reconstruction and Chest Dysphoria in Transmasculine Minors and Young Adults. In JAMA Pediatrics (Vol. 172, Issue 5, p. 431). American Medical Association (AMA). doi:10.1001/jamapediatrics.2017.5440

15. Papadopulos et al, 2017

121 patients underwent surgery
47 participants, 0 expressed regrets
38 unknown addresses, 14 refused, 22 non-responsive

Regret rate of sample: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 61.2%

Time to follow-up: mean = 19 months, range = 2 months to 58 months (4.8 years)

Papadopulos, N. A., Lellé, J.-D., Zavlin, D., Herschbach, P., Henrich, G., Kovacs, L., Ehrenberger, B., Kluger, A.-K., Machens, H.-G., & Schaff, J. (2017). Quality of Life and Patient Satisfaction Following Male-to-Female Sex Reassignment Surgery. In The Journal of Sexual Medicine (Vol. 14, Issue 5, pp. 721–730). Oxford University Press (OUP). doi:10.1016/j.jsxm.2017.01.022

16. Pfäfflin, 1993

297 patients underwent surgery, 3 expressed regrets (1.01%)

* I think this is retrospective. It's not clear whether the author actually followed up with his patients for this study to ask each of them about regrets.

Time to follow-up: range = 1 year to 29 years

Pfafflin, F. (1993). Regrets After Sex Reassignment Surgery. In Journal of Psychology & Human Sexuality (Vol. 5, Issue 4, pp. 69–85). Informa UK Limited. doi:10.1300/j056v05n04_05

17. Rehman et al, 1999

47 (eligible) patients underwent surgery
28 participants, 0 expressed regrets
16 non-responsive, 3 dead

Regret rate: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 36.4%

Time to follow-up: criterion = 3 years

Rehman, J., Lazer, S., Benet, A. E., Schaefer, L. C., & Melman, A. (1999). In Archives of Sexual Behavior (Vol. 28, Issue 1, pp. 71–89). Springer Science and Business Media LLC. doi:10.1023/a:1018745706354

18. Smith et al, 2001

20 patients underwent surgery
20 participants, 0 expressed regrets

Regret rate: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 0%

Time to follow-up: mean = 1.3 years, range = 1 year to 4 years

Smith, Y. L. S., Van Goozen, S. H. M., & Cohen-Kettenis, P. T. (2001). Adolescents With Gender Identity Disorder Who Were Accepted or Rejected for Sex Reassignment Surgery: A Prospective Follow-up Study. In Journal of the American Academy of Child &amp; Adolescent Psychiatry (Vol. 40, Issue 4, pp. 472–481). Elsevier BV. doi:10.1097/00004583-200104000-00017

19. Song et al, 2011

19 patients underwent surgery
8 participants, 0 expressed regrets

* The meta-analysis counts all 19 as the sample. However, only 8 were asked about regrets (5-year follow-up).

Regret rate: 0%
Loss to follow-up: 42%

Time to follow-up: criterion = at least 5 years (for satisfaction questionnaire)

Song, C., Wong, M., Wong, C.-H., & Ong, Y.-S. (2010). Modifications of the Radial Forearm Flap Phalloplasty for Female-to-Male Gender Reassignment. In Journal of Reconstructive Microsurgery (Vol. 27, Issue 02, pp. 115–120). Georg Thieme Verlag KG. doi:10.1055/s-0030-1268210

20. Van de Grift et al, 2018

546 eligible patients, 201 responded
136 postsurgical participants

Regret rate of sample: 5.9%
Loss to follow-up: 63.1%*

* Unsure about the calculation of loss to follow-up; not all patients were postsurgical. Also: the meta-analysis says only two had regrets, but the study says eight did.

Time to follow-up: range = 4 to 6 years after first clinical contact

van de Grift, T. C., Elaut, E., Cerwenka, S. C., Cohen-Kettenis, P. T., & Kreukels, B. P. C. (2017). Surgical Satisfaction, Quality of Life, and Their Association After Gender-Affirming Surgery: A Follow-up Study. In Journal of Sex &amp; Marital Therapy (Vol. 44, Issue 2, pp. 138–148). Informa UK Limited. doi:10.1080/0092623x.2017.1326190

21. Wiepjes et al, 2018

4863 patients underwent surgery, 14 expressed regrets

* This is a retrospective study (i.e., the authors looked at medical records and did not ask patients directly if they experienced regret).

Regret rate of sample: 0.3%

Wiepjes, C. M., Nota, N. M., de Blok, C. J. M., Klaver, M., de Vries, A. L. C., Wensing-Kruger, S. A., de Jongh, R. T., Bouman, M.-B., Steensma, T. D., Cohen-Kettenis, P., Gooren, L. J. G., Kreukels, B. P. C., & den Heijer, M. (2018). The Amsterdam Cohort of Gender Dysphoria Study (1972–2015): Trends in Prevalence, Treatment, and Regrets. In The Journal of Sexual Medicine (Vol. 15, Issue 4, pp. 582–590). Oxford University Press (OUP). doi:10.1016/j.jsxm.2018.01.016

22. Zavlin et al, 2018

49 patients underwent surgery
40 participants, 1 expressed regrets

Regret rate of sample: 2.5%
Loss to follow-up: 16.3%

Time to follow-up: mean = 11.3 months (second questionnaire sent 6 months after second stage of SRS)

Zavlin, D., Schaff, J., Lellé, J.-D., Jubbal, K. T., Herschbach, P., Henrich, G., Ehrenberger, B., Kovacs, L., Machens, H.-G., & Papadopulos, N. A. (2017). Male-to-Female Sex Reassignment Surgery using the Combined Vaginoplasty Technique: Satisfaction of Transgender Patients with Aesthetic, Functional, and Sexual Outcomes. In Aesthetic Plastic Surgery (Vol. 42, Issue 1, pp. 178–187). Springer Science and Business Media LLC. doi:10.1007/s00266-017-1003-z

23. Judge et al, 2014

218 eligible patients, 55 underwent surgery, 3 regret SRS, 1 HRT

* This is a retrospective study (i.e., the authors looked at medical records and did not ask patients directly if they experienced regret).

Regret rate of sample: 1.8% overall, 5.5% postsurgery

Judge, C., O’Donovan, C., Callaghan, G., Gaoatswe, G., & O’Shea, D. (2014). Gender Dysphoria — Prevalence and Co-Morbidities in an Irish Adult Population. In Frontiers in Endocrinology (Vol. 5). Frontiers Media SA. doi:10.3389/fendo.2014.00087

24. Vujovic et al

118 eligible patients, 0 expressed regrets

* This is a retrospective study (i.e., the authors looked at medical records and did not ask patients directly if they experienced regret).

Regret rate of sample: 0%

Vujovic, S., Popovic, S., Sbutega-Milosevic, G., Djordjevic, M., & Gooren, L. (2009). Transsexualism in Serbia: A Twenty-Year Follow-Up Study. In The Journal of Sexual Medicine (Vol. 6, Issue 4, pp. 1018–1023). Oxford University Press (OUP). doi:10.1111/j.1743-6109.2008.00799.x

25. Weyers et al, 2009

70 patients underwent surgery
50 participants, 2 expressed regrets
17 non-responsive, 3 refused

Regret rate of sample: 4%
Loss to follow-up: 28.6%

Time to follow-up: mean = 75.46 months (6.3 years), criterion = more than 6 months

Weyers, S., Elaut, E., De Sutter, P., Gerris, J., T’Sjoen, G., Heylens, G., De Cuypere, G., & Verstraelen, H. (2009). Long-term Assessment of the Physical, Mental, and Sexual Health among Transsexual Women. In The Journal of Sexual Medicine (Vol. 6, Issue 3, pp. 752–760). Oxford University Press (OUP). doi:10.1111/j.1743-6109.2008.01082.x

26. Poudrier et al, 2019

81 patients underwent surgery
58 participants, 2 expressed regrets

Regret rate of sample: 3.4%
Loss to follow-up: 28.4%

Time to follow-up: criterion = at least 3 months postoperative, range = less than 1 year to more than 6 years (57% less than 1 year, 22% between 1-2 years, 21% more than 2 years)

Poudrier, G., Nolan, I. T., Cook, T. E., Saia, W., Motosko, C. C., Stranix, J. T., Thomson, J. E., Gothard, M. D., & Hazen, A. (2019). Assessing Quality of Life and Patient-Reported Satisfaction with Masculinizing Top Surgery. In Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery (Vol. 143, Issue 1, pp. 272–279). Ovid Technologies (Wolters Kluwer Health). doi:10.1097/prs.0000000000005113

27. Landén et al, 2007

213 patients, 3.8% expressed regrets

* This is a retrospective study. The authors looked at applications for sex reassignment in Sweden and noted how many applied for a reversal. That's what they counted as “regret.”

Landén, M., Wålinder, J., Hambert, G., & Lundström, B. (1998). Factors predictive of regret in sex reassignment. In Acta Psychiatrica Scandinavica (Vol. 97, Issue 4, pp. 284–289). Wiley. doi:10.1111/j.1600-0447.1998.tb10001.x

Other factors that may affect the “regret” rate:

• safeguards in place at time of transition

• age at time of transition

• how long after surgery the follow-up takes place

I didn’t set out specifically to criticize this particular paper. (It acknowledges there is “high subjectivity” in the assessment of regret, “moderate-to-high risk of bias” in some studies, that patients “might restrain from expressing regrets due to fear of being judged,” and that the “real prevalence of ‘true’ regret” may be “underestimated.”) I just wanted a list of the most common studies of transition regret so I could examine loss to follow-up in them.

I’m pointing out a pattern, nothing more. We need more data to understand what the pattern means.

My writing will always be free to read. If you’re interested in supporting me financially, please donate to my fundraiser, which will allow me to cover costs associated with my legal action: https://www.givesendgo.com/michellealleva. Thank you.

The following section is that summary.

I spend my time in detransition spaces every day. I come across posts from suicidal people every week. (That said, I’m an introvert, so I don’t do one-on-ones, and I rarely offer personal support to people. I feel like a shitty advocate for this, especially because I have friends who are doing the work of personally supporting other detransitioners, and I know how soul-rending it is to speak directly to someone in crisis. I genuinely don’t think I’m very good at it, and it gives me anxiety to think about trying. I tend to think my work lies in writing, when I have time to process what I want to say.)

At any rate, it was difficult for me to sit in a room where panels of people with no regrets about their medical history emphasized the importance of unquestioning access to medically treating of a belief that has no grounding in material reality when I have met so many people who have been irreparably harmed by that same “treatment.”

I know people with ongoing vocal pain from testosterone use.

I know people who are devastated by their inability to ever breastfeed their children.

I know people who might never enjoy sexual intimacy again, either because they are horrified by their own bodies; because their libidos are completely shot; or because sex is now physically painful.

I know people who have been made infertile by this “treatment.” (I myself have sat sobbing as I process the reality that, during the darkest years of my life, I was insistent on eradicating one of the last indicators of “female” I had, when I had resolutely wanted to bear children my entire life before then.)

I know people deep in addiction because they are convinced it is the only way they can make it through the day after everything they’ve been through.

I know people who can’t get out of bed because they believe the best parts of life have been stolen from them.

I have seen (and felt) so much pain. So much. And I still keep myself one step back from it.

Affirmation is validation of the feelings you are having in a single moment. I think validation of one’s feelings and experiences can be important, especially in mental health settings. However, when it comes to authority figures affirming a transgender identity, it forecloses a person’s options to whatever they want right now, long-term consequences be damned.

From an adult to a child, affirmation is a truth; children do not have the requisite critical thinking skills to consider what else could be contributing to their distress. They only know how bad they feel in the moment and what they are convinced will resolve it. From a health care professional to a client, affirmation is a diagnosis; they will believe that medical treatment might be necessary… particularly when we are being taught that “gender identity” is innate, that people who identify as transgender are “born that way,” and that transition is “lifesaving.”

But then we have detransitioners by the thousands, many of whom have been perfectly clear that our “gender identities” were nothing more than a coping mechanism for dealing with trauma, hatred of ourselves, or any number of comorbid conditions. We were clearly not born that way, and transition did not save our lives. It altered our bodies; it destroyed our natural functioning; it gave us chronic pain and lifelong complications; and it left us feeling broken and alone.

Even if you do believe there’s such thing as a “true” transgender person, how could you see this happening and continue saying that affirmation without question is the best option? How can you champion self-diagnosis in a vulnerable and desperate person knowing that there is a possibility—however small you think it is—that they could be wrong, leaving them absolutely shattered? How?

So I am angry that the perception of detransitioners that was given to the audience was one of people who embrace the idea of gender diversity and frame their experiences, perhaps, as a “gender journey”—the number of times I heard that phrase throughout the day made me nauseous—in which they managed to find themselves at the end of it. It only reinforces the idea that transition rarely harms even the people who feel it was ultimately wrong for them.

I don’t at all blame them personally, and I’m glad that they don’t experience what I do. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. However… the longer that this overwhelming grief is quietly swept to the side, the worse it is going to be when our needs are finally directly addressed; the more people there will be in desperate need of support, and the more intense the rage will be from those of us who have been screaming into the void for years. I’ve watched as detransitioners who have been in this for years slowly harden their stances as they are, at best, ignored and, at worst, humiliated and threatened. I am two years out from detransitioning, and my patience, too, has worn thin.

I don’t for a second believe that detransition isn’t preventable, but that was what I came away with: the continued insistence that detransition is always inevitable and that efforts to avoid it are “problematic.”

Our stories might evoke sympathy, but it still feels like we are no more than justifiable collateral damage to the people who could change the outcome.

(With that summary out of the way, the rest of this blog post is basically a diary entry.)

It’s been eleven years since my mastectomy. About 99% of the time, I’ve accepted what my chest looks like. But there are still moments where I remove my shirt to change, my breath catches, and my mind leaves my body. And I have no way of predicting when it will happen. This reality will never go away for me. I will still be living in this body long after everyone has moved on to whatever the next big scandal is. And compared to some of the complications other people are going through, I got lucky.

I’m approaching 35, and I am looking at my life wondering what there is left to salvage. I have work that I’m good at and pays my bills, but I’m still on disability. I can’t drive, and I spend an extensive amount of time by myself, isolated. My social anxiety hasn’t gone away; it’s just morphed into avoidance and hyper-independence. Relationships with other people still trigger childhood wounds, resulting in emotional breakdowns that I have difficulty getting under control any time something goes wrong.

I don’t feel 35. I have some of the wisdom that comes from life experience, but socially, I feel like I’m still a teenager. I spent the years I was transitioned in arrested development, focusing on the cultivation of a sham “identity” and changing my appearance to try to control how others perceived me. I should have been developing resilience and social skills: learning to tolerate rejection and to accept differences in opinion, finding the courage to ask for what I need, and knowing when to leave when my needs aren’t being met.

I can only do these things with practice. Instead, I spend most of my time disconnected from the world—either scrolling mindlessly through Twitter and TikTok or lying on my couch listening to music and/or watching television. Even online, very little of my time is spent having quality time with another person.

Something has to change because I can’t keep living like this.

The last time I thought about leaving advocacy in a serious manner was almost exactly a year ago. That’s probably not a coincidence; I experience seasonal depression and regularly hit my lowest in November and February.

I’ve recently been on vacation, which I had been framing as necessary for my mental health. Counter to its intended purpose, though, I’ve come out of it feeling more burned out than ever before.

I’m tired, I’m still broken, and this fight is far from over. Everything we’ve seen so far is only going to get worse. The negligence in pediatric gender clinics is slowly being exposed. The number of people harmed by transition will grow. It’s inevitable that there will be eventually be widespread grief over this horrible scandal.

And throughout it all, I’ve been keenly aware that it is unlikely that people who transitioned as adults (like myself) will ever see the kind of justice that minors might have a chance at. It won’t matter that we were desperate, vulnerable, and sold a lie by those we trusted to guide us toward long-term health. Mental illness isn’t as sympathetic as innocence.

At the end of it, nothing I do in advocacy is for me. I’ve always known and accepted this, but time has made me grow resentful of the effort I’ve put in; I’m not getting enough out of it to justify what I am losing. I wanted to change the world, but everything action I take is criticized by someone who thinks they can do it better. I wanted female solidarity, but if I don’t meet a purity test, I get called a handmaiden. I wanted justice, but ultimately I will probably get skipped over.

I have a few more advocacy projects to finish—I do intend to leave some kind of legacy—and then I hope to declare myself done. A couple of them are big deals (to me), and I hope they leave an impact. I want to feel resolved, like I did everything I could. Why else would anyone bother suffering through this?

I’ve already said I still feel like a teenager, so I want to leave with something beautifully cringey that I did as a teenager, which is post lyrics. I’ve posted these ones on Twitter before, but those kinds of tweets never get much engagement (lol).

This song was about the singer’s disdain for the music industry and the way he felt controlled by others to meet an ideal, to conform, to do what he’s told. Over time, I’ve grown very jaded about my role in advocacy—particularly turning my pain into content for the masses (who, on both “sides,” feel entitled to telling me whether I’m doing it correctly)—and I feel a parallel.

Buy in, it’ll shut you up
Try it, it should shut you up
We’ve brought you someone in to shut you up
It’s a life’s work

While we were hunting rabbits
I came upon a clear
The sky, its stars like fortune,
Drilled me

‘til now I was a soldier
‘til now I dealt in fear
These years of cloak and dagger
Have left us disappeared

And I dance, and I sing
And I’m a monkey in a long line, a long line

Buy in, it’ll shut you up
Try it, it should shut you up
They’ve brought someone in to shut you up
And it’s getting to be light work

While we were hunting rabbits
I came upon a clear
The sky, its stars like fortune,
Filled me

‘til now I was a soldier
‘til now I dealt in fear
These years of cloak and dagger
Have left us disappeared

And I dance and I sing
And I’m a monkey in a long line of kings
And we dance and we sing
And we’re all monkeys in a long line, long line

I’m just a boat on the ocean
And I’m just a ship lost at sea