I’m a detrans man, 28 years old. This is my first public article on the topic of detransition, so thank you for reading!

I detransitioned 6 years ago, ever so gradually learning how to properly handle and heal from feelings of gender dysphoria (GD) and the perceptions that come with it;

Or rather, to see GD for what it really is; to handle and heal from that, from the issues and perceptions and feelings behind it;

To see what are these feelings that had been simply too much to feel — feelings which I didn’t have to engage with as long as I stuck to that plausible interpretation of what they mean:

— “It’s because I was born male and not female.”

A brute fact with no origin, no story — simply my misfortune of birth1 and I must make do;

I can at least approximate a female appearance and approximate a female social life.

No: That is an INTERPRETATION of the feelings of GD, an interpretation which settles the matter (as far as the cause of GD goes), blocking the pain of engaging its story.

Alex is right: the term “gender dysphoria” is an impediment to growth; get that out of the way, so I can get to the real issues.

But I retained the term “GD”, letting my family and friends know that I still experienced it in my ongoing struggles.

I retained the term so people would know what I’m referring to, and so people wouldn’t presumptuously say things like, “Oh so you weren’t really trans,” or “So you didn’t have real GD.”

So I think it’s time I shift away from that term, GD, and either describe it without a label; or, if I use a label, at least use a more accurate one.

—Body dysmorphia

—Internalized misandry

—Longing for someone to be curious about who I am

—Afraid people will think they know who I am before they do

—Longing to receive care, yet feeling an aversion to make that known and receive it

For example.

I have not had a lot of success conveying to some of my family my reasons for detransitioning despite the continued struggle with “GD”, and how no amount of those feelings can tempt me to think that transitioning might alleviate it. It’s not because I’m “toughing it out”, though I may have to do that at times; it’s because my experience transitioning made it palpably true that transitioning does not address or touch on my social discomfort and disgust toward my body.

As I said, I detransitioned 6 years ago.

3 years ago (this a long-story-short of course), unresolved feelings of GD came back as strong as ever. For weeks if the topic occurred to my mind, my thoughts would surely pull into the spiral…

— “I want to be a woman.”

— “But you’re not.”

— “But I want to be.”

— “I know, I do. But you’re not.”

— “Okay, I don’t think you’re listening. I WANT to be a woman.”

— “I know. I hear you. But you’re not.”

This would lead to suicidal ideation.

None of that made transition so much as ring in my mind as a treatment relevant to my pain.

There was no toughing it out; I did not know what would help, but transition wasn’t it.

I was in the pain of thinking nothing could be done about it; no one knew of any treatment. Amid that level of GD, as far as I could tell, I would simply have to bear it.

Now, at other times I had had notes of hope that I could heal, seeds of recognition of the goodness of being a man, of having a male body;

But it would be a long time to replace old habits and I had to remain open about the fact I was still vulnerable to that level of GD.

Detransition was not an immediate fix; it simply removed an obstacle to healing. Recognition of that obstacle was not an immediate recognition of how to heal from this suffering. It meant I was now engaging with that suffering, sometimes falling, sometimes rising.

But one part of my immediate family could not support this.2

Not to be dramatic, they weren’t antagonistic. But I could always feel their reservations, and those reservations were not just an initial cautious skepticism, but have lasted to today.

And because I was open about persistent GD, at least they never said, “You didn’t have real GD.” But it did lead them to suspect I was in denial.

To them, a person persistently experiencing GD does not rule out transition as an option unless it’s internalized transphobia.3

I suppose I can’t blame them for finding the whole topic confusing. But I struggled a long time wondering why they couldn’t listen to my story past the “GD comes and goes for me still” part.

They continue to fear it is self-harm. I don’t transition because I want to stop self-harming.

So maybe I overemphasized the GD part, the “bad news first”, which is my usual habit: Let’s acknowledge the bad news so we can move forward onto Step 2.

But I did it also not merely to get the bad news out there and leave it behind, but to explain that this is a complex process;

It involves, as Step 1, continued acknowledgement of GD when it hits me, so I can make that Step 2 myself of understanding where it comes from.

But I could not seem to get past Step 1 in these conversations. This has been very frustrating.

And to some extent, I think waiting for them to get past Step 1 has kept me with one leg there myself, trying to entertain their positions, trying not to be overconfident, delaying my healing.

After all, transitioning did have a lot to do with excessive anxiety and dependence on how others see me, to feel able to have my inner life cohere with the social world.

This was another instance of giving others’ views undue influence over how I see myself, and I needed to respond to these conflicts in a more mature way.

It’s good and to be expected we’ll seek understanding from our families. We can try, because it’s important to find someone who can hear and understand our stories, especially our families when possible. But affirmation is not the thing to strive after. If they have criticisms, by all means consider them, but seek understanding elsewhere.

Yet to be perceived as suffering from internalized transphobia (the implication being that I’m a transwoman in denial, however much they say it’s my choice how I identify),4

To be seen as suffering needlessly in the midst of my victories, doing the best I can,

To find my family fearing that celebrating my victories would be to support me in self-harm,

And that they can’t see me when I tell my story, because of how it conflicts with their ideology, after all this time,

That we’re simply in different realities, not simply about philosophy and politics, but about the here-and-now of my life —

Well, when it comes down to it, I have no right to expect understanding from them, nor do I need affirmation, but I can look for understanding elsewhere.5

That’s how they see it and I can’t depend on them. That’s how they think I am toward trans people.

I’m sure much of their concern is genuine. Blame doesn’t need to come into it; it’s just naming the pain of being misunderstood.

What I need instead is to accept the pain of being misunderstood rather than trying to escape it or force it to resolve. That will be progress.

One thing transition did for me, is it SCREAMED without screaming:

— “I need care and love for who I am!

— But don’t you DARE think you get who I am.”

And after all this, my family projecting made up ideas about my gender in the reverse? No, I have to leave that behind.

My religion is central to my life, it’s what guides me behind all the movements I make toward healing, growing in virtue, learning what it means to love,

And I confess that I often am conflicted with doubts about God, about Jesus Christ, about Christianity and the Catholic Church —

Whether because of the darkness of faith or of my own unclarity;6

I’m conflicted about various thoughts I have on sex and gender as a phenomenon;

Yet I am not conflicted about transition.

I cannot confess to a doubt I don’t have. Yet I cannot prove that I don’t doubt it. What a weird dilemma!

No more of that. No blame. If they cannot give that care, then they cannot give that care.

I’m no rugged individualist; I need someone’s care and understanding, but I can’t persuade someone to give it.

I don’t need affirmation, but I long for understanding. I will have to look elsewhere.

I have a few others to go to, plus online detrans community, although I recently moved to a new city (my first city) and need a fresh start.

So about that “Step 1”, I think it’s about time I put that to rest for myself.

I’ve hung onto Step 1 hoping to persuade some of those I care about most to join me.

Next article, I’ll talk about those “Step 2” things.

1

To be sure, some things are misfortunes of birth that were not caused by formative experiences; but we must at least willing to ask whether or not that’s the case here, with all due compassion and tact, but that seems to be a question many are resistant to asking.

2

The other part of my immediate family celebrated my detransition, but I do tend to disagree with that side as being overly traditional about gender roles and expectations. So I’ve always had a mix of influences in this way.

3

I finally asked one of them about this, and yes, this is how he sees it. And to be sure, he did not say he knew for sure that I’m wrong; he simply isn’t confident enough that it isn’t internalized transphobia that he would be willing to celebrate my victories, since he fears he would be affirming me in self-harm. Interestingly at the same time another close member of my family began to understand what I was saying about what underlies my GD, partly thanks to Helena’s recent presentation for the Detrans Awareness Day Webinar on FtMs as a point of comparison. So there’s a positive development there!

4

To be sure, they’re not sitting around analyzing me or plotting anything against me; this is simply how they’re perceiving me, which I’d long felt by their behavior, and I now know more surely from recent conversations with them.

5

Feel free to ask if it’s not clear why I’m making this distinction between affirmation and understanding.

6

It was said about C.S. Lewis, when his wife died shortly after their marriage: he trusted God enough to tell Him he didn’t trust Him.

NJada - Man (detrans)

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