This story is from the comments listed below, summarised by AI.
Authenticity Assessment: Not Suspicious
Based on the provided comments, this account appears authentic. There are no serious red flags suggesting it is a bot or inauthentic.
The user's comments are highly personalized, emotionally intelligent, and offer nuanced, empathetic advice drawn from their own stated experiences as a lesbian, Christian, and married parent. The language is consistent, complex, and shows deep engagement with the emotional and ethical complexities of detransition, which is not typical of bot behavior. The account exhibits the passion and personal investment expected from a genuine desister.
About me
I started transitioning in my twenties because my teenage discomfort with my developing body and past trauma made me believe I was a man. I now see I was trying to escape my depression and internalized homophobia by changing my body. Finding faith and a good therapist helped me finally confront my real issues and stop testosterone. I regret not dealing with my trauma first, but I’ve found greater peace and self-understanding. I now identify as a woman and a lesbian, focusing on loving myself and co-parenting my child.
My detransition story
My journey with gender started when I was a teenager. I was deeply uncomfortable with my body during puberty; I hated developing breasts and felt a profound sense of wrongness. Looking back, I now see this was a mix of body dysmorphia, general teenage awkwardness, and the trauma of being sexually abused when I was younger. That abuse filled me with a lot of shame and confusion about being female.
I found a lot of community and answers online that pointed me toward transition. I started identifying as non-binary first, and that felt like a safe middle ground. But the feeling of wrongness didn't go away, and I was influenced by what I was reading and by friends who were also exploring transition. I eventually came to believe I was a transgender man and started taking testosterone. I was in my early twenties.
My thinking at the time was very spiraling and obsessive. I now recognize that a lot of my drive to transition was a form of escapism. I thought if I could change my body, I could escape the feelings of depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem that had plagued me for years. I also struggled with internalized homophobia; as a lesbian, I think part of me wanted to escape the stigma of that identity by becoming a man in a straight-appearing relationship.
I was married to a woman for over a decade and we had a child together. My transition happened within that marriage. For a long time, I believed it was the right path for me. But the underlying issues never really went away. I benefited greatly from eventually finding a non-affirming therapist—one who didn't push an agenda but instead helped me untangle my thoughts. I was able to name my feelings, like guilt and shame, instead of just spiraling in them. This was a crucial step for me.
A major turning point was my conversion to Christianity. My faith became the foundation that allowed me to finally step back and question everything. It gave me the assurance that I was loved unconditionally, which took the immense pressure off to have all the "right" answers about my gender and sexuality. I realized that my potential to grow was limitless and that I didn't have to be stuck on the path I was on.
I made the decision to detransition. I stopped taking testosterone. I am grateful I did not pursue top surgery, as I know that is a permanent change I would have likely regretted. While I don't regret the journey because it led me to where I am now—a place of much greater self-understanding and peace—I do have regrets about transitioning. I regret not dealing with my trauma and internalized homophobia first. I regret not understanding that puberty discomfort is often temporary and that many people, like my older sister, grow into their bodies and find places where their natural masculinity is valued.
I now identify as a woman and a lesbian. I see my gender struggle as something I went through, not who I am. My marriage did not survive my detransition, but we co-parent our child lovingly. The most important thing I learned is that love—for God, for myself, and for my neighbor—is what never fails.
Here is a timeline of my journey:
| Age | Event |
|---|---|
| 13 | Started puberty; began to feel intense discomfort and hated my developing breasts. |
| 15 | History of childhood sexual abuse began to significantly impact my self-image. |
| 19 | Began identifying as non-binary, influenced by online communities and friends. |
| 22 | Started taking testosterone and began identifying as a transgender man. |
| 23 | Married my wife. |
| 25 | Our child was born. |
| 33 | Converted to Christianity; began therapy with a non-affirming therapist. |
| 34 | Stopped testosterone and began my detransition. |
Top Comments by /u/Letters2Cleo88:
Blockers may have negative health impacts, but what’s even more apparent is the result when blockers are followed by cross-sex hormones (which they nearly always are when treating a trans-identified teen.)
Even the gender care doctors freely admit that blockers followed by cross-sex hormones results in infertility essentially 100% of the time. The gametes never fully develop, so even if the person later goes off hormones, they can never recover their fertility.
Additionally, blockers+ cross-sex hormones could potentially interfere with sexual functioning. (See Jazz Jennings)
As an aside, I have talked with some pediatric transition advocates about this, and they say, “Some 11 year olds know they never want to have sex or have children.” They also say, “Well, maybe the kids can’t really consent to these treatments, but their risk for suicide is so high parents have to make that call.” I really struggle with the reasoning and judgment displayed by those kinds of comments.
This kind of repetitive and spiraling thinking can be super hard and painful for many of us. Something that might help is to try to name what’s happening —“I’m feeling guilty” instead of going through the list of things you feel guilty about again.
I think you know on some level this kind of self-blame doesn’t really make sense. You don’t hurt anyone if you wish to be male. It’s okay to have that feeling. What’s important is that you make choices about how to deal with that feeling that are consistent with your values and what’s healthiest for you.
So, my sister is older than me, and gender dysphoria wasn’t talked about when we were kids. She never got treatment for it or anything. She honestly had a really hard time and struggled to fit in her whole childhood and adolescence. Eventually though, she grew up and joined a male-dominated profession where her masculine traits were a) common for women and b) valued. She also married a guy who’s also a little outside the norm socially and so they worked out.
Hello!
I only lurk on here occasionally but your post caught my eye because I am also Christian! Congrats on all of these new steps in your life. It must feel so exciting.
I’m also a convert to Christianity, and because I’m a lesbian (I’m in my 30’s, in a decade + long marriage, with a child). I’ve gone through many of the challenging questions you may or may not face around fitting into Christianity as someone with a complex experience with gender or sexuality (especially if you find yourself in the “middle” — not an LGBT activist, but not against same-sex relationships or transition for well-informed adults, either.)
I’m going to give you some unsolicited advice (sorry!): the Church (meaning other Christians) will hurt you, I can almost guarantee it, but keep listening to the people who make an effort, even imperfectly, to remind you and convince you that God loves you. You will make the best choices for yourself if you are firmly, firmly rooted in that fact: God loves you. He is on your side, and nothing can separate you from His love. (See Romans 8:31-39)
That means that wherever you end up with your politics, your sexuality, or your gender, God will go with you. I hope that gives you some freedom and takes off some pressure to make the “right” choices. I hope for you that as you seek clarity over the coming months and years, you also keep in mind that we only see through a glass darkly (1 Corinthians 13:12). Love, for God, yourself, and your neighbor, is what will never fail.
Wishing you God’s peace. Good luck!
For what it’s worth, I am much older than you and I think what you wrote here is very insightful. Perhaps I relate because I was also sexually abused when I was growing up, and I know how much shame and confusion is built into that experience and how much it can affect the way you see yourself.
From reading this, it seems like you feel like it’s too late to go back and try to make choices about your gender in a more clear-headed way, but it really isn’t. You haven’t been on T for very long — if you stop now, the long-term effects will be much less than if you stop later.
If you do that, you can give yourself more time to process the things that have happened to you (I hope with a competent, non-ideological therapist) and to think through all of your options for your gender without feeling like it’s too late because you’re already medically transitioning. If after doing that for some time, you still want to medically transition, you can do that with more confidence you’re making that choice for the right reasons, with better insight and information, and not because you feel stuck.
I obviously don’t know you but you strike me as a thoughtful person and I encourage you to keep reflecting on these important questions, even if it’s painful. I think you’re on the right track.
I can’t tell you what should you should do with your life and body, but I have two thoughts:
Anyone who supported your transition will most likely support any steps you take towards de-transition in some form. Most people just want to be supportive and might be a little confused but otherwise accepting. I know it feels like it’d be embarrassing, but it’ll probably be less weird than it seems.
Is your marriage good? Do you love your wife? Do you want to stay married for your kids? Is she still willing to work things out with you? If the relationship has historically been a good one, you might want to try counseling with a non-LGBT oriented counselor (who might be more neutral) to see if you can work through keeping your relationship and managing your transition choices as a couple. I’m in an 11-year relationship with a kid and I feel like pretty much nothing is more worth trying to save than a loving marriage.
I can tell you really love your son. I’m sorry he’s hurting and you’re hurting for him.
My best advice is try to get him to talk to you about what he’s feeling, if he’s open to it. Don’t try to argue with him or tell him he’s wrong, but just approach your conversations with the goal of understanding him as much as possible and being curious about his experience. Being able to verbalize his thoughts with you might help him sort through what’s going on with him, and it will help you know how you can offer support.
You could also consider seeing a counselor or therapist who can help you work out ways to take care of yourself and support your son. Because you mentioned sibling abuse, it sounds like there have been some struggles in the family for a while and a therapist can help you understand the impact of that history, as well.
One last thing: I’d recommend using the name and pronoun your kid asks to be called. He’s an adult, and he’s more likely to continue having a relationship with you if he feels you’re respecting his wishes in that way.
Good luck!
This post was so honest and moving. I’m really rooting for you. I hope you can gather support around you and face these painful questions in a way that is honest and gentle with yourself. Your potential to grow from here is limitless. I hope you find answers and peace.