Five years for my sensitive, brilliant talented son. Three years for his older ally son. I have no idea how he is doing. The loneliness is greater when in-law family celebrates all the accomplishments of their kids. We have nothing to share - no one wants to reach out to our sons when they could. It’s our problem, “it’s sad, but life must go on” they say. They truly don’t understand.
What offers solace - with the inability to rage when faced with the madness in front of my family, my child, and at work, I needed an outlet. I need to get the message out. So I’ve taken to painting rocks with messages such as, No child is born in the Wrong Body, Tomboy not Trans, A Man in a dress is still a man. Save girls sports. Sometimes with xx-xyathletics.com, hecheated.org, Billboard Chris. And I leave them places for strangers to find.
Very good idea. I think that was the purpose of this platform and also interchange information ( power). I’m affected it but not for personal experience but closed friends and still think that the whole society should be affected and fighting back this horror. But the only thing I can do and I do is speak up, that’s my ten cents. And join any demonstration against this in the streets but o don’t have anyone or any event. Maybe we should organize better to bring awareness and be in fairs or other events. The question is? Will we get the permit to be doing this? When the society as a whole has normalized it? I know how to create a campaign with pointing impactful media similar as the march for life . It’s in my head but we need the permits and be allowed and that’s it’s the complicate thing, maybe if we have a lawyer that reads this can explain better the legal part.
Thank you for seeing the destruction of a generation and helping! Many parents are in hiding hoping our kids come back so we can help them. Behind the scenes we write to anyone we can and speak up.
I've had a potential PITT bouncing around my head called: The Corpses I Carry. It's not quite enough for a full essay so I'll leave my thoughts here.
I carry the corpse of my son, the son he once was. Geeky, funny, talented. He could build anything. I also carry the corpse of who he could have been.
I carry the corpse of the old me, so naive and purpose driven. I see old pictures of her and feel nothing but pity. She doesn't know what's about to happen to her life and everyone she loves.
I carry the corpse of our old marriage. We were playful, forward-looking, project driven. We're still married, but it's not the same marriage. We've been forced to witness each other being hurt beyond comprehension.
I carry the corpses of all the relationships that have been broken or just faded away because of trans.
These corpses I carry everywhere I go and follow me with every task: to the grocery store, while gardening, going for a walk, meeting with "after" friends (who know nothing of my grief). On the outside, I suppose I look normal. Most days I go about my life carrying these corpses. (What choice do I have?) And then there are days, even 7.5 years later, where the weight is just too much. And the tears flow. And the anger screams out. And then I get up, corpses still clinging to me, and go on.
Powerful image. This comment in itself could be a PITT essay. Please write it when you are ready to do so. The imagery expresses what factual words fail to convey.
Your comment is searing. Please do consider writing a PITT essay if it would in any way be helpful to expand in writing your experience and profound imagery that you share in this post.
I haven't spoken to my son in nearly five years, and I doubt we will speak to each other ever again. I feel rage on a daily basis at the political left in the US or unloading this toxic ideology on vulnerable youths. If I believed in a God I would pray for some kind of justice and repair, but I do not, so I cannot. I have mostly withdrawn from the world as I live in a deep blue state where people would see me as the problem.
My daughter says she is a man and is taking testosteron, without gender dysmorphia. Even the psychologist at the famous gender clinic in my town finds this weird. But for the new gender clinic where my daughter is "treated", this is totally fine. My daughter - now man - cherishes the beautiful old pictures of herself with long hair, scattered all over the house. She shaved her head at age 19, now she has long hair again, and a thin beard. She's training hard to gain muscles. She's thriving in the queer community where she found "her identity". She fights for their rights, the right for transgender children to puberty blockers, the right for transwomen to compete in women's sports. She's always wise, always thoughtful, open-minded, compassionate, responsible, independent, except on trans issues. There Reddit r/transmasc is her master, her thought police. I see her shine, and I see the tidal wave in the distance, building slowly but steadily. I fold the laundry and find binders. I tried them on. They are like sport bras, but 5 sizes too small, it's hard to breathe in them. My daughter cannot stand bras, "they are not comfortable". But she is wearing these torture devices. She'll get rid of them by amputating her breasts. That will hit me like a truck. She's shaped like a runway model. Never had a boyfriend. Plenty of men in love with her but nothing happens. Doesn't want children at the age of 22 ("I can always adopt some") . What will she say at 35?
We lead our lives, the 2 of us - no husband, son moved out. We laugh, cook, I teach her how to drive. We talk about KPop, art, the old people she takes care of at work, her ice hockey team mates (big strong men). We tiptoe around the elephant in the room. And every other Friday she injects testosteron into her buttock, up in her purple room, decorated with cute KPop guys. And every night I feel blessed because so many good things happen, but the ground beneath is gone, we are sinking, very, very slowly into the trans abyss.
I lost my son to cancer. No comparison. Although I empathize and despise the gender ideology capture our kids, at least your kid is still alive and there is hope they will return to you. All I have is the severe PTSD after watching him go through six years of brutal cancer treatment only to lead to his death. Furthermore, none of this was a result of a choice
I am so very sorry for your loss. The crazy thing is, I always thought losing my daughter to this brain washing contagion was worse than if she passed. I thought if she had passed, she would have passed still loving me and it wouldn't have been her choice to leave me. The sad truth is that she left by choice, she stopped loving or caring about me, and although there is a chance she may return some day, the relationship will never be the same. We used to be so close and I tried to raise her to be a kind, loving, and thoughtful human being. She turned out to be so very different, and I guess that is a death in itself. I cannot imagine surviving what you had to survive, to watch your child suffer must have been excruciating. You are correct, at least we have a glimmer of hope in that our children may come back some day or at least come back to reality and live a more normal life. Prayers for your healing from your PTSD, I truly hope you can learn to live with the pain you have endured and somehow find a bit of happiness.
I'm so sorry about the loss of your son. You are right, those of us with kids captured by the transgender ideology still have hope for their recovery and return to us. I have a sister who lost her son to death also and that loss is final (until Jesus raises the dead). Our loss is ambiguous or unclear. God willing, it will be only a temporary loss.
‘Even with sympathetic others outside this horror, there is lack of outrage, which exacerbates loneliness’.
This part is so true. I feel people who know, the few who I have confided in, just want to ask ‘why not just go with it’.
But I cannot perpetuate the lie.
Others who I have never told, but I suspect are aware, stay silent.
No other person could grasp the sorrow, loss, grief, missed opportunities, guilt ridden envy of other people’s normal life, unless you are in it as well.
I am sad that so many others are in the same position, but there is a small comfort in these shared emotions.
I just miss my son. I fear for the future, and I already miss what might have been.
I'm sorry to hear that your son is caught up in this, Cmeads. The line you quoted caught my eye as well. My son dodged the trans train for a couple reasons...he's just a bit older than many who were caught up, but he's also very analytical and grew suspicious of what he saw happening. He also read "The Transgender-Industrial Complex", which exposes the financiers behind the transgender movement.
I believe the "lack of outrage" is precisely why this diabolical cult was able to take root in the first place. You shouldn't have to have your own child lost to it to understand the implications on the deepest level. That could be your child. And when you know that this phenomenon was no accident but that an entire generation of children was INTENTIONALLY confused about their very nature...outrage is the only possible valid reaction to it.
To the originator & all who have posted. Thank you for sharing. I’m truly sorry you’re going through this. You’re in my prayers. May we all see God’s mercy and intervention. ❤️🙏🕊️
I look at the family photos on the walls & carefully placed about the house. Sometimes I get lost in the fond memory, for just a moment, then reality resurfaces and I hold back the tears as best I can. I keep it together for my husband’s sake. ( at the onset he was suicidal over this ) So many road trips to horse competitions, so many road trip’s to see her favorite bands. A friendship had formed along with a mother daughter relationship. We laughed, we joked. Then she went away to college- I lost my friend, I lost my daughter. How did I let this evil into her life via computer & education? Why didn’t I recognize the warning signs? The art on her sites exemplifies true talent, God given talent, but it portrays pure evil. It breaks my heart.
I pray for intervention. I pray for healing. Family gatherings are no longer what they used to be. Our poor son- stuck in the middle. We reject pronouns and new names. It’s an understanding between our daughter and her parents. Our son is torn & obviously uncomfortable. It’s so sad that joy has somehow been erased from our lives.
How do I mourn the loss of my daughter, my first born, when she’s right there in some distorted disguise?
Cleaning out my linen closest I came across an old sheet with a sticky note attached saying ‘ghost sheet’. It had 2 holes cut out in it so they could see. My boys would use on Halloween. They are all in their late twenties now, yet I couldn’t throw it away. That is how I remember them, my lost boys, playful & happy, in our home. Now they truly are like ghosts. As much as I grieve, today I actually feel sorry for them. We lived in simpler times. Manners & respect didn’t take much explaining. Today it is messed up. I’m not engaging with it.
I think of my son every day and pray for his return, that he would come to his senses, that he would be delivered from the trans darkness, that he would reject the twisted affirmation from his so-called friends, etc.
When I watch a program about string theory (or deep space or any mathematical or physics-related topic), I think of how hard he worked for his mathematical-physics degree. I wish he were with me to enjoy the program, explain it, break it down in terms I could understand. Something safe for us to share.
I often think of his great Jamie Oliver impression when I cook and I have to laugh at its accuracy. He made a job I mostly hate, fun! He actually had a talent for accents and could do so many vocal impressions.
When I listen to music, I think of his once beautiful bass voice and his talent for playing bass guitar and writing music. Why would he want to give that up for a fake, soft, high-pitched mockery of a female voice?
I think of the times we shared singing my old favourite alternative 80s songs, songs I listen to now when I want to remember better times.
I think of him when I’m at church, his baby dedication, his baptism, his sincere and genuine heart for Jesus. I think of his deep searching and pray he’ll search again.
I think about his health, (which must be declining after a 18 months of medicalizing), his work, his home.
I wonder if he remembers any of us with any degree of love or fondness. I wonder if he remembers the good times. Or have they all been twisted into painful memories as he’s re-written his history?
I wonder if I should ignore his request to stop trying to reach him and text him “I love you” again anyway. I’m always wondering about God’s timing and if I’m interrupting or interfering because I want so much to reach out and let him know we are still here for him. I pray for wisdom. I pray that when he does wake up from this madness, shame would not keep him imprisoned and separated from us.
I think of every family celebration and milestone and how we’ve all missed out. There is always a hint of his shadow cast over these events. There is a peculiar tension held between fully embracing, enjoying, treasuring family time together and the sorrow and grief of his continued absence.
Some days the grief is unbearable. But I am learning to acknowledge, accept, and surrender that grief. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss him and long to see his handsome masculine face, hear his deep bass voice, laugh at his latest impression, and appreciate his heartfelt, thoughtful expression of love. It means I have to live my life. I need to be present for the rest of my family, to love them and others, to continue to do the things I love to do and to take joy where there is joy.
So many of what you are feeling are the same as what I feel too. This Mothers Day will be three years since I last saw my son. Does he still think of me with love? We were so close. I can’t imagine him not caring about his family.
This week is hard. Mothers’ Day approaches and I ask myself if I am even a mother anymore. Was it all a dream? I smile and laugh and enjoy time with friends but inside the pain is there. I am so lonely.
She's been gone for a few years. When the family gathers, we feel her absence, but we have stopped speaking of the loss because no words remain to describe it. Our private memories may surface but remain unshared because speaking them would break the dam of grief and sweep us into despair. Other families can have funerals to find some degree of closure after losing a valued member, but we must hold our unresolved grief and loss privately and collectively without the ability to release it or find some measure of solace.
There are scars on her body and invisible scars on our family. Those scars can be hidden with clothes or silence, but they forever affect her body and her family. May those who cut into healthy bodies—which also slices into families—stop this dark destruction. Let light grow and prevail to protect our children, vulnerable adults, and families. May we turn towards God, who holds the unspeakable loss when it becomes too heavy for us to carry alone, especially when we remember what we had before this ideology stole a precious child from our family.
Five years for my sensitive, brilliant talented son. Three years for his older ally son. I have no idea how he is doing. The loneliness is greater when in-law family celebrates all the accomplishments of their kids. We have nothing to share - no one wants to reach out to our sons when they could. It’s our problem, “it’s sad, but life must go on” they say. They truly don’t understand.
The loneliness of all of us😔
My son
What offers solace - with the inability to rage when faced with the madness in front of my family, my child, and at work, I needed an outlet. I need to get the message out. So I’ve taken to painting rocks with messages such as, No child is born in the Wrong Body, Tomboy not Trans, A Man in a dress is still a man. Save girls sports. Sometimes with xx-xyathletics.com, hecheated.org, Billboard Chris. And I leave them places for strangers to find.
Very good idea. I think that was the purpose of this platform and also interchange information ( power). I’m affected it but not for personal experience but closed friends and still think that the whole society should be affected and fighting back this horror. But the only thing I can do and I do is speak up, that’s my ten cents. And join any demonstration against this in the streets but o don’t have anyone or any event. Maybe we should organize better to bring awareness and be in fairs or other events. The question is? Will we get the permit to be doing this? When the society as a whole has normalized it? I know how to create a campaign with pointing impactful media similar as the march for life . It’s in my head but we need the permits and be allowed and that’s it’s the complicate thing, maybe if we have a lawyer that reads this can explain better the legal part.
Thank you for seeing the destruction of a generation and helping! Many parents are in hiding hoping our kids come back so we can help them. Behind the scenes we write to anyone we can and speak up.
I've had a potential PITT bouncing around my head called: The Corpses I Carry. It's not quite enough for a full essay so I'll leave my thoughts here.
I carry the corpse of my son, the son he once was. Geeky, funny, talented. He could build anything. I also carry the corpse of who he could have been.
I carry the corpse of the old me, so naive and purpose driven. I see old pictures of her and feel nothing but pity. She doesn't know what's about to happen to her life and everyone she loves.
I carry the corpse of our old marriage. We were playful, forward-looking, project driven. We're still married, but it's not the same marriage. We've been forced to witness each other being hurt beyond comprehension.
I carry the corpses of all the relationships that have been broken or just faded away because of trans.
These corpses I carry everywhere I go and follow me with every task: to the grocery store, while gardening, going for a walk, meeting with "after" friends (who know nothing of my grief). On the outside, I suppose I look normal. Most days I go about my life carrying these corpses. (What choice do I have?) And then there are days, even 7.5 years later, where the weight is just too much. And the tears flow. And the anger screams out. And then I get up, corpses still clinging to me, and go on.
Powerful image. This comment in itself could be a PITT essay. Please write it when you are ready to do so. The imagery expresses what factual words fail to convey.
Your comment is searing. Please do consider writing a PITT essay if it would in any way be helpful to expand in writing your experience and profound imagery that you share in this post.
😞
I haven't spoken to my son in nearly five years, and I doubt we will speak to each other ever again. I feel rage on a daily basis at the political left in the US or unloading this toxic ideology on vulnerable youths. If I believed in a God I would pray for some kind of justice and repair, but I do not, so I cannot. I have mostly withdrawn from the world as I live in a deep blue state where people would see me as the problem.
My daughter says she is a man and is taking testosteron, without gender dysmorphia. Even the psychologist at the famous gender clinic in my town finds this weird. But for the new gender clinic where my daughter is "treated", this is totally fine. My daughter - now man - cherishes the beautiful old pictures of herself with long hair, scattered all over the house. She shaved her head at age 19, now she has long hair again, and a thin beard. She's training hard to gain muscles. She's thriving in the queer community where she found "her identity". She fights for their rights, the right for transgender children to puberty blockers, the right for transwomen to compete in women's sports. She's always wise, always thoughtful, open-minded, compassionate, responsible, independent, except on trans issues. There Reddit r/transmasc is her master, her thought police. I see her shine, and I see the tidal wave in the distance, building slowly but steadily. I fold the laundry and find binders. I tried them on. They are like sport bras, but 5 sizes too small, it's hard to breathe in them. My daughter cannot stand bras, "they are not comfortable". But she is wearing these torture devices. She'll get rid of them by amputating her breasts. That will hit me like a truck. She's shaped like a runway model. Never had a boyfriend. Plenty of men in love with her but nothing happens. Doesn't want children at the age of 22 ("I can always adopt some") . What will she say at 35?
We lead our lives, the 2 of us - no husband, son moved out. We laugh, cook, I teach her how to drive. We talk about KPop, art, the old people she takes care of at work, her ice hockey team mates (big strong men). We tiptoe around the elephant in the room. And every other Friday she injects testosteron into her buttock, up in her purple room, decorated with cute KPop guys. And every night I feel blessed because so many good things happen, but the ground beneath is gone, we are sinking, very, very slowly into the trans abyss.
This is torture…good grief, I’m so sorry
I lost my son to cancer. No comparison. Although I empathize and despise the gender ideology capture our kids, at least your kid is still alive and there is hope they will return to you. All I have is the severe PTSD after watching him go through six years of brutal cancer treatment only to lead to his death. Furthermore, none of this was a result of a choice
I am so very sorry for your loss. The crazy thing is, I always thought losing my daughter to this brain washing contagion was worse than if she passed. I thought if she had passed, she would have passed still loving me and it wouldn't have been her choice to leave me. The sad truth is that she left by choice, she stopped loving or caring about me, and although there is a chance she may return some day, the relationship will never be the same. We used to be so close and I tried to raise her to be a kind, loving, and thoughtful human being. She turned out to be so very different, and I guess that is a death in itself. I cannot imagine surviving what you had to survive, to watch your child suffer must have been excruciating. You are correct, at least we have a glimmer of hope in that our children may come back some day or at least come back to reality and live a more normal life. Prayers for your healing from your PTSD, I truly hope you can learn to live with the pain you have endured and somehow find a bit of happiness.
I'm so sorry about the loss of your son. You are right, those of us with kids captured by the transgender ideology still have hope for their recovery and return to us. I have a sister who lost her son to death also and that loss is final (until Jesus raises the dead). Our loss is ambiguous or unclear. God willing, it will be only a temporary loss.
‘Even with sympathetic others outside this horror, there is lack of outrage, which exacerbates loneliness’.
This part is so true. I feel people who know, the few who I have confided in, just want to ask ‘why not just go with it’.
But I cannot perpetuate the lie.
Others who I have never told, but I suspect are aware, stay silent.
No other person could grasp the sorrow, loss, grief, missed opportunities, guilt ridden envy of other people’s normal life, unless you are in it as well.
I am sad that so many others are in the same position, but there is a small comfort in these shared emotions.
I just miss my son. I fear for the future, and I already miss what might have been.
I'm sorry to hear that your son is caught up in this, Cmeads. The line you quoted caught my eye as well. My son dodged the trans train for a couple reasons...he's just a bit older than many who were caught up, but he's also very analytical and grew suspicious of what he saw happening. He also read "The Transgender-Industrial Complex", which exposes the financiers behind the transgender movement.
I believe the "lack of outrage" is precisely why this diabolical cult was able to take root in the first place. You shouldn't have to have your own child lost to it to understand the implications on the deepest level. That could be your child. And when you know that this phenomenon was no accident but that an entire generation of children was INTENTIONALLY confused about their very nature...outrage is the only possible valid reaction to it.
To the originator & all who have posted. Thank you for sharing. I’m truly sorry you’re going through this. You’re in my prayers. May we all see God’s mercy and intervention. ❤️🙏🕊️
I look at the family photos on the walls & carefully placed about the house. Sometimes I get lost in the fond memory, for just a moment, then reality resurfaces and I hold back the tears as best I can. I keep it together for my husband’s sake. ( at the onset he was suicidal over this ) So many road trips to horse competitions, so many road trip’s to see her favorite bands. A friendship had formed along with a mother daughter relationship. We laughed, we joked. Then she went away to college- I lost my friend, I lost my daughter. How did I let this evil into her life via computer & education? Why didn’t I recognize the warning signs? The art on her sites exemplifies true talent, God given talent, but it portrays pure evil. It breaks my heart.
I pray for intervention. I pray for healing. Family gatherings are no longer what they used to be. Our poor son- stuck in the middle. We reject pronouns and new names. It’s an understanding between our daughter and her parents. Our son is torn & obviously uncomfortable. It’s so sad that joy has somehow been erased from our lives.
How do I mourn the loss of my daughter, my first born, when she’s right there in some distorted disguise?
When all I want to do is scream “SNAP OUT OF IT!”
Cleaning out my linen closest I came across an old sheet with a sticky note attached saying ‘ghost sheet’. It had 2 holes cut out in it so they could see. My boys would use on Halloween. They are all in their late twenties now, yet I couldn’t throw it away. That is how I remember them, my lost boys, playful & happy, in our home. Now they truly are like ghosts. As much as I grieve, today I actually feel sorry for them. We lived in simpler times. Manners & respect didn’t take much explaining. Today it is messed up. I’m not engaging with it.
Thank you for this opportunity to share…
I think of my son every day and pray for his return, that he would come to his senses, that he would be delivered from the trans darkness, that he would reject the twisted affirmation from his so-called friends, etc.
When I watch a program about string theory (or deep space or any mathematical or physics-related topic), I think of how hard he worked for his mathematical-physics degree. I wish he were with me to enjoy the program, explain it, break it down in terms I could understand. Something safe for us to share.
I often think of his great Jamie Oliver impression when I cook and I have to laugh at its accuracy. He made a job I mostly hate, fun! He actually had a talent for accents and could do so many vocal impressions.
When I listen to music, I think of his once beautiful bass voice and his talent for playing bass guitar and writing music. Why would he want to give that up for a fake, soft, high-pitched mockery of a female voice?
I think of the times we shared singing my old favourite alternative 80s songs, songs I listen to now when I want to remember better times.
I think of him when I’m at church, his baby dedication, his baptism, his sincere and genuine heart for Jesus. I think of his deep searching and pray he’ll search again.
I think about his health, (which must be declining after a 18 months of medicalizing), his work, his home.
I wonder if he remembers any of us with any degree of love or fondness. I wonder if he remembers the good times. Or have they all been twisted into painful memories as he’s re-written his history?
I wonder if I should ignore his request to stop trying to reach him and text him “I love you” again anyway. I’m always wondering about God’s timing and if I’m interrupting or interfering because I want so much to reach out and let him know we are still here for him. I pray for wisdom. I pray that when he does wake up from this madness, shame would not keep him imprisoned and separated from us.
I think of every family celebration and milestone and how we’ve all missed out. There is always a hint of his shadow cast over these events. There is a peculiar tension held between fully embracing, enjoying, treasuring family time together and the sorrow and grief of his continued absence.
Some days the grief is unbearable. But I am learning to acknowledge, accept, and surrender that grief. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss him and long to see his handsome masculine face, hear his deep bass voice, laugh at his latest impression, and appreciate his heartfelt, thoughtful expression of love. It means I have to live my life. I need to be present for the rest of my family, to love them and others, to continue to do the things I love to do and to take joy where there is joy.
I think you should keep texting him, for as long his text address keeps working.
So many of what you are feeling are the same as what I feel too. This Mothers Day will be three years since I last saw my son. Does he still think of me with love? We were so close. I can’t imagine him not caring about his family.
This week is hard. Mothers’ Day approaches and I ask myself if I am even a mother anymore. Was it all a dream? I smile and laugh and enjoy time with friends but inside the pain is there. I am so lonely.
She's been gone for a few years. When the family gathers, we feel her absence, but we have stopped speaking of the loss because no words remain to describe it. Our private memories may surface but remain unshared because speaking them would break the dam of grief and sweep us into despair. Other families can have funerals to find some degree of closure after losing a valued member, but we must hold our unresolved grief and loss privately and collectively without the ability to release it or find some measure of solace.
There are scars on her body and invisible scars on our family. Those scars can be hidden with clothes or silence, but they forever affect her body and her family. May those who cut into healthy bodies—which also slices into families—stop this dark destruction. Let light grow and prevail to protect our children, vulnerable adults, and families. May we turn towards God, who holds the unspeakable loss when it becomes too heavy for us to carry alone, especially when we remember what we had before this ideology stole a precious child from our family.