My Heart Still Aches
It is hard to believe that this trans-cult is still wreaking havoc in the world. I honestly thought that this insanity would be over by now and am disappointed that it continues. This is the worst medical scandal in history. Why doesn’t everyone realize this? There is enough information out now proving that “gender affirming care” is not the answer; that surgery is not the answer, that taking cross-sex hormones and puberty blockers are not the answer – so why is it still happening? The detransitioners are so brave to come forward to tell their stories, and to explain what happened to them, and why. How can this world still turn a blind eye, ignore the facts, and support the harm that is being done to innocent children?
My life will never be the same because my heart now has a huge void in it, and it aches. This cult affected my nephew, and the ripple effect tore through my entire family. This evil cult steals the identities of our loved ones, changes them, devours them. Holidays, birthdays, and special occasions are brutal to the families left behind. There is no comfort, no peace. The emptiness is so prevalent it is suffocating.
From an accident 10 months ago, I am handicapped so I had groceries delivered to my home the other day and the delivery person was a trans MTF. I was not shocked, just heavy-hearted. This young man, who was trying his best to look and act like a female, had shoulder length hair pulled back into a ponytail, small breasts protruded through his colorful shirt, and he wore light pink nail polish. I wanted to say something – but what could I possibly say? “You’ve been tricked, lied to, you will never be a female, you are hurting your body, the drugs you are taking have serious side effects, you have been caught up in a dangerous cult?”
I wish I could have talked to my nephew, could have made a difference, could have helped him in some way. I was living in another state clear across the country, and the last time I spoke to him he hung up on me because I questioned what “trans meant.” I did text him many times without a response, but I remembered his birthday and Christmas with gifts of money sent electronically. He always thanked me, and then the silence would linger again.
For several years, I read every PITT story and commented often, until I couldn’t. After my accident, I could not stand reading about the pain, the sadness, the heartache from the PITT writers. I was dealing with my own physical and emotional pain, and I had to salvage what strength I could. It all became unbearable.
I have been reading PITT stories lately off and on, and it seems as though nothing has changed. The sad stories from years ago are still today’s sad stories. What will it take to make the world change so we can rescue these children, to help free them, to protect them? One thing is for certain, there is strength in numbers, and we must continue this fight together. We must never give up but cling to HOPE. The future depends on us.
I read a lot
Of the stories but don’t comment much.., I have a son going through this… traveling this path.. the only rest I find is in my faith as I pray my rosaries for my son and all the children and young people wrapped up in this evil..
It IS hard to believe. And as each year goes by, the pain has only grown.
I never thought we'd still be here as a family, over 5 years in. There is no sign of change. Except there is a change... in us. My husband, daughter, and myself have all decided that our lost one has been destroying our own happiness for far too long. We have let this happen. But we are allowed to be happy. We are allowed to move on with our lives. We don't want to without him, but there is nothing we can do about it. This is a choice HE is making and we have a choice, too: to be destroyed and unhappy, or to go on without him, choosing joy in our lives despite the grief. For too long we have allowed the grief to encompass and overwhelm us, especially me. I had a dr tell me a few weeks ago that the unremitting stress is causing my significant health problems to be infinitely worse, and that if I could somehow find peace and joy again, my health would radically improve. He's not the first, but this time, it got through. I used to think perpetual grief and loss was the price of love. I'm rethinking that, now. The enemy who stole my son wants me to wallow in grief and loss. He wants this stress to kill me, something I've been perfectly willing to let happen. He wants to destroy our entire family, not just our son/brother. We won't let him. Some days are more difficult than others, but there is a slow growing kind of freedom I'm feeling now. A kind of peace. I think I'm finally giving my son to God, and God is giving me the grace to do it. We continue pray and to watch and to wait. But we are not going to continue in misery. The sadness may rear its head, but it will not continue to triumph over us anymore. We will not give this great evil the satisfaction of ruining even more lives than it already has.