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Trans Regretters 
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About the harms & permanence
of medical transition

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Trans Regretters from around the world share their stories with us to WARN others of the harms and PERMANENCE of medical transition.

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Faith, also known as Alex, was born a girl but faced constant struggles with her mental and physical health. She discovered the concept of "transgenderism" online and was prescribed hormones, including puberty blockers and testosterone, at the age of 16. However, doctors ignored her concerns and pushed forward with the surgery. At 21, she stopped taking testosterone, causing permanent changes in her voice and facial hair. COVID-19 caused a shortage of medical supplies, making it difficult to get replacement doses. At 21, she stopped taking testosterone altogether. The lack of oversight highlights the need for better regulations and safety measures for those seeking gender confirmation treatment. The issue should not be a complicated or controversial topic, but children should be allowed to be children and adults should have access to mental health support before considering any surgical interventions.

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Alex G

Alex's Story Here

Good? Faith, also known as Alex, was born a girl but faced constant struggles with her mental and physical health. She discovered the concept of "transgenderism" online and was prescribed hormones, including puberty blockers and testosterone, at the age of 16. However, doctors ignored her concerns and pushed forward with the surgery. At 21, she stopped taking testosterone, causing permanent changes in her voice and facial hair. COVID-19 caused a shortage of medical supplies, making it difficult to get replacement doses. At 21, she stopped taking testosterone altogether. The lack of oversight highlights the need for better regulations and safety measures for those seeking gender confirmation treatment. The issue should not be a complicated or controversial topic, but children should be allowed to be children and adults should have access to mental health support before considering any surgical interventions. My name is Faith, but everyone calls me Alex. I was born a girl, but my mind and body have always felt like a constant battle. Doctors dismissed my struggles as simply "teenage angst" or "hormonal imbalances." But then, I discovered the concept of "transgenderism" online. The idea that changing my gender identity would solve all my problems. I delved into researching transition processes and surgical results on my own. And at only 16 years old, I brought this idea to a therapist who eagerly facilitated my transition journey. Puberty blockers at 16, testosterone at 17, all prescribed by doctors who manipulated my mother into believing this was the only solution for me. They warned her that without immediate medical intervention, I would harm myself. How could she not support me? But no one warned us about the dangerous chemicals being pumped into my still-developing body. No one listened to my mother's valid concerns for my physical and mental well-being. They just pushed forward with their agenda, even approving me for top surgery at age 17, paid for by insurance but with potential corrective costs we couldn't afford. But something didn't feel right. Even with hormones coursing through my veins and a new name to identify with, I was still in a dark place mentally. I had become dependent on these chemicals for what I thought would bring happiness. Physically, I had more energy, but no guidance on how to use it productively. So I turned to destructive behaviors instead. And then COVID happened, causing a shortage of medical supplies. Suddenly, getting my regular dose of testosterone became difficult and costly. By age 21, I made the decision to completely stop taking it. My voice was permanently deeper, my facial hair patchy and uneven. My body now struggling to regulate itself without the artificial hormones. I consider myself lucky that I haven't faced any major adverse effects or mutilation. But the doctors stopped following up with me once I turned 18, allowing me to self-medicate with testosterone for three years without any monitoring or check-ins. I have never even met my adult endocrinologist since he last prescribed my medication in 2018. And yet, there are countless adults who still struggle with complications, regrets, and doubts about their transition even when they thought it was their ultimate solution. As a 16-year-old struggling with multiple mental health diagnoses, I should not have been able to simply ask my doctors for hormones and receive them so easily. This is not something that should be questioned or complicated. Children should be allowed to be children, and adults should have access to proper mental health support and stability before considering any surgical interventions. My story may have turned out relatively okay, but not everyone is as lucky as me. This needs to change. I never underwent any surgical procedures and the approval for it had expired. Despite this, I continued down the path of transitioning into a Trans man, going by the name Alex to my family and friends. I took hormones and while physically I had more energy, mentally I still struggled in a dark place. My perceived happiness now depended on these chemicals, but they did not teach me how to properly channel this newfound energy. Instead, I became more destructive than productive. I watched all of this unfold before me, feeling helpless to stop it as I had been convinced that this was the safest and most effective way for me to live. Then COVID happened, causing a shortage of medical supplies including testosterone. By this time, I was 20 years old and would have to pay out of pocket for my replacement doses, something that I couldn't afford consistently. Eventually, at 21 years old, I made the decision to stop taking testosterone altogether. The effects were permanent - a permanently deeper voice, patchy facial hair, and ongoing chemical shifts and imbalances in my body. But as an adult, I have learned how to find joy in activities and hobbies that I love, and how to accept and love myself regardless of my gender identity. Despite being one of the lucky ones who did not experience mutilation or adverse side effects from self-medicating with testosterone for 3 years without proper monitoring or follow-up from doctors, I never saw my endocrinologist after he last prescribed my medication in 2018. This lack of oversight is concerning and highlights the need for better regulations and safety measures in place for those seeking gender confirmation treatment. There are countless adults who continue to struggle with complications even when they are certain that transitioning is their solution. Regret can still exist even when we think we are sure about our choices. As a 16-year-old with several other mental health diagnoses, it should not have been so easy for me to simply ask my doctors for testosterone and receive it without proper evaluation or consideration for my overall well-being. This issue should not be a complicated or controversial topic - children should be allowed to just be kids and adults should have access to mental health support and stability before any surgical interventions are even considered.

Claudia McClean's Story


The Music, Transition, and Triumph of Claudia Mclean, a Transgender Jazz Singer from the UK Life, as it often reflects art, finds a profound example in the framework of Claudia Mclean’s transmutative journey mirrored through the undulating melodies of jazz. A UK-based transgender transwoman, Mclean’s experiences showcase survival, transcendence, and most prominently, her perpetual passion for jazz. Born in an age when queerness was cloaked, Claudia’s gripping tale begins in the unease of her adolescent gender dysphorphic struggles (S1: Belluck, P., 'Transgender Surgery Isn’t Just About Gender.' URL:**). From her early childhood in the moorlands of the UK, she bore the weight of the anomaly of interoceptive self in a discordantly gendered physicality. Beneath the consistent storm of this conflict though nestled the presence of Jazz. It was something primal that pulsed within her, paralleling the tympanic thrumming of her divergent self-identity (S2: 'The Neurophysiology of Jazz.' URL:**). The melody of her identity started aligning with jazz - deep, vulnerable, and intrinsically unique. Much like the syncopated rhythm of a jazz composition, Claudia's transition wasn't an unperturbed, straightforward process. Through hormone treatments, surgeries, and prolonged psychological consultations, Claudia shaped her exterior to resonate with the lady that was her psyche (S4: 'The Jazz of Physics.' URL:**). She channeled the resilience and adaptability fundamental to jazz to survive her journey, showcasing the capacity of her extraordinary spirit. Concomitantly, Claudia continued to hone her singing, her music becoming a breathing chronicle of her multifaceted journey. From her first underground performances in the UK to her eventual debut at the esteemed Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club in London, Claudia's rise was inexorable (S5: 'The History of Jazz in the UK.' URL:**). She continued to woo audiences with her soulful music, embodying and transcending the essence of jazz itself, in a similar vein to her personal progression. Claudia Mclean offers a stirring narrative that bridges the echelons of gender, music, and personal courage. Her trajectory, from a distressed young individual grappling with dysphoria, to emerging as a resonantly beautiful transwoman and jazz singer, is a testament to life's transcendent vibrancy. In conclusion, Mclean's narrative neatly parallels the enduring mellifluous strains of jazz. The rhythms of turmoil, resolution, improvisation, and triumph manifest in both her transition and the universal language of jazz. Her tale underlines that the human spirit, like jazz, thrives in improvisation and adaptation - such is the power of Claudia Mclean, the jazz singer whose life beats to the music of extraordinary resilience and captivating melody. Claudia, who bravely shared her story, was one of the first individuals to publicly reflect on the impact of gender ideology. Her willingness to discuss the challenges she faced has paved the way for others to come forward and analyze the consequences of this ideology. As we continue to broaden our understanding of gender and its complexities, it is crucial that we engage in open and thoughtful conversations, acknowledging the potential consequences that can arise from certain ideologies. By doing so, we can find common ground and strive for improvements in the lives of all individuals affected by these issues. Transgender Regretter Staff Writer Sources: S1: Belluck, P. 'Transgender Surgery Isn’t Just About Gender.' URL:** S2: 'The Neurophysiology of Jazz.' URL:** S3: 'Transgender People’s Experiences of Gender Inequality in the UK.' URL:** S4: 'The Jazz of Physics.' URL:** S5: 'The History of Jazz in the UK.' URL:**   S2: 'The Neurophysiology of Jazz.' URL:** S3: 'Transgender People’s Experiences of Gender Inequality in the UK.' URL:** S4: 'The Jazz of Physics.' URL:** S5: 'The History of Jazz in the UK.' URL:**

Claudia McLean

Claudia McClean's Story Here

I am Claudia McLean, born in Scotland in 1957 to parents who were very young and were extremely perplexed to find that their new son was not behaving as new sons were supposed to. Additionally, I was often mistaken for a girl wherever we went. At the age of 3, I already understood that I was seen as "the problem". Right from the beginning, my parents were ashamed of me and always favored my older sister. I was completely isolated from my peers at school, and my life became a nightmare of violence. Imagine a small 5-year-old against the entire school - that was the terrifying world I lived in. My father was a drinker and had a quick temper, making him dangerous. He became obsessed with me and subjected me to various forms of abuse. By the age of 3, there was nothing I hadn't endured. When I was 8 and a half years old, my parents' marriage ended because my mother finally became a target of my father's violence instead of just me. In a split second, I had the chance to escape and find the police to try and save her life. However, in Scotland during the 1960s, women were unable to testify against their husbands in court due to their legal status as property. Nevertheless, my testimony about what happened that night led to my father's imprisonment and a few quieter years for ourselves. Because it was widely known in our immediate community that I had spoken out against my father, I faced further isolation and hatred. This became the only reality I knew. My life continued in misery until I turned 13, when my father was released from prison. On the Monday before Good Friday, he wrote to my mother, requesting to meet her exactly when I would be at school and singing in the church. My mother was so afraid that she kept me home from school, even though I would face trouble for missing the Good Friday service, as my voice was needed. The following Tuesday, the first day back at school, I overheard two older boys discussing the discovery of a dead man in the school bike sheds. I instantly knew it was him. His suicide or whatever it was became something from which I don't think I have ever fully recovered. My life was filled with misery, enduring constant beatings and insults, which left me in a perpetual state of hyper vigilance. After completing school, I enrolled in a hairdressing college with the intention of opening my own business as soon as possible. My feminine appearance had been hindering my chances of finding employment, and I was growing increasingly bored. Job security was something I had never experienced. At the age of 19, I took the leap and opened my own establishment. When I was 18, on Valentine's Day, I met the love of my life. Our relationship quickly progressed, and he even arranged for me to audition for a TV talent contest due to my singing abilities. When that plan fell through, he came up with the idea of a cabaret show, showcasing my four-octave singing voice. To my surprise, it became a tremendous success, and we spent several years performing together every night. Our relationship was far from ordinary; it exceeded all expectations. However, despite being with a woman the night we met, he chose to be with me. I explained that I had never been intimate with anyone before, and he was unsure how to make love to me. So, we simply held each other, experiencing a night of tenderness that has been rare since then. During the first four years of our relationship, we could have faced imprisonment in Scotland for being in a same-sex partnership. However, in 1980, things began to change. I vividly recall telling him that we would no longer be subjected to harm. As the years went by, until I turned 25, Richard occasionally had encounters with other women. One night, I asked him if he thought I had stopped growing. In response, he brought up the idea of me transitioning in order to maintain our love and work life. After a year of lengthy discussions, I agreed. We relocated to London, I started taking hormone pills, and preparations for the surgery began. It was during this time that Richard informed me that if I chose not to go through with it, he would leave, but if I did, he might stay. During the first four years of our relationship, we could have faced imprisonment in Scotland for being in a same-sex partnership. However, in 1980, things began to change. I vividly recall telling him that we would no longer be subjected to harm. As the years went by, until I turned 25, Richard occasionally engaged in affairs with women. One night, I asked him if he thought I had stopped growing. In response, he brought up the idea of me transitioning in order to maintain our love and work life. After a year of lengthy discussions, I agreed. We relocated to London, I started taking hormone pills, and preparations for the surgery began. It was then that Richard informed me that if I didn't go through with it, he would leave, but if I did, he might stay. The fate of my entire existence rested on those words. I only saw the gender psychiatrist once, and after that single appointment, he gave me the green light to proceed. However, I hesitated for nearly a year before taking any action. It was in March 1986 that I underwent the surgery, but a year later, at the age of 27, he reversed it. My life was shattered, my body irreversibly altered, and I felt like I had lost everything. The thought of ending my own life crossed my mind, but I couldn't bear to do that to my younger self. I decided to return to Scotland and seek solace with my mother for a brief period. Unfortunately, during that time, she suffered a severe stroke, leaving me to care for her as a brokenhearted widow turned caregiver to an ailing adult. I dedicated 12 years to nursing her, all the while remaining unemployable and witnessing my own health deteriorate. During this period, other men came into my life. Richard, in particular, refused to leave me alone, and I still harbored feelings for him. I spent a few years there, taking care of Richard's mother, Ayre. It was during this time that I gave an interview to Julie Bindel, expressing my regret about the changes I had made. I realized that altering oneself for the sake of a relationship is not a valid reason for such a transformation. This realization had been brewing within me for years, and in 2003 I publicly admitted my regret, discovering that there were others who felt the same. This led to a trial at the General Medical Council (GMC) in London, where the psychiatrist involved finally faced consequences. A few years later, I joined Twitter, but by then, I was already dealing with a spinal cord injury and heart and kidney disease. In 2014, at the age of 66, I began writing a memoir that is now on the verge of being published. It delves into my experiences in much greater detail than I can provide here. Presently, I am an active presence on Twitter, using the platform to advocate for the protection of children from the trans industry. It was during this time that I crossed paths with Scott Newgent, an American who shared the same mission on Twitter. We have developed a deep bond, and I hold great affection for him.

Kellie/Kenneth's Story



Kenneth/Kellie, is an articulate and passionate advocate working in Canada. Kenneth/Kellie is dedicated to collaborating closely with the Canadian government in order to shed light on the topic of Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity (SOGI). Their goal is to raise awareness about the potential harms of certain aspects of gender identity and work towards the removal of LGBTQ+ representation from Canadian schools and worldwide. Kenneth/Kellie is currently available for speaking engagements, strategy discussions, school meetings, and board consultations internationally. They possess invaluable expertise in this field, drawing from various perspectives including the registers, detransitioners, and trans regretters. Together, these voices contribute to a comprehensive education on the potential pitfalls of gender ideology. Highly recommend Kenneth/Kellie. Their knowledge and insights will undoubtedly provide valuable insights and stimulate important discussions. Request Kellie/Kenneth Today

Kellie/Kenneth Anderson

Hi, my name is Kellie, though my legal name is Kenneth. I'm a 57-year-old woman who regrets transitioning. Born in December 1966, I was the youngest of my mother’s six children. By the end of 1969, my parents had divorced and my mother had remarried a convicted pedophile. Social events during my childhood were usually chaotic, filled with sharp edges, bright colors, and loud noises. My stepfather's world revolved around his deviant behaviors. He exploited everything to gain access to children. In 1980, he was charged and pled guilty to sexually interfering with a minor in his care. He was sentenced to prison. I'll gloss over the turmoil of my adolescence and early adulthood, but suffice it to say, I was constantly looking for an external solution to my internal problems.  During the early 2000s, I moved to Vancouver BC. There, I encountered the ideology of transgenderism and was completely taken in by the fantasy that living as a man would wash away my social awkwardness and insecurities. In 2004, I began attending peer counseling services, a support group, and FTM Etcetera offered by Vancouver Coastal Health’s Trans Health Program. These support services were hyper-focused on helping people navigate the transition process: obtaining a carry letter, verifying real-life experience, choosing a new name, qualifying for surgeries, changing legal documents. There was always another step on the horizon promising happiness. By 2006, at 39 years old, a year on testosterone and two years into this process, my family had no idea what I was doing. It was not until after undergoing a complete hysterectomy that I informed my family. Their grief, remorse, shock and confusion were all framed as manifestations of: lack of acceptance, transphobia, and intolerance of my autonomy. Peer support was a cult of affirmation driven indoctrination, wherein no forms of dissent were tolerated. Plowing ever onward in my quest for happiness, in 2007 I underwent a psychiatric assessment process to obtain approval for a bilateral mastectomy, which was performed in 2008. Since undergoing the hysterectomy in 2006, I had been experiencing increasing levels of abdominal pain and discomfort, followed by several weeks of relief. My peer support cheer squad framed these events as physical manifestations of transphobia because of my family. Eventually a combination of pain, fever, and nausea led me to think I should go to an emergency room. Within an hour of arriving I had emergency surgery for an abdominal abscess which had fistulated into my intestines. The abdominal pain and discomfort I had experienced since my hysterectomy were symptoms of a serious medical complication. Routine postoperative examinations had been waved so not to cause undue emotional distress. I now believe that if routine postoperative examinations are too emotionally distressing for the patient, the patient is not psychologically stable enough to undergo the surgery. Over the next year I was on several courses of extremely strong antibiotics. I was unable to work for most of the year and I no longer have complete control of my bodily functions. Late in 2010 my world came crashing down as I recognized that despite everything I had done to surgically and chemically alter my social gender presentation, there was no magical metamorphic event that would make me a “real boy.” Regret started with reconciling the permanent conflict between my gender presentation and my sexual orientation. Masculinizing my body had rendered me invisible to the people I am attracted to. Unable to deal with the growing cognitive dissonance, I fled Vancouver and returned to employment as a long haul trucker. In this completely male dominated environment I recognized how as a woman, I was nothing like my male colleagues. Between 2016 to 2018 I encountered TQ+ radical queer theory driven rhetoric whereby advocates fought for the rights of convicted male sex offenders with self declared gender identities to be incarcerated in women’s prisons. This intellectual blow was accompanied by being diagnosed with type two diabetes.  ​Accompanied by being diagnosed with type two diabetes, no one had ever mentioned how taking cross-sex hormones are like burning gasoline in a diesel engine – simply put, a really bad idea. Women who take testosterone have an elevated risk of developing diabetes. As an adult living with a history of childhood sexual exploitation, I can no longer, in good conscience, associate myself with the queer theory-driven, quasi-religious culture that seeks to erase women, fracture children's social development, and defend sex offenders. Childhood is a time of once upon a time, happily-ever-after, and new beginnings. How can anyone expect children to comprehend Foucault's nexus of power, privilege, and authority or Butler's genderology, and voodoo? Detransitioners, desisters, and regretters are real, and our numbers are growing. The majority of language acquisition occurs during childhood. "Cat" or "dog," "man," "woman," "boy," "girl" are complex terms. If an adult like me can be misled into a fantasy of changing sex, how can children be expected to navigate queer theory's thousand gender identities or understand the impossibility of being born in the wrong body? ​ By the grace of God, I survived this. ​


Scott's Story

Scott Newgent

Scott's Story Here

"You're the transman Scott Newgent, from the ‘What Is a Woman’ documentary, right? Don’t we know each other?” I immediately look down to avoid eye contact. It's one thing to be remembered for a great success in life. It’s quite another to be recognized for the single most significant regret you have, one that never releases its grip, leading to a life mirroring the Biblical Job:unending physical and mental health trials as well as financial tribulations - and I say this as an agnostic. The woman refuses to leave my table, where I am desperately looking for a work-from-home job, as I‘m now without the finances for a car. Her insistence forces me to look up and I recognize her; mortification doubles into fervent pain. As I open my mouth to engage in conversation with a woman who is not going to have it any other way, my mortification triples. I indeed do know this woman and her husband and children; I knew them on a deep level, the type of meeting that only happens once but leaves a soul forever changed. Years prior, due to complications from gender-affirming medical transition, I was struggling with urinary infections that were nonstop for seventeen months. One round of antibiotics would lift the pain from unbearable to slightly bearable and enable me to work the full-time job I desperately needed. I’d recently had a phalloplasty, otherwise known as transman “bottom surgery.” I needed good health insurance because my state did not have a qualified surgeon to take on the ensuing complications, leaving me fluttering from one ER on the weekend, then working five days, then bee-lining to another ER the following Friday. The health insurance from this sales job would cover the costs in another state with a capable surgeon willing to fix me, but not until I had the money to pay. And so I had to endure three months of ring-around-the-ER-posey. This game I was forced to play left me with lasting financial debt that I will never be able to repay - yet another regret. One major regret - having experimental bottom surgery - led to a cascade of others. For me, gender transition was and continues to be dangerous, causing massive and recurring health issues. It was not successful and cured nothing. It gave me PTSD. My left arm, from which the skin was taken to create a faux phallus, has essentially left me disabled. My right arm - my good arm - recently was diagnosed with hairline fractures because I stopped taking testosterone a little while ago. I basically now have brittle bones decades too soon. I have been let go from good-paying jobs because of my activism. Over five years ago, I began a fight to stop childhood medical transition. I started by helping write the first bill that was heard in North Dakota and have not relented, obsessed with saving children from my disastrous decision to transition medically rapidly, becoming one of the leading worldwide voices to stop childhood medical transition. Yes, a transman is leading the fight, and that in itself should cause you pause. I have dedicated my life to stopping my childhood medical transition, and the obligation has weighed heavy on my own family. I’m crippled with debt. I’m trans and I cannot detransition, even though I’d like to. The process has gone too far - there is no turning back. And so all I can do is try to be as resilient as Job, even though I understand no better. The woman in the coffee shop is still there, smiling at me, oblivious to the regrets that flash through my mind. "Oh my, Scott, how are you? We saw you in the documentary and were so thankful to see you alive; we have been worried about you for years. How are you now? Scott, what powerful testimony you have and are giving to so many." The smiling wife had been a customer before my appointment with the surgeon who was going to fix my original botched phalloplasty. I had done it! I finally had my insurance activated: success. But the insistent infections had taken their toll on my health, both physically and emotionally. A month prior, a doctor from my ER hopping insisted I get a PIC line put in my arm, the same tube they insert for cancer patients to receive IV their biweekly treatment. This tube traveled up my arm and ended right at the entrance of my heart, remaining for over 30 days. Each day, I would wake up, go to the hospital and receive IV antibiotics before I headed off to sell windows in people's homes. This woman wasn’t just a customer - she was my last customer. I distinctly recall the pain I had felt as an infection pulled on my bladder like daggers, but that quickly faded as I was embraced by the love and warmth emanating from the depths of this family's home. I was giving my presentation, saying "Here is the latch that opens the windows," when she interrupted me: "Scott, sweetie, you have blood running down your legs.” The kindness and genuine concern I felt from this couple, despite being strangers at the time, created a sense of comfort I will never forget. Their rare empathy hit a nerve within me, and I could not stop the tears I knew were coming. Once they started to flow, they didn't stop. I could not catch my breath, hyperventilating into the embrace of this woman and her husband. It was in his strong grasp I lost the ability to stand, yet I stayed upright because he held me along with his wife as his mammoth arms encircled us both. It was this nurturing man who began to comfort me in a whisper, "Shhh, it's ok, Scott, it's gonna be ok, you're ok, let it out." He reminded me of my father, who’d passed away a decade prior. Even though we were the same age, I felt from him a fatherly love I clearly must have needed. I was so grateful. Now here she was, years later, as I continued to try to navigate the complexity of emotion that characterizes regret, neither black nor white, positive nor negative, burden nor lesson, but all of these things, fueling internal growth whether I liked it or not. It is the degree of the negative that fuels the intensity of our regret; the harsher the adverse implications, the deeper the regret seeps into our consciousness. So yes, my regret is possibly as deep as it gets. I looked up at the expectant woman to give her my answer. “How am I? I’m still alive. And I live for my three kids.” When I was at my lowest, I thought about giving up entirely. But my kids’ faces came before and I made a promise: to live and to tell others about what happened to me. I’m far from perfect, as a person and as a parent. But I try. I try to help others so they don’t have the regrets that I have. Because of my regret and trying to make amends, my kids have had to grow up faster and better. But they are thriving, and that is everything. The woman smiled then and wished me well. I go back to looking at the want-ads with the free wifi from the coffee shop. I’m still an agnostic, but I’m also better off than Job. As a transgender man, I made the decision to undergo a medical transition, a choice which has brought about unintended consequences for my children. While I now recognize the detriment this decision has had on their well-being, there is an internal struggle I face in reconciling the need to raise awareness and understanding within society. On one hand, I am grateful for the opportunity to educate others and save other people's children from similar struggles. However, this gratitude is juxtaposed with the pain I witness my own children enduring as a result of my decision. It is a constant battle between acknowledging the selfishness underlying my initial choice and the desire to make a positive impact on society. Each day, I find myself grappling with regrets and questioning if this internal conflict will ever find resolution or if peace will ever be attained. The sheer magnitude of emotions I experience is overwhelming, and I am uncertain about how best to navigate through. Nonetheless, I am committed to understanding and addressing the consequences of my actions on my children's lives. I’ve endured the worst kind of suffering and the worst kind of regret. But I’m still here, and I’ll see my children grow up and for this I am forever grateful.

Corinna Cohn is a writer, podcaster, and activist from Indiana. Corinna was diagnosed with gender identity disorder at age 15 and underwent surgical transition at age 19. In 2019, Corinna became involved in patient advocacy, and in 2022 began organizing to support legislation that regulates gender medicalization of minors.

Corinna Cohn

Regret or Survival

I recently made a bad joke at a friend’s expense and instead of it coming off as teasing humor, it struck like a hammer. I was trying to be playful, but instead I caused hurt. Now, the memory keeps rising unbidden and it makes my cheeks flush with mortification. However, more profound regrets often stem from pivotal life choices, not just embarrassing moments. Regret is harder to understand when it’s been tightly wound around deeper and more difficult life experiences, especially related to choices we make during our formative years. As teenagers we are subjected to all types of novel and exciting ideas. We explore them, we play with them, and we try them on like outfits. Some of these ideas outrage our parents, and that makes them even more appealing. Throughout adolescence we have a belief that we’re the captains of our ships. It’s difficult for us to notice how impressionable we are and how we are moved to emulate our peers. We reject accusations that we’re conforming to a group or being influenced by peer pressure. In truth, even as adults we’re not immune from adapting views and attitudes from our friends and associates. We humans are social creatures; it’s in our nature. Looking backwards, the choices we’ve made during this stage of our life seem surreal. Our accumulated experience and wisdom can leave us akin to strangers to our younger selves. We are bereft of explanations when called to account for our decisions. It can be difficult to summon a sense of regret for events from which you’ve been alienated, even if you played a critical, causal role. Regret requires a sense of agency and participation. If you’re a victim of a disaster you will suffer agony, but if you caused the disaster you’ll know regret. If I could change my past, would I? Perhaps I would, but I’m not sure that it would be possible. I’d still be in a broken family home with a distant father and a co-dependent mother. I’d still be socially isolated from my peers, understanding masculinity like an outsider taking notes. I’d still be searching for affirmation and community on the early Internet, vulnerable to the influences of adults who ought to have known better. What could I practically change? Was I ever aware of a juncture that could have avoided an inevitable outcome? Did I ever make a choice, or was I swept along with the flood, paddling to keep my head above turbulent waters? It’s a blur. Those of us who underwent gender transition during adolescence may not reach for the word “regret” to describe our feelings and experiences, yet no single alternative stands out, but the one I prefer is this: survival. Rather than obsessing over things we can no longer change (even if we could), instead we should think about how we’ll endure the burden of our history. Regret cannot be resolved by rumination. We can only accept the terms of our present reality and make deliberate choices going forward.

Prisha Mosley


Prisha Mosley speaks out publicly about the harm she has suffered through medical transion. She was young and very vulnerable when doctors and the trans community convinced her that medical transition was the solution to all of her problems. It wasn't! Now Prisha testifies across the country sharing the TRUTH about what happened to her, speaking candidly about the physical damage she still suffers from. Prisha shares her thoughts on her YouTube Channel (Prisha Mosley) and on X (@detransaqua) to WARN OTHERS through her first hand experience. Prisha has made a commitment to doing her part to stop child medical transition and the indoctrination of children and vulnerable adults.

Prisha Mosley

Prisha's Story

"My name is Prisha Mosley. As a vulnerable child, I was convinced that I had only two options: transition or die. I was lied to about the nature and root of my distress. Instead of investigative or trauma based therapy, I was convinced that my puberty was a disease and that all of my problems were caused by being born in the wrong body. My doctors lied to me when they told me I could change sex. They lied about the results and outcome of gender transition. They lied about and obstructed facts about the dangers of GAC. I will live with lifelong medical regret because of the vulnerability and naivety of my youth and doctors' choices to exploit that. Regret is real."

Scott Newgent

Follow Scott @NotScottNewgent

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