My Beautiful Son
Part 1 - How my son became trapped in a trans cult
I want to tell you a story about a sensitive, caring, quirky, beautiful boy, who once loved to jump into water from great heights, and to scale rocks with confidence and courage.
Somewhere along the way his light dimmed. He fell into depression, and started self harming, he told us he’d tried to kill himself, and most recently he began injecting himself with oestrogen—medication he sourced online, without medical oversight.
This is hard for me to talk about. It may take time, because it hurts.
And honestly I don’t expect you to understand, I expect you will either think that I am a parent who should accept my sons new identity, or that he is a threat to women and trying to invade their spaces.
But it's not that simple. None of this is.
Let me tell you about my son and our family. We live in a rural area, a place we chose so that our children had access to beautiful beaches, and space around them.
When I was pregnant with my son I was active, running regularly until I was about seven or eight months along. I had hoped for a home birth, but like many birth stories, things didn’t go according to plan. I was taken to the hospital for what I still believe was an unnecessary C-section. The transition into motherhood was tough. I went from being strong and active to recovering from major abdominal surgery while trying to care for a newborn who rarely slept.
My son wasn’t an easy baby, and I was inexperienced. I often felt unsure of what to do, I was angry and frustrated at times, but we got through those early years. Above all, he was deeply loved and cared for—that part was never in question.
As he grew, it was clear he was different from other kids. People often told us he was bright, and he developed unique interests that set him apart from many boys his age. He loved loom bands—remember those? He even taught himself to crochet and made the most intricate, beautiful creations. He seemed happy in primary school, and he was making friends. At one point, someone suggested he might be autistic, but at the time, we felt he was coping well with life. He was thriving in his own way, and a diagnosis didn’t feel necessary then.
During those primary school years, he joined Scouts, where he got involved in lot’s of activities. He began rock climbing and quickly took to it with focus and determination. He also rode his bike, often pedalling off to visit friends in the neighbourhood. He was adventurous, social in his own way, and seemed to be growing into himself with confidence.
But everything changed when he started secondary school.
That’s when the bullying began. With it came secrecy, and a deepening sense of insecurity that slowly started to direct him on a path of destruction.