Sinead

Sinead, 29.

People on Twitter have told me I’m not genuinely trans, that I’m transphobic, or that I am a sock account. There are people who refuse to accept there are a growing number of detransitioners. Some think that just our existence hurts trans people. On the other hand I have found it hard to hear some feminists refer to detransitioned women as mutilated, or say trans women are grotesque, because I have trans friends.

I wanted to be a boy when I was younger. From 15 it intensified. I googled “I’m a woman but I wish I was a man” and through the power of the internet I found out about [gender] dysphoria and transition.

I had an extreme envy of men and an extreme resentment of myself. I just thought men were better. In a way I had my own strange kind of sexism.

A few painful and difficult things have happened to me that I think were behind me wanting to be a man and not be a woman. I know I was not in the wrong, but they are things I can’t talk about publicly. What I know now is that transitioning wasn’t the way to deal with those things. You go to the gender clinic and within a couple of months you’re on testosterone. The psychiatrist said I was trans. I thought if they prescribed me testosterone then I must be trans. Aside from general questions, no one explored if there were other issues or challenged me.

I’ve tried to talk about background issues with therapists, but gender dysphoria was seen as the cause of my problems and not a symptom of them. Actually I think my gender issues came out of mental health issues, not the other way around.

I felt better when I went out as “Sean”, especially when the testosterone kicked in and my fat redistributed and my voice got deeper. Men stopped looking at me. I thought transitioning was the best thing I had ever done. I was so happy.

The fact is, though, I’ve never drunk as much as when I was Sean. I still hated that I was female. I was still depressed. I still had to drink myself blind to forget. Going to the pub as Sean wasn’t enough to counter that, and I had a breakdown. After that I knew I had to deal with the problems. I realised that I wasn’t trans, and I should never have gone down the medical route.

When I first detransitioned it was hard to accept that I wasn’t a trans man or a “normal” woman either. These days I’m completely apathetic about the results of the testosterone and the mastectomy scars. I don’t like them, I don’t hate them. And that’s progress.

But I still have those dark nights when I sit alone in a room and I think I’m ruined, disfigured and damaged, and I’m not even 30 yet. And then I get better nights when I think it could be worse. I could have got a phalloplasty. I don’t want to be insensitive to other detransitioned women who did get a phalloplasty, but I’m glad I didn’t get one.

I don’t like shaving — I didn’t shave when I was Sean — but if I go to the shops now I shave my face and if I’m wearing a V-neck top I shave my chest. I always wear a hat so people can’t see my baldie bit. I’d like to work towards more confidence. Dating is off the table for me, at least for now. I feel like I would have to tell someone about my trans past and that I have been masculinised.

I’m in group chats with other detransitioners. I know about 100 detransitioned women myself. But we all know others who aren’t active online or in group chats. The official numbers of detransitioners aren’t collected, they aren’t known at the moment. But I think we are the tip of the iceberg. There will be many of us to come.

I wish the psychiatrist at the gender identity clinic [in the UK] had given me a better assessment. Part of me wants to go back to the clinic to look my psychiatrist in the face again, but I know that’s driven by anger. I don’t think they can help me, so there is no point in going back.

I want detransitioners to know they are not alone and they can come forward and find other people to talk to. I hope when people see these stories and photographs, they will see that even though we have been changed by testosterone and surgery we are still strong and beautiful, just in a less stereotypical way. We are still women.