Reflections on Gender-Affirming Care
It seems like, for many involved, this is just a process of getting through things. A clinician from the World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH) mentioned that they felt like everyone was “winging it.” I think that’s kind of telling. Maybe we’re all just stumbling along together.
The “it” they were referencing involved a lot of uncertainty around bodies like mine. This lack of care led to long-lasting scars, both physically and mentally.
When I was around 15, I first heard about transgender issues, and I felt a strong connection to what was being said. I kind of hated my body back then. Diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and anorexia, I often felt discomfort in my own skin. Seeking help for my mental health, I ended up at a doctor’s office. After just one appointment, I walked away with a letter approving testosterone.
One promise changed everything for me, driving me down a path that led to irreversible damage. I believed a doctor who told me that transitioning was essential for my well-being, saying that undergoing surgery would save my life and prevent suicide. I really thought transitioning would end my mental anguish.
I truly wasn’t mature enough to grasp that I was being medically mistreated by having parts of my healthy body removed. Those who claimed to be “experts” didn’t seem to notice or even care. They were merely improvising.
Doctors are sworn to “do no harm.” But as a teenager dealing with major mental health struggles, I didn’t realize I was essentially being treated like a test subject. I sought help out of desperation; I was in pain and, honestly, didn’t want surgery at all.
There’s a whole field built around supporting at-risk youth that doesn’t involve experimenting on their developing bodies. This shouldn’t involve subjecting children to permanent changes without sufficient long-term data, informed consent, or adequate care.
This article hit me hard. The phrase “spread your wings” has been repeating in my mind. But that’s what happened to me—I’m not alone in this experience. Too many stories like mine exist, and I feel it’s important to share mine.
The repercussions of these professionals just “getting by” haunt me. They’re there in moments of self-reflection, or even when I’m with my own kids, reminding me of what was done to me in the name of compassion.
When I consider how carelessly decisions were made, I wonder how medical professionals can justify their actions. How could they gamble with the futures of children, including my own?
The harsh truth is that many doctors seem to have a greater concern for their agendas than for the patients they’re supposed to protect. I now have a child, and medical decisions made about my body when I was still a kid have impacted their life too.
Because of those decisions, I miss experiences like breastfeeding my son—my body simply wasn’t meant for the transformations I went through. Yet the people charged with my care ignored their own doubts and proceeded anyway.
They were improvising. With my life. And the lives of many others.
As a troubled teenager, I thought I was seeking life-saving treatment. It’s only now that I understand the doctors I trusted were rewriting my future with little concern for my well-being. The persistent question nagging at me is painfully simple: Why didn’t they do more to protect me?
Regardless of the reasons, it’s crucial for the medical community to take responsibility—not just for the harm caused to people like me but to ensure that vulnerable children are not subjected to similar experiences. Young individuals should never have to undergo irreversible procedures based on shaky assumptions.
Moreover, parents should not feel coerced into allowing experimental treatments disguised as reliable solutions. Children deserve to grow up knowing that those entrusted to care for them weren’t just making it up as they went along.
