The Progressive Rebranding of Conversion Therapy
The "intoxicating allure of blind validation", by Ginny Welsh
Early in my connection with the trans community, it struck me that almost everyone I encountered shared my struggles with negative self-image, self-harm, and/or suicidal ideation.
The immediate feeling was one of solidarity, an all-too-rare understanding. We were all tortured by something, whether or not we could identify it, and were seeking extremes for some semblance of relief. At fourteen—depressed, isolated, and confused—it felt like there might finally be a reason for my suffering. Maybe it wasn’t just the constant bullying or the childhood sexual assault I couldn’t yet name. Maybe I was in pain because I was living a lie. If that were the case, perhaps I could rewrite my story.
It seemed so simple then. If I were a boy, no one would mock my love for girls shining through too brightly. I could be loud, rough, or angry without shame. I wouldn’t have to fear men with every cell of my body. Of course, I wanted to die—there were no women like me in the world, no future I could dig my fingers into. Every transgender blog I found parroted that cisgender people did not question their gender. If you did for any significant amount of time, it was a sign of transness.
Whenever my self-doubt echoed into the vastness of the internet, a dozen confident voices responded that I was living the trans experience. That must mean I wasn’t a woman, right? The freedoms afforded to men—walking undisturbed, careless, bodies free from the thousands of eyes that seemed to haunt my every move—seemed priceless, the key to a better life through testosterone vials and operating theaters. I asked my young self, “What could be less womanly than this? Unshaven, girl-crazy, awkward, rough?” The patriarchy roared its agreement, a deafening din even at fourteen. Since I wasn’t bowing to the traditional Christian woman’s lot, I remained convinced my choice was liberation.
Creeping Conversion
I always knew conversion therapy was wrong to my core. My rage flared before I could defend myself in arguments, frantically searching for words to explain the obvious differences between homosexuality and bestiality at the dinner table. The pit in my stomach was bottomless. I ached for a world that would accept me, and isolation spiraled me deeper into the internet. I couldn’t yet see how the model of transition that would sweep me away was its own form of conversion therapy, repackaged as progress.
The very premise of transition depends on a belief in gender roles as truth. If you are female and do not conform to the gender role assigned to your sex, you are stripped of your womanhood. If you were a real woman, you would rejoice in “womanly” things. If you are male and enjoy “women’s” things, you are obviously at least nonbinary, because no real man would think or act that way.
Once I noticed that the only women assumed to be nonbinary were those who subverted gender roles, it sank in how regressive the concept is. The irony is so apparent now, but at the time, it seemed to make sense. Everything was new and exciting. Transition was something to live for. It didn’t matter that it broke my healthy body down, ballooning and deflating it like rot in the heat. In this environment, you must welcome any change because you’re so lucky to be transitioning. “Trans elders” encouraged me to move fast: start hormones, change everything you can while you’re young, or it would never get better.
“Do all you can as soon as possible; you owe it to everyone who lacks access,” they goaded. “Life can never truly begin until you transition.” Being a woman was reduced to performing femininity. Of course, I sought an escape. Both religious conversion therapy and the trans community reject gender nonconformity, but in different languages: religious conversion therapy tries to change your behavior to “align” with the gender roles attached to your sex, while trans conversion therapy treats gender roles as the yardstick of identity, assuming any lack of alignment with gender roles indicates a lack of alignment with your sex.
The Cost of “Community”
Although my transition was tearing my body and mind apart, creating medical issues I didn’t even know existed, it was also a fun and powerful experience at times. The exhilaration of passing as a man in risky situations or as a straight couple after facing lesbophobia for years was undeniable. It is appealing to hide from the systems of oppression that have haunted me my entire life. There is a validation of the delusion and a reinforcement of the protection it can provide. It also opens you to a community that radically accepts most things, with some members even defending horrific violence as long as a trans person was the perpetrator.
The intoxicating allure of blind validation can swiftly propel one toward extremism, and any extreme belief may seem rational when echoed by trusted peers. This is evident in the vicious attitude the trans community has toward anyone who detransitions. Acknowledging the potential for harm challenges their belief system, and the wider trans community silences opposing voices at all costs.
The emotional pull of this community has extreme highs and lows—easy to fall into and hard to escape. It draws on the deep need to be loved, seen, and accepted, but sources the solution from the same poisoned well of gender roles it claims to reject. It’s taken years of healing to form the words around this experience, and I hope more people harmed by transition feel empowered to do the same.
Ginny Welsh is an artist and writer who spent her teen and early adult years enthralled with the world of transition. Though her medical transition would be seen as "successful", the process was one of medical neglect and destruction. Disillusioned by the culture of delusion, lies, and inevitable health issues associated with transition, she finally began her detransition in 2024. She now lives as a happily married lesbian, deconstructing the industry of transition through her work.
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Thank you so much for sharing your story.
Indeed: "The intoxicating allure of blind validation can swiftly propel one toward extremism, and any extreme belief may seem rational when echoed by trusted peers. This is evident in the vicious attitude the trans community has toward anyone who detransitions. Acknowledging the potential for harm challenges their belief system, and the wider trans community silences opposing voices at all costs."
Both detransitioners and parents are silenced by trans activists by any and all means. I write about the parent part, but our stories have similarities about what happens when we speak up and/or question gender identity ideology.