Detransitioner Prisha Mosley says motherhood revealed the true cost

My name is Prisha Mosley. I am an anti-transitioner, an advocate, and now a mother.

When I was a teenager, I believed that I was a boy trapped in a girl’s body.

I found this idea on the internet. For me, the blogging platform was Tumblr. Today, it is TikTok, Instagram and other platforms whose algorithms serve inappropriate content to vulnerable children. The platforms may be different, but the social contagion is the same. I was a young, struggling, questioning young man. I was extremely open about my mental health and self-esteem issues on these platforms, and before I knew it, the wrong people were eager to convince me of exactly what was wrong, namely that I was born in the wrong body, and how I could supposedly fix myself.

The apparent “fix”? Beginning to identify as my “true self” and medicalizing myself along the way.

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The trans community felt like a place where I finally found meaning. It was full of people like me who felt out of place in their own lives. People who tell me I’m not broken or confused are just misunderstood. I really trusted them. I trusted trans activists who told me that my pain stemmed from my innate transness. And above all, I trusted the doctors and therapists who told me that transition was the only way forward.

This misplaced trust cost me more than I could have ever imagined.

I spent years on high doses of testosterone. I had a double mastectomy. These interventions were presented to me as necessary and caused permanent damage before I was old enough to understand what permanence meant.

And now, as a mother, I understand this loss differently.

Motherhood changes you. It changes how you weigh the costs of decisions. It sharpens your sense of what is important and what is unimportant. It forces you to think beyond yourself and consider not just who you are, but what you can give.

Now, mostly when I’m holding my child, there are moments when the weight of these decisions weighs more than ever before. These include things that have been taken away from me physically: affecting my future, my health, and my ability to fully emerge as the mother I want to be.

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For example, my scarred chest, where my breasts once were, is numb. What I often think about is that laying my baby on my chest and setting my chest on fire will make me feel the same way: like nothing. If it weren’t for the doctors and therapists who pushed me down the medical pathway when I was most vulnerable, I would have felt my sweet baby’s head on my chest.

Worse than the numbness was the searing pain of mastectomy complications that set in years after birth. My surgeon left pieces of my breast tissue, which caused my milk to come in. However, due to the nature of the surgery and the grafting done on my nipples, the milk remained in my breast. I couldn’t breastfeed my newborn baby. This excruciating experience changed my perspective on pain and grief, emotionally and physically.

I lament that thousands of other children are now being told and pressured by doctors and therapists that their trauma and discomfort can be resolved by destroying their perfect bodies.

I’m sorry I wasn’t protected. I regret that there is no sane doctor or adult who would think this is not the best way forward; After all, my family was misled by doctors and therapists just like me. I am saddened that the professionals I trusted saw my confusion and ultimately deep trauma as something to validate rather than something to work through and understand.

But most of all, I lament that thousands of other children are now being told, and pressured by doctors and therapists, that their trauma and discomfort can be resolved by destroying their perfect bodies.

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I was that kid once. I know exactly how it started. This starts with them looking for ways to relieve the pressure. They get sucked in and eventually feel comfortable. They feel celebrated by a person or group, and they finally feel accepted after being starved for so long. Eventually they will go to the same clinics and doctors’ offices as me and release dopamine for a short time. But for many untransitioned people like me, this disappears over time.

When I started speaking out about my experiences, I lost the support of the trans community almost as quickly as I gained it. The same people who once supported me unconditionally have turned their backs on me. I have been harassed, threatened, and even slandered for telling the truth about what happened to me.

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For a community supposedly built on love and acceptance, they find it very difficult to love and accept those who may have had negative experiences or downright manipulative experiences during the transition. I have received no love or acceptance from them since I realized that my “trans identity” was hurting me. I had to find support elsewhere.

This Mother’s Day, I am grateful for my children. I am constantly grateful for the perspective motherhood has given me. But this gratitude coexists with a truth that I cannot ignore. No mother should look back and realize that nearly every health outcome during her pregnancy and postpartum period resulted from misguided decisions. No mother should have to lay her baby down on a flat, numb chest. And more importantly, no mother should see her children go the same way I did and realize they are being exploited.

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