Tumblr — A Call-Out Post

by Helena

Helena is a 20-year-old woman who identified first as nonbinary, and later as a transgender man, from 2013 through 2018. In 2016, she began medical transition by taking testosterone, and detransitioned two years later. Helena was an avid Tumblr user during the time she thought she was trans. In retrospect she can see the profound influence the social media platform had on her life and the development of her trans identity —  and the impact it continues to have on many young people. In this article, Helena dissects Tumblr as a platform, explaining to the uninitiated that its very structure lends itself to the self-referential ruminations of troubled teens–teens attempting to navigate and find their place in the identity-besotted cyber-culture that has all but replaced in-person interactions in the 21st century.

This piece will is the first of three that analyze aspects of Tumblr Helena has observed as detrimental to the massive numbers of youth who call the site their virtual home. Part 2 can be found here. Helena can be found on Twitter @lacroicsz and is a member of the Pique Resilience Project. She is available to interact in the comments section of this post.


helena lord of the flies 2We’ve all read Lord of the Flies, right? A bunch of tween boys get stranded on an island and all of their deepest, most repressed urges surface as they desperately attempt to organize and manage the tiny preteen society they’ve found themselves in. The novel ends in bloodshed, as the author theorizes that the immaturity, communication breakdown, and decision making difficulties one would find in a group of adolescent boys would create a chamber of destruction. How would it have ended differently, some have asked, if the story was one of a stranded group of girls? What would happen if every troubled, isolated, self-loathing, depressed, and emotionally overwrought teenage girl in the world wound up alone on an island?

Tumblr. Tumblr would happen.

Tumblr: you either love it, hate it, or have no clue what it is. Tumblr is the microblogging platform that has given birth to some of the most intensely devoted fan bases online, with over 456 million registered accounts as of 2019. While known widely for fandom-related art, writing, and discussion, there is another, darker aspect of Tumblr that requires a better acquaintance with online communities to understand. In many corners of the internet, Tumblr is known as the core of a certain brand of leftist ideology, not-so-affectionately dubbed the “Social Justice Warriors.” It is these “SJWs” that have taken the site from a platform for fan content to a highly influential ideological powerhouse.

Tumblr login pageHowever, an analysis of Tumblr as simply a bunch of “crazy SJWs” does not do the site justice. To understand Tumblr and its influence in youth mental health, culture and politics, you must realize that Tumblr is not simply a site some people visit to share their opinions or look at pictures. You must stop viewing it as merely a website, but as more of a dimension: it has its own social rules, hierarchies, ideologies, and interconnected communities. As a site where millions of people, mainly teenage girls cut off from the outside world, maintain constant daily connection, it has developed into a true culture–the mammoth hub of alternative teenage lifestyle.

Most people are aware of the new challenges our increasingly online culture presents to us. The internet has given rise to a slew of new concerns about psychological impacts, particularly pertaining to previously nonexistent and more covert forms of predatory or manipulative behavior. Tumblr is, of course, just one website out of many that raises these concerns, so why does Tumblr specifically matter? It matters because Tumblr, to millions of its users, is not simply a social media platform. It is their world, the place where these teens make their deepest friendships, express their most vulnerable selves, and begin to develop their own identities. It is also the world from which a surprising amount of our modern-day social justice ideology emerges.

The internet is the 21st century town square, and it is no secret that the discourse that takes place on it is at the forefront of every aspect of our society and politics, Twitter being perhaps the most notable example. On Tumblr, there is a running joke that “Twitter is everything Tumblr was three years ago;”  in other words, whatever social justice topic is fashionable on Twitter at any given time has long since been beaten dead on Tumblr. As someone who spent 2011 to 2016 on Tumblr, and 2016 to 2019 on Twitter, I can confirm this as true–the discourse we see on the liberal sides of Twitter would have been seen on Tumblr three years ago.

helena terf reblog.jpg

Recursive antiterf virtue signaling

When I check up on some of the current Twitter topics (such as queer theory) on Tumblr in 2019, the conversations are far more intricate and removed from reality than they are currently on Twitter. As time progresses, the seriously confused debates and ideas cooking within the Tumblr echo chamber find their way to other platforms and push those user bases in the same direction. This is scary because, unlike Tumblr, Twitter is taken very seriously. Citizens can converse with politicians, celebrities, and influencers in a way that was never possible before, and activists can reach a spectrum of people who would have otherwise never listened to them. Now, when I think about the kind of ideologies I subscribed to as a teenager on Tumblr, and as I see them being played out on Twitter and in the real world years later, it deeply concerns me. My concern about this trend is exacerbated even further when I realize that most people do not understand the planet from which many aspects of online activism emerge. And this lack of understanding is shared by a wide demographic, including professionals, parents, and confused Leftists and Liberals blindsided by the turn activism has taken in the last half decade.

Now, before I begin the first installment of this adventure through the space-Tumblr continuum, I must issue a disclaimer: I am no expert in psychology, sociology, or social media. Research into the complexities of social media and the various platforms’ effects on human communication and mental health is a growing field, with new empirical studies emerging rapidly. My observations as a former daily user of Tumblr are purely that: my observations. This being said, I have insight into the site that gives me an advantage over those who may be curious from the outside, experts or not. When I look back on my time spent on Tumblr, I am overwhelmed by the many malignant qualities I see reflected in my own actions and beliefs, and those of the site’s current and former user base. After mulling it over (and spending way too much time scouring the site for visible patterns of dysfunctional behavior), I have identified three crucial aspects that make Tumblr the problem it is, the first of which I’ll discuss in this article.

#1 Tumblr is designed in a way that fundamentally enables extreme groupthink, manipulation of information, destructive interactions, and distorted ways of thinking.

Information on Tumblr is shared in two main ways: posts and reblogs. Posts are content that users share on their Tumblr blogs. Posts can take the form of text, imagery, quotes, links, audio, or video. Reblogs are posts that users share that originally appeared on the blogs of other Tumblr users. If you are familiar with Twitter, the concept of “tweets” and “retweets” is a good comparison. When a user reblogs a post, they have the option to add a comment that will appear below the original post’s text. Other users may reblog the content further, each time adding their own comments. Eventually, you may have a long comment chain emerging from a single reblog.

helena reblog example.jpg
Above is an example of Tumblr’s reblog and caption system at work. At the top is the original post, and the bottom two comments are the comments that existed on the version of this post at the time the person who reblogged the chain onto my dashboard chose to reblog it. There may be countless other versions of this post that others are reblogging, with different captions added onto it, all under the same original post. All the interactions, including likes, reblogs, captions, and replies that exist for this post can be seen by clicking the “notes” indicator on the bottom left hand side.

Innocuous as this may seem from the screenshot above, it is this very feature of Tumblr that I find to be one of the most problematic. On posts that are more emotionally or politically charged, it’s not uncommon for users to reblog full blown arguments that, by the last visible caption in that particular version of the post, arrive at a conclusion, often reflecting the beliefs of their established social circle. This prevents the reader from ingesting the point the original poster was trying to make and coming to their own logical conclusion, because they have a certain version of a back and forth dialogue laid out for them, often expressed in a very intense and polarized way that makes the final conclusion seem more correct simply because of the way the argument is framed. Unless one has the self awareness to check the full amalgamation of comments in the notes section and attempt to decipher the jumbled mess of heated additions to the post, one isn’t going to get every side of the argument. Unbeknownst to the reader, there could be yet another comment after the “conclusion” that could completely flip their view on the topic once again.

After months, or years of developing opinions and a worldview through spoon-fed arguments that disengage the mind from processing the information at hand autonomously, critical thinking skills can take a serious hit. When one listens to a live debate or has an engaging conversation with another human being, information can be shared back and forth, enabling all parties present to grow from the debate, learn from each other, sharpen their critical thinking skills, and refine their own arguments and world views. On Tumblr, this necessary form of communication and intellectual development is often lost to this new sort of “factory farmed” way of forming opinions and debate (or lack thereof), resulting in highly opinionated youth who have never actually thought about what they believe and why they believe it. I once passionately held beliefs that I believed were my own, but when I tried to describe them in my own words, I would often arrive at a sort of mental barrier. As my peers and I exchanged scripted rationalizations, we were unable to connect the dots between the intellectual blind spots in our own minds.

As users read through the captions on a contentious post, especially if they are unfamiliar with the topic, it’s not uncommon for their opinions on the matter to flip back and forth with every comment they read as they go down the post. The reader then eventually arrives at the stern conclusion, which they are likely to adopt as their own. Readers may also feel pressure to agree with the dominant opinion in that particular snippet of the conversation, as the person framed as being “wrong” or the “loser” typically is indicated to be bigoted or stupid, often receiving backlash or public humiliation based on the particular version of the post a certain circle of users is reblogging.

When you try to navigate the world of Tumblr posts, the task of separating fact from fiction is herculean. A major part of the online experience for people with better critical-thinking skills is the constant effort to contextualize and cross-check events, claims, and sources. Children and teens often do not have these skills just yet, and it seems that Tumblr’s developers have failed to compensate for this at all. Sites like Facebook have claimed to take a stand against “fake news” while many users on Twitter and other sites encourage others to refrain from knee-jerk reactions to “news,” and to cross-check claims before letting the starving Rottweiler of outrage out of its kennel. Tumblr, however, has neither the self-aware user base to encourage such attitudes, nor a team of developers who seem to care about whether or not the confusion of Tumblr users is affecting their mental health, let alone influencing international public discourse.

Users can also interact more interpersonally in the form of “asks” (direct messages that can be answered either publicly or privately and have the option to be sent anonymously), as well as instant messaging via the Tumblr chat function. “Asks” will appear in the inbox, and are more often than not a variety of different types of messages as opposed to actual questions. The option for anonymity has allowed for this feature to be used as the primary method of bullying or harassment, as well as, interestingly enough, a method for users to send themselves messages, often hateful, to gain sympathy or manipulate discourse happening within their social circle.

When a user makes a statement that another group considers “problematic”, it is not uncommon for that user to be absolutely obliterated with anonymous messages demanding changed behavior, apologies, or simply exercising the sender’s desire to decimate someone online. When someone is harassed like this over a heretical statement, the entire situation, along with the mental state of the user being attacked, often descends into complete chaos.

It is expected that when you are called out, you immediately and calmly apologize (flog yourself) and promise to never do whatever it is you are being called out for again. Even then, it is hard to satiate the hungry mob. People who appear too calm can be accused of not taking the situation seriously or disrespecting the feelings and concerns of those who were offended. It is always a lose-lose-lose-lose….lose… situation, and as you may have already discerned, critical thinking in this atmosphere is nearly impossible. Without the anonymity of the ask feature, and the capability for one user to send multiple messages causing an illusion of a mass attack, mole hills would not be perceived as mountains as often as they are. What is in reality more likely to be an individual perceiving your words as offensive begins to feel like you have stepped on a mine that has just decimated the peace and order of your entire community, even if it really is just one or two people sending dozens of anonymous hate messages (often including to your friends and followers) and calling enough attention to the situation that your entire social circle is pressured to stand up and persecute you for your crimes.

To a young teen who knows no better source of community, this can feel devastating. There is intense pressure to avoid critical thought and embrace toxic tribal attitudes, heavily valuing conformance with ideology over individualism and loyalty to important relationships. When someone is accused, their friends are expected to sever ties with the accused, lest they themselves be accused of supporting or conspiring with a convicted transphobe, racist, or abuser, as perceived by the community. These experiences sound crazy, and they most certainly are, but they would not be happening to the extent and in the fashion that they do on different social media sites without some of the particular features mentioned above.

If that wasn’t enough, there is a final piece of inspiring web development that makes Tumblr unique: Tumblr posts don’t have timestamps. Unlike your timeline on Twitter, Reddit, or YouTube, your Tumblr dashboard offers no way of knowing when something was posted. It could have been four hours ago or four years ago. It’s not uncommon for posts written in urgency about a certain situation, oftentimes having been previously debunked (even in the notes sometimes! Too bad 99% of the user base would never think to check. See what I mean about that being a problem?) to continue circulating years later, inspiring misinformed or unnecessary fear within readers. This lack of time context can seriously distort a person’s perception of events or political and social climate. Too many users are getting their news, partaking in a community, developing a sociopolitical ideology, and curating their own identities based on internet posts floating around in a vacuum devoid of reference to reality; not even time.

“Call-out culture,” the pervasive danger of groupthink, attitudes towards mental illness, and militant activism are all topics I will analyze in more depth as this investigation progresses in later installments. As concerned adults or Tumblr veterans, we must understand that these noxious conditions are a result of the site’s fundamental building blocks and not purely a reflection of the character of the individuals who use it. Tumblr seems to be designed for destruction, and it’s incredibly sad that one of the only places so many young people feel able to express themselves is also oriented in a way that seriously compromises their emotional and intellectual development. This online world feels like a necessity for so many young people. I myself wonder if I would have survived the most turbulent and depressed years of my young adolescence if it were not for the capacity for self expression and friendship I found on Tumblr. This is why we have to understand the many ways in which the site has gone wrong, and how these outcomes can be traced down to Tumblr’s very roots. Consider the fact that adolescent distress is being fed into a convoluted mechanism designed for distortion, and the whole thing begins to make a lot more sense.

Thank you for reading, and I look forward to sharing more of this online world with the real one. Stay tuned for Parts 2 and 3.

Baptised in Fire: A relieved desister’s story

by Sam

Sam (not her real name), 22, identified as trans between the ages of 16-19. A relieved desister, she enjoys tidying, writing, and watching the weather. She lives in the United Kingdom. Sam is available to interact in the comments section of her article.

Sam joins several other desisters on 4thWaveNow who, along with their parents, have shared their experiences of rapid onset of gender dysphoria (ROGD) in adolescence.


I was not a trans child. I was a gender-conforming little girl, as far as children are ever completely gender-conforming.  I liked pretty clothes but I also jumped in the occasional mud-pit. I didn’t play with Lego very much, because I wasn’t particularly good at it, but who cares? Not I. I felt no discomfort with being a girl. I felt little discomfort with anything, really; I was a bossy, blunt, stubborn little girl with very important opinions about everything.

I was not overjoyed about puberty. I don’t think I’m alone in that! Bras–miserably restrictive. Periods–horrible. Men followed me home from school even when I was twelve and thirteen; I in my uniform was not a very pretty child, but that didn’t seem to be the point. I didn’t like high school because I didn’t understand how I was supposed to act. Being overtly smart, because I was, made people dislike me, so I tried being stupider, but even then, I was still doing it all wrong. I thought I wasn’t on the same wavelength as everyone else, which, of course, is what loads of people feel like. But I didn’t know that. My relationship with my parents wasn’t perfect, but it was good, and we all got on.

When I was in my teens, I got into a disaster of a relationship with a girl. I was no longer in control of myself, of my body, of when I slept and when I ate and where I could be when. Things got very difficult. As the situation became increasingly unhealthy, over a very short space of time I became deeply dysphoric. Suddenly I loathed my female body and its nauseating shapes and its catastrophic frailties with a vehemence I had never known before. I stood in the bathroom and knew I needed to wash but I couldn’t take off my shirt, I couldn’t, because of what was underneath it, so I went out foul. I lost a lot of weight–partly from stress and partly to prove I could still control one aspect of my body. The new flatness of my chest only relieved me, it felt good like nothing else in my life felt good. As my legs got scrawny and the line of my figure straighter I felt only relief. I dressed only in masculine clothing, chopped my hair very short, felt like it made me tough, mean, safe. I still remember the exact moment a man said, “Excuse me, mate” to me as he passed me. It felt so much better than being hit on, even if nothing felt very good anymore.

God, everything hurt. I was desperate, unspeakably desperate to be in control of my own body, in the middle of a situation in which I wasn’t. I wanted to be strong, but I wanted even more to disappear. I wanted everyone in the world to go away. If my body was different, I knew I would have power, to walk away, to STOP IT.

I knew a little about what this was that I was feeling, I’d looked it up online –oh, I’m trans.  I tried to tell my girlfriend that I was trans, that I wasn’t a girl. She carried on as if I had said nothing, wouldn’t humour me by using my new name. I was stung, confused. A friend gave me a binder. I got thinner. I was “he”, or maybe “they”, yes, that was nice, like a cool drink of water; just anyone not called “she”. The “she” I was walking around in felt disgusting to me. “She” was all wrong. Skinny male me, pleasantly mistaken for a boy, felt like a port in the storm, if still not enough. I wanted control, control, of my body, of my life, but not to be me as I had been, because whoever that was far away, getting further away all the time, waiting for all of this to be over. I wanted like hell to be everything I wasn’t, and I didn’t know that other people felt that way too, not just transgender, but apocalyptic, so I was all alone.

The relationship ended. I was in a bad way. I’d made a Tumblr blog, looking, really, for a space that I could have to myself to vent, and I found myself on it a lot more. There is good stuff on that website. But the nasty stuff is so easy to find and so hard to wriggle free of if you’re like I was: lonely, miserable, hollow, and utterly lost, uneasy about everything, because now that she was gone I wasn’t quite so sure about being a boy, but I knew very definitely I couldn’t be a girl. Everything was still all wrong.

It’s difficult to explain what the “nasty stuff” is if you haven’t spent time on there yourself, exactly how pervasive and focused the brainwashing is, how perverse and suffocating and addictive it can be. The convoluted and illogical discourse, the constant shifting of goalposts so you are always on your toes to know what can I say? What am I allowed to think? What does this word mean today? So many lies were told to me about gender, sex, oppression, people, love, health, and happiness. I didn’t get better, and neither did anyone else I spoke to, but we were assured that this way–with our made-up pronouns and our made-up genders and our self-diagnosed illnesses–was the right way. It was a real crabs-in-a-bucket mentality, where any criticism, even of downright abusive behaviour, was transphobic and/or ableist and/or racist. To suggest improving oneself, sorting out your life, was cruelty of the highest order; we were perfect as we were, they  cooed, and anyone saying otherwise hated us and everyone like us. Narcissism ruled supreme.

We copied the writing style everyone else used, and we copied what they said too. They said and then we said we were beautiful. They and then we said we were against the world, the cis world, the hateful world, the world that wasn’t ideologically pure like we were ideologically pure. Nobody suffered like us. We were martyrs, floating high above reproach and deserving, more than anyone, of every good thing in the world: comfort, other people’s money. We deserved to have every rule bent for us, because we were right and they were wrong.

I could go on, describing every argument they used to justify this attitude, but I doubt they’d work on you. A lot of us were young teens, vulnerable in some way, whether abused or ostracised from society or just weak-willed. They gave us a new self, and all the power in the world. We thought so ruthlessly, that people against us didn’t deserve to live, reasoned it out in our mad non-reason –horrible, horrible, icy, inhumanly mechanical thinking that I have never encountered anywhere else since. We didn’t think about what we said, we just repeated what we knew we were supposed to say, and really, truly thought we were expressing our own thoughts.

They told us that we could choose a gender, any gender, out of countless, that we could make up our own and they would be taken seriously; they were, but only ever by others on there. Words on Tumblr ceased to mean the same as in the real world. Words were made up. They said if we wanted to wear make-up, or pink, or feminine clothes, we had to have a label for that, and if we wanted to have short hair, and wear masculine clothes, we had to have a label for that too.

I am not even touching the language around sexual orientation, because that is a whole other article. If we liked to switch how we “presented”, we would have a label to describe that we switched, and we could also change our labels and our pronouns day-to-day to describe how we felt (FELT! That is the crux of all of this nonsense) each day. It is so, so exhausting to be constantly examining every desire, thought, inclination of your shifting, constantly changing adolescent self, trying to find a word to fit, only to question yourself again the next week, or day, or hour. We adjusted our entire sense of self once, again, again, again. Every time, distancing ourselves a bit more from the person we used to be, that we couldn’t bear to be anymore. (I think we knew the old us would be ashamed, so we hid our faces from them.)

The time I wasted! Years on this! The energy! They say “agender” means I don’t have a gender. Do I feel like that? How do I know? How can you “feel” that? They said this was freeing for us, to finally know what to call ourselves, but the boxes they said we had to choose from were so tiny we couldn’t fit, unless we had a hundred, and even then we didn’t feel satisfied. We were forcing ourselves apart into splinters until we weren’t people any more, just words, and words that didn’t mean anything.

Why on earth weren’t we happy? We were children who knew so little about the world, and we believed everything everyone on Tumblr said. They–and then we–all spoke with such perfect arrogance, like we knew everything. We knew we did. There was also an awareness we had–although never, ever voiced, even to ourselves –that if we were just a white, normal, “cis” kid, we couldn’t be part of this club. We were part of it because we were special, and we were special because we were part of the club.

I questioned nothing. I didn’t have one original thought. And I didn’t really feel a thing.

I never looked at myself and thought: girl. That wasn’t right, and what’s more, it was vile. I was something else. I knew it.

Well: my parents knew I was sad. All that I told you about above didn’t fulfil me, although I knew it had to, because I had nothing else. My misery was obvious. One day, I stopped being able to smile. I was so emotionally numb, and that frightened me. I just couldn’t make my face smile. As I spiralled deeper into the trans-cult, my parents & I had arguments over everything. I was snappy, I was mean, I was acting recklessly, I was telling them off for using language that the trans-cult said was bad, I was ignoring all of their eminently sensible and kind advice. I tried to tell them I wasn’t a girl, to use different pronouns when they referred to me.

baptised in fireWhile they weren’t angry, just bemused, and while they really did try, I never felt my parents’ efforts were good enough. It was horribly unfair of me to treat them this way when I myself was always unsure. Even when someone in the real world “validated” me, it didn’t feel as nice as it was supposed to. Why not? I didn’t know. Were they lying? Did they really get it? Why didn’t I feel happy for more than a few minutes, did it mean I was using the wrong words? I crawled back onto my online spaces for further fruitless introspection. Over time, I lost contact with virtually all my old real-life friends – I was no longer invited to anything. I must have been annoying as all hell.

One tiny event in particular– my poor parents, poor me, poor all of us– sticks in my head and makes me feel sick whenever I think of it:

I was in the car. They were driving me to a college lesson because I hadn’t got up in time, because I wasn’t sleeping. I hadn’t washed. Before I got out of the car, my mother gave me a five-pound note.

“It’s the “cheering-up Sam” fund,” she said.

I suppose it sounds silly. But it burns. I’m looking down at that five-pound-note in my hand, and it’s breaking my heart. They knew I was so sad, but what could they do? They loved me so much, but what could they do? What were they supposed to do? How could they possibly help me? I couldn’t hold a civil conversation with them. I was mad, wildly irrational. I knew I was in the wrong but my pride was searing me full of holes. I lost my temper when the conversation became stressful, I walked out of the house and wandered around, alone, sick to my stomach with anger.

I became convinced that T was what I needed. I felt sick at the thought sometimes, but other times I would feel giddily sure, so eventually I summoned up the courage and called a clinic to make an appointment to start testosterone. But before the clinic called me back, something strange happened.

My dysphoria went away. It just went! Why or where it went I can’t say. I was 19 by this time, still clinging to my “trans identity”, insistent I wasn’t “cis”, but the feeling of wrongness about the sex of my body was gone and has stayed gone since. I didn’t love my body in the slightest, but I no longer hated it and think it completely, fundamentally wrong like I had before. I struggled with my weight for a long time then and after, but I began to realise I was female.

My close brush with acquiring testosterone shook me back into my senses somewhat. I was conscious as I came back into my body that I had almost made a huge mistake. The fear of what could have been stayed with me, that as my dysphoria passed I might have been trapped in a body more foreign to me than the original, a body like a boy that my brain no longer actually needed. The irreversible changes that would have occurred weighed on my mind:  the voice no longer mine, the man-face, the dark, thick hair. So anxiously, I thought – that’s not me…

I very slowly, not quite realising it, was distancing myself from the trans-cult and its thinking.

Well, this and that happened, I struggled on, I had a few setbacks, I struggled on a bit more. I got a proper job. This was the kick in the backside, the firework up the arse that I had needed. I was busy. I was tired. I was called “she” – I was too embarrassed to ask for special pronouns. I had to wear work clothes like everyone else. I took my work seriously, but I had to listen to people chatting in such a heretical way! Saying things that I hadn’t dared to even think, for so long! Talking about men being men, and women being women, so casually using language I had forgotten I could use. At some point, I started to agree with them. The hours I worked kept me off Tumblr and Twitter. The real world beamed blinding, hot sunlight into the dark and cold and dusty parts of my world. And one day, I simply deleted all of my social media. I can’t remember why – I just knew I had to. I didn’t stay to say goodbye to anybody I knew, I just wiped it all. I have never missed it since.

My relationship with my parents recovered. It’s a lot better now than it was before, somehow. They know I’m myself– a real, human woman who knows it– again. I started tentatively using the words daughter, woman, girl, sister to describe myself in conversation. Even now when I say those words I feel them in my mouth. I worked, shopped, ate, and I was doing weird things I did before; laughing like a horse, telling off-colour jokes to make my parents snort.

I had spent a lot of time at home, and perhaps the loveliest thing is that I ended up spending much time with my mother, while I was unemployed and recovering. We talked and we argued. But we talked far more than we argued. Sometimes I fell asleep while she was talking; she has a very soothing voice. Sometimes she fell asleep while I was talking – maybe my voice is soothing too. I loved my mother before, but I didn’t know how much I could love her, because I had never tried to understand her. I wonder, if I had breezed through my teens and headed out, unhesitating, into the great beyond, would I talk to her so fondly and treat her so kindly as I do now? Every cloud.

For a long time, I was a shell of myself. But the bossy, blunt, stubborn girl wasn’t all gone. The trauma I went through took time to fade to something I could manage, but I forgave her and I forgave myself. If I met her in the street I really think I could chat with her. I go stretches of days without thinking about it for more than a few seconds. At first my views on, well, everything, flip-flopped wildly. I went to a much wider variety of websites, I read books, I learned about things happening that I had missed, or worse, things where I had believed completely untrue versions of events.

The world had been such a hostile place when everyone was supposedly out to get me, and the only safe space was my Tumblr, where people only ever told me I was right. I learned that people thought a lot of things, had a lot of opinions, and get this: that some people could think one thing I agreed with, as well as another thing I disagreed with. I had been divorced from humanity in the trans-cult, and I was shocked at the empathy I found in myself for people, shocked at all these people, walking around, all with their lives and their feelings and their hearts. The “privileged” people actually suffered; I had believed they couldn’t. There was so much more suffering than I’d known there to be, but there was also so much more goodness. Every morning I realised my horizons were broader than the morning before, only to discover by the evening there was still so much more I hadn’t the faintest clue about.

Turns out, being a woman? You can wear anything you want, and you’re still a woman. You can do what you want, and you’re still a woman. Reality never needs to be validated.

My ability to think critically returned bit by tiny bit. It took time for me to get used to asking questions, checking sources, not believing every little thing I saw or read. I had been taught to believe unquestioningly and I had to wrestle myself out of the habit. Even now, I remind myself I can have opinions and I can disagree with someone, and they can disagree with me, and it doesn’t mean I’m a bad person; it just means that people are people, and I’m a person, and I have to deal with them being people just as they deal with me, because we have a great deal more in common than not. Through it all I have had the support of my parents – we can talk now.

I’m here now. I’ve slowly, quietly rejoined the human race as a woman, knowing it a miracle, holding both the stubborn determination of my childhood and the grateful joy of my young adulthood. The old me I was once so ashamed to face is here, and we are one again, baptised in fire and back fighting.