A Letter to the Parent of a Child with ROGD
When I first met Natalie, she was struggling with the ambiguous loss that many parents of transgender children feel. The child in question was still alive but suffered from rapid-onset gender dysphoria (ROGD) and thus had suddenly and profoundly changed. Unlike other psychological conditions typically addressed in a mental-health setting, this particular change came with lifelong medical consequences that would alarm any parent. On top of that, Natalie experienced the alienation and heartbreak of feeling rejected by her own child and faced a societal narrative that makes concerned and loving parents out to be villains.
After the meeting, Natalie texted me to let me know that I had given her hope and followed me on Substack. Months later, I was the one in need of validation. After all that I had suffered through my transition, it seemed I had learned nothing. I made the same mistakes. And if I couldn’t help myself, how would I ever help anyone else? She reassured me that I had already touched the lives of many parents, and what that hope meant to them—in her own words—was that we’re all “still in there.” Her words stuck with me. It seemed as though they were grasping at something bigger than could be expressed in a single message.
It was several days before I felt them click into place. It was an epiphany, more intuitive than intellectual, and therefore, difficult to articulate. And so I set out, to express the inexpressible, as simply as possible. I wrote this letter, not just for Natalie, but to all parents struggling with the ambiguous loss of a child.
Dear Natalie,
Your words began to make more sense to me as I helped my mom pack before the move. We unearthed a lifetime of memories in her files, stashed in far corners of the house. She held up a drawing from my childhood. The original colors, drawn in marker, had long faded. It took me a while, but eventually I made it out. Turtles and dinosaurs, mom in her garden, me on a skateboard, angels and ladders to heaven. It struck me how simple and pure I had been as a child.
Not too long ago, I was at war with that little boy. Forrest was my “deadname,” and anyone who hesitated to forget it was cut out of my life. Our revolutionary culture encouraged complete self-negation, and the medical, psychiatric, and political establishments enabled it. They wanted me to believe that I had always been someone else, as though they could erase my past self from existence. I could barely hear the doubt of my own conscience over the din of so many voices insisting on my transformation.
Looking back at those childhood keepsakes, I understood what you meant about the solace parents find in detransitioners—knowing their children are still “in there.” Who else could have recognized the shape of a dinosaur in those faded marker lines? To anyone else, except to me or my mother, it would have been a worthless sheet of paper. Not even she could make out the strange shapes. I could safely guess at the shape of a dinosaur, because a fascination with dinosaurs is embedded deep within my childhood memory.
With all our belongings packed and shipped in advance, my family and I embarked on a reverse Oregon Trail. With the help of our relatives, we drove two thousand miles across the Continental Divide, bringing with us an 80-year-old man, three cats, and a collection of houseplants. After four days of driving, we arrived at my sister’s house. I met my adorable nine-month-old nephew. My sister put him in my arms, and he smiled from ear to ear.
I’m grateful for you and all the parents who have supported me and shared your stories with me. Your perspectives as parents have given me hope and helped me reflect on the challenges within my own family.
Thank you for your kindness and trust.
Warmly,
Forrest
Forrest is an adult detransitioner and writer who speaks with the parents of ROGD youth.