Off-Topic Trans Widows - Because why wouldn't this thread exist?

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

Spoiler: Kelly's Story: Suspending Belief

It was always my fault. Or so I was told. I was wooed, pursued and I was swept away. I never saw the truth or what was to come.

He spent the first ten years of our marriage building his career, and what a career it became! But between that and his hobbies we saw little of him. To the outside world he seemed attentive and engaged, the perfect husband and father. I was the willing accomplice, as I was told it was for our family's future. I felt like single parent.

Once he was established, we seemed of even less importance. The night before our last daughter’s birth I found pages and pages of information about cross dressing clubs in London. When I asked, he shrugged it off as a silly discussion at the office and they didn’t feel if appropriate to leave it lying around, so he had brought it home. And so it started.

Not long after, our baby daughter was now almost one and I found out he was trying to spend a night with a girl, I think, at a hotel. There had been talk of a business meeting and the need to stay over. I found out by accident. When asked he went into a rant. As usual it was my fault, but also the fault of the lady involved as she misunderstood the invite to spend a night in his hotel room. Our four children took up too much of my time and he felt neglected! I did what I was told to do. If you are told often enough that you are the problem then you come to accept it as true.

The next 15 years followed a similar story. I was told on many occasions that the reasons for his bad behaviour were always down to my shortcomings. When I found out he had joined a dating agency.....well you can guess and you would be right, and yes I complied and did as I was told.

When he had an affair, it was my fault because I gave his brother a bottle of Brandy, from us, for his 40th birthday and yes I know how little sense that makes.

The affair was the turning point, I started to see that his logic was not quite normal. I threw him out, but you don’t throw away 23 years of marriage. We were supposedly working on our problems but he refused to give up the flat and made the argument it made sense to have a city work base as we were trying to grow our company.

That was the beginning of the end, for almost 2 years it gave him the freedom to do as he wished. I soon found out that late night business meetings were the cover so that he could enjoy his ‘other life.’ He started going out to dinner and bars with other women.

When confronted about his lies he drove a car at me, it stopped about 2 centimetres away from me. The truth emerged. He had told them he was single or in a marriage with the ultimate bitch... can anyone else see the theme? As I’ve always maintained I was not his only victim but he was the only denominator.

As I said, the city base was supposed to be for our business and our socialising. Our children and I were in and out of it constantly and if I’m honest I enjoyed the freedom, it gave us (we lived in a rural community and I don’t drive).

Then the day came, he obviously felt uncomfortable leaving me alone in the apartment and as any woman would do who has been in a similar situation, of course the alarm bells start ringing. I expected to find evidence of another woman and I suppose I did in a weird way.

What I had come to realise over the years, was that the red mist descended over him when he was caught out, and I had to be careful. We drove home together, my mind was in turmoil and finally I started asking questions, I knew that we were returning to a full house and couldn’t talk. The ‘red mist' descended once again and he tried to push me out of the moving car, I was tight against the door. I shouted “What do you want me to do?”...the response still chills me to my bones...”I want you to die, bitch!”, he screamed still pushing me tight against the car door while bombing along at about 70 miles per hour.

As you can guess that was the final straw. He came to the house twice more at my behest over the next year, otherwise he had made little attempt to see our children and when he did come he used it to remove his philatelic collection from the house. When he was there, a feeling of doom and walking on eggshells came over us all, while he went to his study and didn’t interact with any of us.

About a year later, one of our daughters broke down in tears and it came out that she had been raped. I rang him, and he said not to call him about horrific days until I had spent a day as an expert witness in the witness box.

From there it went to how he had been raped for 22 years by me. How when I called to make sure he was safe, that the sound of my voice was like torture. That’s when it transpired that many of the nights, while I sat alone at home with our children, he was dressing [as a woman] and walking about in car parks. I know many will be screaming how awful his life was for him, believe me it wasn’t.

One of his friends once commented, how lucky he was to have a loving wife and 4 beautiful children, I couldn’t understand his bemusement at the time. In fact at our eldest daughter’s wedding as part of his speech he called me ugly. The wedding planner jumped and took me to the bar store room/fridge. I was so cold and distraught that I couldn’t pour the bottle of rosè into my glass and as any lady would do, under the circumstances, I took a swig from the bottle!

The next time he was in contact was the day he informed our two oldest children that he had changed his name by deed poll and was already in transition. He then appeared on TV, without warning any of our children.

He has never officially told our two youngest anything.

I finally went to Women's Aid and found Trans Widows and that’s when I realised I was not alone. Thank you to all those brave, wonderful women who opened my eyes to the coercive, psychological and emotional abuse my children and I had suffered for so long. My coercion continues through the divorce process but for the most part I’m free, I can breathe and I don’t have to worry about the red mist ever again.

 

[Kari Kamiya]

Hopefully her deranged ex doesn't (further) snap and turn her or her kids into the dreaded red mist. He should take the plunge and become red mist himself.

 

[Hongourable Madisha]

Here's a trans orphan story. Similar themes and gives some idea of how it fucks up the kids too, and how he's very much aware of how his mum stepped up and basically acted as a single parent to him, taking him to Scouts and encouraging him with his hobbies whenever she could. Whereas his dad just wanted to be a deadbeat troon and insert his pooner girlfriend in the kid's life on the rare occasion he interacted with him.
At least he had a good mother, it sounds like they're both good people who actually think of others and are doing much better without the narc AGP dad.

Spoiler: Heart-Wrenching Letter from Son Whose Father Transitioned

Hello,

I am fine. Sorry I haven’t reached out to you in a while. I’m doing very well in school; I have a 4.0 GPA. I’m taking 3 classes, and still working full-time as well.

While I have been busy, that’s not the reason I haven’t reached out, I honestly don’t think its appropriate that we talk anymore. You did a lot to our family that I would never want for mine. You can pretend I’m being transphobic if you want, and I do think I have the right to choose to distance myself from the confusion associated with all that, but apart from that I just don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to pretend that everything you did is okay, I don’t want to pretend I’m not hurt. I don’t want to push my feelings aside so you don’t feel bad.

Since you want to talk about memories, yes I remember when you took me to baseball practice at the hotel, and we got to see minute maid park. I could count on one hand how many times we went to watch the Astros play there before that tour, though. We went with you and your FTM lover and got season tickets. I didn’t want to go with her, we tolerated her for a while but none of us actually wanted to spend the few days we got to spend with you with her. We really missed you and felt like we wanted more attention from you.

Your involvement with my baseball stuff actually made me very uncomfortable, I didn’t like people I knew seeing you and making assumptions. I was jealous that all the other kids had their dads supporting their baseball career while you would tag around occasionally to confuse people. Were you my mom? Aunt? Why do you care about me here? I wanted to be able to call you my dad and brag about you, but instead you left me in an awkward situation feeling embarrassed and alone.

Baseball was so important to me growing up, and I did enjoy how you were actively involved in my little league for a while. It made me feel special, I’d have taken your advice over my coach’s advice any day and I was so proud when you were my coach.

But as I got older you got less and less involved, and my feelings for you painfully changed. By middle school I didn’t want you around any of my friends, I didn’t want you at my baseball games, derby races, cub scout gatherings, anything. And let me tell you it shattered my heart when my best friend noticed you at my little brother’s pinewood derby competition. He told all my other friends he saw my dad and you had boobs and long hair and earrings and acted weird. I tried so hard to say we weren’t related, and when that failed I tried to pretend you were my dad’s ugly sister. I was bullied because of that. My biggest fear became a reality. I could no longer be excited by a surprise visit from you but instead had to live in fear that you’d show up.

By 8th grade, I felt so lost and alone in my last year of Little League. Everyone had friends from school, and I didn’t. I saw people from school playing catch with their dads and their friends before the games, and I’d be looking for someone who didn’t have a throwing partner. It really hurt, and it was embarrassing to be so alone. Sometimes I’d go to the dugout and pretend to have a headache instead of warming up, that way I could put my head between my legs and cry quietly.

From that point on, I only wanted to see you within the confines of your small house. I hated going in public with you. I watched my strong dad who I thought could do everything and was always there for me become such a different person emotionally. And your physical appearance reflected that change. To see anyone change physically hurts in its own way, but when it coincides with such a painful personality change too. That hurts a thousand times worse. I couldn’t even look at you without feeling pain.

And just as the story with baseball goes, so does it with Cub Scouts. I was so excited to get my tiger cub handbook and I wanted to work through it with you to earn my badges. They’d been talking about doing away with the rank of bobcat and decided it was optional. But you told me that when you were a kid you did it, and I wanted to do everything you did, I looked up to you. So, I earned that too, but without your involvement, my mom became the primary person taking me to Cub Scouts meetings, she became the den leader, she took me to all the campouts, etc. I always wanted to go camping with you. Especially when I had the opportunity to camp out at Fifth Third Field, in Ohio, and I couldn’t wait to do that with you, since we did it through Cub Scouts often. I wanted so badly to bring our gloves and a ball and play catch on a huge baseball field. You never did end up going with me though.

But one commonality of both baseball and Cub Scouts is that even after I was miserable that you had completely withdrawn from my life, I didn’t give up the hobbies that I associated with you. Why? Because I knew at a certain point you gave up on the same activities. You quit scouts at Webelo and baseball before high school, from what I recall when you broke your nose. At some point, my mindset changed from “My dad is awesome I want to be just like him”, to “My dad gave up on everything, I need to do better than he did”. I wanted to be better than you. So, I pushed through and earned my Arrow of Light, and started Boy Scouts. And I tried my hardest and played baseball my freshman year, I felt great for toughing through every baseball injury I ever had because I was fighting through it like you couldn’t.

But neither instance of me overcoming what you couldn’t made you love me more, nor moved me up your priority list. I did a few months of Boy Scouts before it sunk in that I was doing it on my own and lost interest. My mom wasn’t physically strong enough to help clear debris in hurricane relief (one of the first things I did as a boy scout, not that you would know.) And even had she been, I was still embarrassed and sad that everyone else and their dads were helping rebuild communities, while I was on my own with my mom behind me because you were out who knows where living for you and only you. Similar story with baseball, yes my grades were a factor, but I was miserable being the bench boy who kept score anyway and I had no desire to continue. It wasn’t worth waiting to play any more than it was worth waiting for you to love me the way I used to think you did. That love wasn’t coming back, and I just didn’t want you to be involved in my activities at all anymore.

I remember one day back in Ohio, at the mall I saw this book called “Dangerous Book for Boys” and it was a big red book of projects for fathers and sons to do together. Every single activity in there was something I couldn’t wait to do with you, and I noticed one of the very first activities was as simple as making paper airplanes. I was so excited. I begged and begged to get that for you as a Christmas present, and my mom did let me get it for you and I wrote a handwritten note in it for you too. When you came to Ohio, you opened that book for Christmas. But after that, it collected dust. And now it’s sitting here with me, while I wonder why, in the 10 following years of my childhood, we didn’t do a single thing from that book. I wonder why you didn’t even want to keep it with you, God forbid you let the dust collect while it sits on YOUR bookshelf. Let me keep it, maybe I’ll be able to spare the time of day to have a paper airplane building competition with my son.

Where even were you when we were in Ohio, I still don’t understand that maybe it was out of your control, and maybe it wasn’t. But when you came back to visit, you were more and more of a different person every time.

Ohio was so exciting for me. I was so happy to see real snow for the first time as winter rolled in. And I wanted to make igloos and snowmen, and go sledding. Of course, I did all that but you weren’t around to share those memories with me… which really sucked because when I was about 4 or 5, if not younger, I remember watching Caillou and thinking you and I were just like him and his dad. I wanted to experience snow and everything else in life with you like he and his dad did. Silly to think about, but it’s just one of those things that have resurfaced in my memories since having a kid of my own.

Wherever you were, and whatever you were doing, I did manage to enjoy a lot about Ohio, I really had a whole life up there that I never got to share with you. I had dozens of friends, activities, etc. I collected fossils, rode my bike with my mom daily, went to the park, played baseball, etc. I was proud of myself, and I so badly wanted to share that with you. I came up with goals, and activities I wanted to do, and I had big dreams. But when I reached out and asked you to care and share those dreams with me, maybe even help me achieve a few of them, you put the book on the shelf and never looked at it again. It’s a book for Boys after all, why would you want to be associated with that?

I had huge dreams, and I just watched them slowly fade away as I became more and more ashamed and embarrassed to call you, my dad.

And I’ll say this, I too think about you often, but rarely is it pleasant. But I did have a dream 3 or 4 nights ago that I went to a Mudhens game and little did I know that you would be sitting in the seat next to me. But you physically looked and acted like you did before we moved to Ohio. Younger, short black hair, with the exception of your white spot I always thought was so cool. I loved getting to see that person again even just in my dreams for such a short time. Let me tell you, it hurts, like losing a family member, to realize they are never coming back. I’ve tried communicating my pain to you so many times, and you’ve still built an entire life around your new personality, physical appearance, and all. You’re at the center of your universe now, but I’m at escape velocity. Now I’m the one you can’t reach.

There have been times throughout my life, even after your transition when I thought you really were trying to be more involved, but of course, you never lived up to the expectations I had of you as a father.

For example, I was so excited when you talked about us going to the YMCA of the Rockies. Well, I was pessimistic at first because I’d honestly lost hope in anything exciting coming from you that we could really bond over. But nonetheless, I allowed myself to be excited that I’d get to camp with you like I never got to in Cub Scouts. But to my surprise, your FTM lover came too and I felt like I’d gotten stuck on a trip I no longer wanted to be on. I felt like we were third-wheeling your honeymoon experience with her. Then to make things worse, my expectations were shattered again when I found out we had a cabin, not a tent.. sure, I had always wanted to stay in a cabin… but not like that. It’s not what I wanted. I’m sure it would have been different if it was more of an authentic camping experience, cabin or not. But the fact you and your FTM lover were there sharing a bed together on a trip, just really killed it for me. I thought it was just going to be for us to bond as a family. We were going through stupid therapy with the court-appointed counselor and I thought you wanted to do everything you could to help us feel less hurt, and I gave you the benefit of the doubt. But, at the end of the day, if I hadn’t gone on that pathetic waste of a trip with you and your FTM lover, I could’ve seen my great-grandmother again before she died, and at the very least I would’ve been there for the funeral.

I’m not trying to play God or anything and say you deserve to feel sad, and I’m not going out of my way to try to make you feel sad. If your actions have consequences that you don’t like, it’s not my responsibility to make you feel better. You really hurt my relationship with you, and I’ve spent my whole life trying to tell you that. I’m an adult I have my own family now. Growing up I wanted you to be a part of that, but at this point, its clear to me that ship has sailed. I’m not here to pretend that I’m happy to keep you from being sad that I don’t want a relationship with you, while that’s tragic that’s just how it is.

Now I hate seeing pictures of myself as a child, with bright eyes smiling, so optimistic about life, and so happy to take a picture with my small aluminum baseball bat, and a tee with a big-league stadium backdrop behind me. My first step on a long journey to the big leagues and my dad was going to be there every step of the way. I hate thinking about any of it. It meant so much to me when you got me that Roger Clemens t-shirt and took me to the game early just to watch him pitch, and now that thought hurts so much. You were my hero.

But now, not only do I want to be better than you, I want to be nothing like you, and I don’t want to have anything to do with you. I don’t want to have occasional small talk or hear you talk about how I was like my son when I was a baby and you did this or that with me. I don’t want to know. I don’t want more happy memories to be shattered for me.

I hate how every happy memory I form with my son makes me wonder how you could give us such little love and attention, how you could walk away and commit your whole life to yourself and what you want, and never weigh how it would affect anyone but you. You didn’t think that living your life as a woman would impact our childhoods? You didn’t think rarely being home to give us love and attention would hurt?

I don’t want you to think my son won’t ever know of you, because I’d be stupid to never tell him about you. He’s going to grow up seeing me sad about you, hearing my siblings talk about how they’re sad about you, etc. He will know that you’re responsible for that. But I hope he never has a face to put to your name.

All my life, I wanted you to fill the role of grandpa for my little boy. As I’m sure any boy dreams about. I’m heartbroken that that opportunity has been taken from me, but thankfully my step-dad has really stepped up to the plate in that regard and is an amazing grandpa to my son.

You’ve always made time for yourself and your hobbies but somehow managed to miss out on some really important moments in my life that I really wanted you to be there for. You took flight lessons, played soccer, softball, golf, and tennis, and went to more sporting events through work than you ever took me to for sure. (I’ve still never seen a college sports game of any kind, I’ve been to only 1 football game, and possibly a basketball game but for all I know that’s a distant dream I’m confusing with a memory.) But while you had time for your hobbies, you didn’t make time for me.

You missed my 13th birthday. And no I didn’t have a special party or anything, but from dusk to dawn I waited for you to come home from your “business trip” I don’t know what led to you coming home so late that day, but it hurt so bad that such an important birthday to me you weren’t even there for and we didn’t even talk on the phone. And my poor little brother had a similar experience with one of his birthdays at Chick-fil-A waiting for you. I’m willing to bet you didn’t make it to Ohio for all of our birthdays when we lived up there, either. In fact, I remember a couple.

And sure, you were involved a bit with our common interests like video games despite how uncomfortable we all were that you’d always play as a girl, but there were things like fishing, that I was passionate about that you never did with me. Maybe once or twice. But I wanted you to teach me how to tie my hooks, I wanted to practice my knots that I learned in scouts with you. But you never really wanted to talk about my interests. While on the flip side, you always expected me to listen to you talk about yours. And I was always so glad to, because I just wanted to engage in conversation with you. I wanted you to care that much about me. I’ve never liked golf, and I don’t think I ever will. But to see how excited you get talking about it is the only reason I ever tried to learn to play, listened to you talk about it, or watched you play. I’ve grown an even greater disdain for the sport watching you put it before me and my siblings, time and time again, even though I know at the end of the day, it has less to do with the sport than it does your personality. Self first, without even a thought to what your family may be feeling.

This may sound harsh, or like I wish you ill will or misfortune, but sometimes I really do wish you’d died early in my life, because then at least, in every phase of my life I could say ‘If my dad was here he would be the best, he would play catch with me, he would go camping with me, he would fish with me, etc.’ And I’d be able to cling to the belief that you were an amazing father and an incredible person who would always put his family first. Instead, I know that you’ve had these opportunities and passed them up. You had your chance to fish with me, teach me to tie knots, how to start a campfire, play catch with me every day before practice, and be my hero. But unfortunately, now I know you would, and did, throw it all away.

 

[RIPRhongoBongo]

That letter should be required reading for husbands that troon out. Brutal to read start to finish

 

[Hongourable Madisha]

Any pooner widowers out there? Probably a smaller percentage since:

1. Women don't tend to full-transition as much as men

2. Husbands can keep their wives in check better than the other way around

However, I'm still curious as to what its like

There was a documentary aimed at children about a teenage girl whose mum pooned out and the dad split and lives close by so he can share custody, she meets a bunch of other children of troon parents and they're all miserable and trying to cope. KJK reacted to it. It's grim viewing, it's edited and framed to try to be all happy and groovy but the children are expected to basically parent themselves and their younger siblings and look after each other while the adults LARP.

Radfem filmmaker Vaishnavi Sundar is making a documentary film about trans widows, called Behind The Looking-Glass: https://vaishnavisundar.com/

That letter should be required reading for husbands that troon out. Brutal to read start to finish

That Chris guy from MrBeast has that to look forward to in a few years. Also lol that "beast" is also British slang for "paedophile".
Here's a site with lots more trans orphan testimonies and comments from some trans widows: https://childrenoftransitioners.org/

 

[Flan Handler]

That Chris guy from MrBeast has that to look forward to in a few years.

I thought the exact same thing.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

​

Spoiler: Autumn's Story: Let's Split Up & Look For Clues!

People always ask “Didn’t you know?”, or “You must have seen the signs?” I always thought the answer to both questions was “NO!”.

In hindsight, I think there were signs I just didn’t see. You be the judge and determine if I should have realised the man I loved, would later declare he was really a woman.

The first sign came on our wedding night when he said “I know you will leave me”, which cut like a knife. I loved this guy with every fibre of my being, so why did he think I would leave him? Little did I know!

He took me to a flash hotel for the first two nights of our honeymoon and we relished each other’s company. Honeymoon over - it was off in the “truck” to some God forsaken place in the middle of nowhere for ten days of camping. No running water, no toilets, lots of dirt and dust and millions of flies. I had endured camping with him before and although I disliked it immensely, I acquiesced in an attempt to have the perfect relationship. [Australian] Friends who described me as a “Five Star Chick” realised I was definitely in love with him, as why else would I go camping with him? Was the fact, he adored his truck and loved camping yet another sign?

After the honeymoon and back at home, his ego was fragile as he was out of work. During this time he spent endless hours, day and night, playing violent computer games. In between games, he would avidly read from his enormous collection of war and science fiction books. When he wasn’t reading these, his head was buried in a super hero comic, of which he had thousands. Was this just blokey, or another sign?

Not much changed when he was employed, except we would regularly meet after work for drinks before going home. To the outside world, we had the ideal marriage and although I would have preferred he spent more time with me than his computer, I thought we were happy and that our marriage was strong.

When I had peritonitis and had to spend six days in hospital to have antibiotic infusions after my surgery, it all became about him and how he couldn’t cope if I died. He broke out in a rash all over his body and blamed me. He was convinced I had changed the brand of washing powder. His doctor later told me he believed, this rash was psychosomatic. Surely this was a sign?

The most obvious sign must have been his regular sojourns to the big hardware store on the weekends. Most times he would disappear for a few hours and return with a new boy toy. He had a bespoke wooden tool shed made to house all his treasured tools. Ironically, his shed was the only place where he kept any form of order. Funnily enough he was the most un-handyman I have ever met.

Six years into our marriage, I was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm, which turned out to be the beginning of the end of our relationship. Once again, it was all about him and how he had to handle the stress of it.

The first surgery was not a complete success and I needed to wait six months for the healing to complete before they could finish what they had started. It was imperative my blood pressure was not raised and therefore, sex was forbidden for a whole year, which nearly drove me crazy. Oddly enough, he seemed to cope okay with that. Definitely a sign!

He was present with me eighteen months after my second op, when I was told a third operation was necessary, and that I needed to avoid stress. Two weeks after this, he told me about his real persona who was called Harriet.

I really thought he was joking. As it turned out, the joke was on me. I was totally devastated to learn the man I loved, warts and all, was telling me that he liked to dress up as a woman. Apparently Harriet had an entire wardrobe of clothes in the storage unit he rented. The penny finally dropped! I am positive he would go to his storage unit to become Harriet and then race over to the hardware store and buy the first thing he saw to bring home. So ladies, please beware of the husband who goes to the hardware store too often, as you never know where he has really been or what he has really been doing. Or am I wrong, is this just another manly thing to do?

Once the shock wore off a little, and with the advice of a mutual friend I decided to let him bring Harriet’s belongings home. As the dutiful wife, I was trying to be supportive, whilst at the same time wanting to be sick. I washed every article of clothing and lingerie before hanging the dresses and storing the lingerie and hideous oversized stilettos into boxes in my wardrobe. Mistake!!! I had opened Pandora’s box and life was never the same again.

Instead of Harriet coming out in small doses, (as he claimed to be just a bloke who liked to dress up occasionally) she suddenly ruled the roost. Harriet told me the man I married was dead and he had never existed, effectively making me a Trans Widow. Our entire marriage was a sham and Harriet is now a fully blown and fully transitioned, Trans Rights Activist.

Knowing he would transition, I had no choice but to leave. He later wrote to me saying, at the time we married, I could never have known he would transition as he had not been diagnosed then. The proof of his deceit which crippled me, was his Facebook post where he revealed he had thought about transitioning a few months before we married.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

Here's a video from the perspective of a Troon who killed his marriage.

Spoiler: Ironic

 

[Lavender Moth]

Here's a video from the perspective of a Troon who killed his marriage.

Spoiler: Ironic

View attachment 5894283

Jesus fuck, these delusional dick-havers can't even talk about ruining their marriage in a way that makes fucking sense.

I genuinely like listening to "the other side" (even when I hate them) because it's good to know what they believe so your own arguments proving why they're wrong can be stronger and more direct, but jesus fucking christ, my man really did just give us 9 meandering, convoluted minutes of "ooga booga, life so hard as a straight man with badly dyed hair but THE FATES will guide me in my Love Quest!"

"You WILL find love one day, FATE will give it to you" (this at least seems to be the point he's making???) is such a dumb bucket of copium lies that I see used often by these types as a means to shield themselves against the self-destructive thing they need to face but staunchly refuse to: self-hatred, AKA, the bedrock of trans ideology. There is no guarantee you will find love, period, but you will definitely never find love if you lie to yourself like this. You MIGHT get some BPD pussy, but that ain't love. His "wow it's the most powerful love I've ever felt!" is a red flag, especially since his ramblings seem to imply this is a one-sided/unrequited thing with a troubled woman. If he's not being full-on predatory, it sounds like he's simply projecting onto this new woman he claims to be "supporting" through these hard times. If you feel compelled to go on a "love quest" like this (never mind the whole "I deliberately destroyed my marriage for my fetish" part), that's a major sign to work on your own self-worth. A great start to that is ditching the trans lies.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

Spoiler: Tinsel's Story: These Chains

It was a song called “These Chains” that saved my life. It was the soundtrack to the months before and after I left my husband. The song asks whether you will die in your safe cage, without ever knowing what it is like to live free on the outside?

Before I left, I would sit in the bath, crying, with the door locked and the music turned up. It was the only place I could be sure my daughter wouldn’t see and hear my grief.

After I left, I would listen to it on repeat on the car stereo on the school run, and it gave me the strength to get through another day. Dropping her off at school wondering who knew about why we had left her Dad and moved to the next village, wondering if we were being gossiped about and if today was the day that her peers would find out and she would be bullied?

I left a month before our tenth wedding anniversary and a mere few weeks before he began “living as a woman”. I should have left five years earlier when he dropped his trousers in our living room to show me an insect bite, and had forgotten he was wearing pink lacy women’s knickers under his work clothes. This was one of the many times that Iaccidentally found out he had broken his word to stop cross dressing.

I was determined to do everything I could to save the marriage.

A cycle had developed of lies being discovered, promises being made, promises being broken, compromises being formed, boundaries being put in place, boundaries being pushed, and further lies being discovered. I lived in a state of constant fight or flight.

I loved my husband and wanted our marriage to last forever. I thought I would not be able to manage on my own. I was terrified to leave. I struggled on for another 5 years trying to find a third way- a way to make it work- something between him stopping altogether and him living full time “as a woman” but once he was referred to the Gender Identity Clinic I should have realised that the writing was on the wall.

I went to see a counsellor in the months leading up to my decision to leave. As part of the induction I had to do a tick list of how depressed I was and how anxious. My anxiety score was so high that the counsellor said, I was too anxious to treat at that time and that she had a duty of care to inform my Doctor in case I harmed myself. I ended up on a dose of anti-depressants high enough that the next Doctor I saw wanted to reduce it. I think I would have staged a sit in in his surgery at that point if he had insisted.

I had kept this secret for the 13 years that we were together. Unable to get advice or lighten the load. There was no support available and I had been too ashamed to tell my friends and family.

I begged and pleaded for him to stay as the man that I loved and married, but as he came closer to transitioning a cold, detached stranger seemed to have taken my husband’s place. I recall him saying he was no longer sorry for what he was doing to us.

I thought leaving would be the end of me, but it was actually leaving that saved me. Imagine if I had stayed and had to cheerlead the slow death of the person that I married and the emergence of a stranger?

Not long after I left he had facial feminisation surgery. I had to prepare my daughter for her Dad coming to collect forthe weekend, looking different than the last time she saw him. “He’s still the same inside” I told her, to try and reassureher. It wasn’t true though. He wasn’t the same inside. The person I knew was gone. When he came to the door that evening my daughter hid behind an armchair and had to be coaxed out.

When he had “gender reassignment” (“bottom”) surgery even though we had been divorced for a while, I felt a strong sense of loss that the part of him that had enabled him to father our daughter and that had given me a great deal of pleasure during the good times, had gone. Imagine if I’d stayed and had to nurse him through it?

There were times in the months after I left, doing the school run, listening to “These Chains” that I thought the grief would overwhelm me, but I had a daughter and friends and parents and a job, so I had to carry on.

Yes, it was leaving that saved me. Once I was out of the cage that my marriage had become I was free to live my own life. I had spent years being dragged along in the wake of somebody else’s whims. Lurching from crisis to crisis, none of which was of my own making.

In separation I found peace.

I will teach my daughter to have boundaries and to be confident in maintaining them and not allowing them to be drip, drip dripped away.

Women: decide early on what your boundaries are. You are in control of your own life. Don’t let that control be taken from you. It turned out the one boundary that I was not prepared to compromise on, was being married to somebody who identified as a woman.

There were so many lies and the one that still bothers me years later is - was it a struggle for him as it seemed to be at the time, or was I just being used as his beard, concealing his gender issues from the world? I was his second wife and at the time of our marriage he said to me “It’s good to get married this time without being worried I’m making a mistake”. After we split he said on twitter, referring to our marriage “Have you ever stood in a chapel knowing you’re making mistake?”

Which of these is true? They cannot both be.

 

[Hongourable Madisha]

Jesus fuck, these delusional dick-havers can't even talk about ruining their marriage in a way that makes fucking sense.

I genuinely like listening to "the other side" (even when I hate them) because it's good to know what they believe so your own arguments proving why they're wrong can be stronger and more direct, but jesus fucking christ, my man really did just give us 9 meandering, convoluted minutes of "ooga booga, life so hard as a straight man with badly dyed hair but THE FATES will guide me in my Love Quest!"

"You WILL find love one day, FATE will give it to you" (this at least seems to be the point he's making???) is such a dumb bucket of copium lies that I see used often by these types as a means to shield themselves against the self-destructive thing they need to face but staunchly refuse to: self-hatred, AKA, the bedrock of trans ideology. There is no guarantee you will find love, period, but you will definitely never find love if you lie to yourself like this. You MIGHT get some BPD pussy, but that ain't love. His "wow it's the most powerful love I've ever felt!" is a red flag, especially since his ramblings seem to imply this is a one-sided/unrequited thing with a troubled woman. If he's not being full-on predatory, it sounds like he's simply projecting onto this new woman he claims to be "supporting" through these hard times. If you feel compelled to go on a "love quest" like this (never mind the whole "I deliberately destroyed my marriage for my fetish" part), that's a major sign to work on your own self-worth. A great start to that is ditching the trans lies.

He's already in love with himself, or the idea of himself as a woman. Any partner he gets is just a prop for the fetish and for affirming him. He might at best get someone who'll say "yes dear, you are a super pretty lady", but that's all he wants.

 

[Procrastinhater]

Porn addiction is a bitch. You feel attracted to kinks you are repulsed and you cannot react to vanilla porn.
People with less control/shame will troon out because they got suckered into feminization fetishes.

Instead of acknowledging it is an abnormal fetish and do it in private, IT HAS BEEN NORMALIZED TO SHOW SUCH BEHAVIOR to point it is illegal to criticize it.

We need support for those people. We need to make our voices heard and say we should help those people or even ourselves.

What we need is to bring back shame.
It used to be these sick fucks were afraid to have their vile fetishes found out because they would rightfully get mocked and if caught trying to inflict it on strangers in public stomped the fuck out so the few that were so depraved kept it to themselves and behind closed doors.
Then perverts and bleeding heart faggots tried to make "kink shaming" a thing and these fucking degenerate fucks were told to "let their freak flag fly" or some faggot shit, basic morality became offensive, and they got emboldened and started to loose the natural inhibition and any ability to feel shame and now they're openly inflicting this shit on other people.

Porn is a big part of it, the desensitization aspect means people who fall down the rabbit hole end up looking for more and more extreme depraved shit to get themselves off, but its a problem with morality and decency as a whole.
The twisted and decadent society in the West especially came to see morality and shame as a bad thing, but without it you end up as Weimar Germany but without the dress sense.
We need to bring back mocking and shaming perverts who let it be known they are perverts.
Keep that shit in private. No one wants to know or think about what gets strangers off, except other perverts.

 

[Lavender Moth]

He's already in love with himself, or the idea of himself as a woman.

He isn't, though. He hates himself. That is the almost paradoxical crux of narcissism. Clinical narcs (of which most AGPs are) absolutely detest themselves to a degree that the rest of us can't even fathom, so they create a false identity to hide behind, because they are that terrified of facing their own self-hatred. They fall in love with a toxic false image of themselves that they project to the world. Not to mention, in regards to some of the most psychotic AGPs, they often cite their deep hatred towards women as their reason for trooning out. "I hate women...I also hate myself...That must mean I'm a woman!" (The latter was key in how my own autoandrophile ex discovered her "manhood", so TIFs do this too.)

This is exactly what this man has done. He's in love with a FALSE idea of himself. You can not love yourself if all you do is love a fictitious version of you that will never, and can never, exist. Sure, he loves the idea of himself as a woman, but no matter what he does, no matter how many surgeries he has, no matter how many hormones he takes, no matter how hideous his dye job, no matter how deep his stinkditch, he will never, ever be a woman. His "woman self" will only ever be an idea. His only hope of salvation (besides 41%ing) is to learn to love the man in reality that he will forever and always be.

 

[Otterly]

all while their new widows are currently filing divorce and are likely to fully disown their troon exes from their family altogether. Very "supportive". But once again, I don't blame them.

Anyone whose spouse starts doing this needs to divorce instantly. Use ‘but I’m not a lesbian’ or whatever you can but get the fuck out

she came and sat by me and said "I see a real sadness in you, are you okay?" I said I was okay, just tired. She gave me her number and told me to ring her sometime, that we could meet for a cuppa.

I think this hit me the hardest. We’ve lost so much of this in society - people just looking out for one another. These are all really hard reads, the abuse these women are put through is horrific . I’ve luckily not had anyone close to me Troon out, but I spent several years as an expat and saw the same dynamic again and again. Man gets woman isolated, and the abuse starts, or escalates. She knows no one, has a few small kids in tow, and he has all the money and power .
It’s a reminder for all of us to ask, to follow our gut and look out for each other

What we need is to bring back shame.

Cannot agree more. Shame is the single strongest social behaviour modifier we have. I’d argue it’s more effective than outright violence. Losing shame has been a disaster.

 

[Procrastinhater]

Also lol that "beast" is also British slang for "paedophile".

Fucking lol thats perfect. Mr Beast. Suits him.
It wouldn't surprise me if that NAMBLA adjacent faggot knew that and picked that name on purpose. Sick fuck is friends with Jean Hollywood and that Goonclown fuck.

 

[SmallTruck]

Who cares? If he was hot before, he might turn into a fuckable tranny.

It would be kinda of like being a lesbian, but your wife has a schlong, and honestly, sex without a cock is not even sex.

If he doesnt even look like a woman after transition, nothing changed. Stop bitching about it daily. So annoying.

 

[Kari Kamiya]

This was one of the many times that Iaccidentally found out he had broken his word to stop cross dressing.

So she knew he had a crossdressing habit and still dated/married him because he said he totally would stop? Yeah no, this one's on her. Least with the other women, they at least said they didn't know until after they had married, or at least the crossdressing started years later.

It still sucks to hear since a child was involved. Adults can handle these things like adults (manchildren excluded), children can't.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

Spoiler: Karen's Story - Part 1: Counselling

Trans Widows & Counselling

Thanks to improved awareness and resourcing, there are now multiple counselling and support services for individuals contemplating gender transition, at whatever age. Some services also offer support to family members and loved ones affected by an individual's transition. But the experience of many partners seeking help is that these primarily offer, after an acknowledgement of the trauma and loss involved for many partners, re-education and encouragement of acceptance.

For many partners this is of limited help, and can compound their feelings of anger and isolation. Many partners do not feel positively about gender transition, and do not want to stay with their partner; it is estimated that around half of relationships break down at this point. Finding a counsellor who was non-judgemental of my situation and my negative feelings about my husband's decision, proved difficult. One tried to convince me that I was simply in denial of a factual truth about his womanhood; another appeared bewildered by my unusual circumstances. And it is very difficult to find peer support, as partners who do not accept transition and do not stay in the relationship, tend to hide in isolation for fear of criticism or being labelled transphobic. Many seek peer support online, in informal networks, and report experiences of unhelpful counselling from various sources, which questions their decision not to stay with their partners, or their definition of their own history and experience. Such experiences are ultimately damaging and isolating and can be a deterrent to seeking further help.

When my husband announced his intention to transition after 20 years of marriage, quite unexpectedly, I was very fortunate. I accessed counselling through a workplace scheme, and was allocated to a counsellor who skilfully and rapidly formed a very productive therapeutic relationship with me. From the outset she worked with my situation as ‘a loss, not a rejection’, without judgement or any drive to educate me about my misconceptions or state of denial. She held and contained my rage and distress and I never felt that my feelings were invalid or shameful. She repeatedly reminded me that ‘I feel as I feel’, and that accepting these difficult feelings was a starting-point for change.

It was a revelation to have my feelings accepted. They were feelings I had learned, as a partner of someone planning to transition, amidst a media storm of positive messages about transition, that I was not meant to feel, or share. I was shocked and felt profoundly betrayed and lied-to. I was overwhelmed with anger at what I perceived to be my husband’s selfishness, terrible timing in my children’s lives, and lack of consideration for our feelings. I felt revulsion at the physical aspects of his planned transition, and shame at this secret, and that I had not at any point in my marriage suspected it. Perhaps worst of all, I felt a fool, ashamed and embarrassed that my circumstances were so ‘weird’, and that perhaps there was something wrong with me. I felt utterly lost and at times mad with grief and rage.

A gentle, key message from the counsellor was that my husband ‘believes he is a woman even if you don't' . While accepting my feelings of disbelief and scepticism that my husband was in fact female, she reminded me that my husband's erratic and at times reckless, boundary-pushing behaviours following his announcement might be driven by his absolute conviction that he was a woman, and had no choice but to rapidly pursue this.

From our first session, the counsellor explicitly named my grief; we talked about the experience as a living bereavement. My husband had in my eyes disappeared, behaved in ways that made me feel he was a completely different person, and seemed to break away from me, our history, our marriage and the family, as soon as he had dropped the bombshell.

We revisited together the Victim/Persecutor/Rescuer triangle, and she gently challenged my victim role. She also challenged my rage at the unfairness of my situation, and – to our mutual amusement despite my distress – my notion that life was or should be fair!

Much of the counsellor’s work, I imagine, was similar to any work with people experiencing loss or divorce, exploring assumptions and unhelpful thinking, and the non-linear nature of bereavement.

She showed me the revelation that I can be okay even if my situation is not okay. That I can choose that, and that by choosing ‘being okay’, it doesn’t mean I condone another person’s behaviour.

I was not chastised for 'misgendering' him as other women in my position report when seeking counselling support from trans organisations. I was allowed to call 'him' 'him', as that was my lived experience and the reality of my personal history and self-definition.

I was not re-educated; I fully understood the thinking on transgenderism, and what the experience is like for individuals coming to that decision. My counsellor did not take a stance of needing to correct my thinking or outlook, nor needing to keep me in my marriage.

And crucially, she helped me notice that my life was otherwise wonderful and full of positives and possibilities. And reflected with me that whatever happens, I can cope with it. She reconnected me with my sense of being a good person, a good mother, and good at my job and at no time strayed into judgement or correction of my beliefs about my husband’s transition or status as a woman.

There is growing interest in the support needs of partners of transitioners; people in this very isolated and unusual position need non-judgemental and sensitive support, whether they accept and want to stay, or are unhappy and unwilling to join the transition journey. That is how I survived what is a life-changing, devastating experience for many people and reached peace in my new life.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

Spoiler: Karen's Story - Part 2: What Helped Me

My husband of 20 years dropped his trans bombshell abruptly, without warning or preparation, and with complete assurance. He had spent several years secretly researching transition and making supportive contacts, so that by the time he told me, he was poised to pursue full transition. He had virtually no appreciation of my distress and shock, and had not anticipated that either I or our teenage children, would find this horrifying or, in my case, a marital deal-breaker.

I’m several years on now, and it’s been the most stressful, distressing and overwhelming experience of my life. It has cost me – hopefully temporarily – my health, and some friends, and I now look back wondering how I came through it.

My children lost their father. I lost my husband, my domestic stability, my confidence in my own judgement, my identity as a spouse, and my hopes for the future.

But I’m moving on, putting this firmly into my past. Each week I spend less time thinking about him and less time feeling angry, sad, bewildered and broken. I am starting to accept that this was part of my life story, not my fault, not something I could have predicted, and thinking about restarting my life again as a middle-aged woman.

I wanted to write about what helped me get here, in the hope it helps other women in this monstrous position.

I tried to identify what I wanted and needed

You may not know, you may need some time, you may very quickly decide. I knew within a few weeks that I didn’t want to stay with my husband, and that drove my rapid divorce. You may just need to ask for time from your partner, while you decide what you want to do. But, taking them out of the equation, what do you want? How do you want the future to look? Assuming your partner is committed to their new lifestyle, and you can’t stop him, what do you want to happen?

I set some boundaries

Many women experience cross-dressing and transitioning partners refusing to negotiate, compromise or agree boundaries regarding behaviours within the home and relationship. You may be happy to allow all behaviours to continue, or you may want to ask for limits so that the situation can be tolerable for you, perhaps while you consider your options. Being very clear about what you need (examples are no demand to have sex with a dressed-up partner, no spending on further clothing, a pause in the process to respect your needs), and whether there are any behaviours you cannot tolerate. When I communicated these to my husband, I was not only asserting my needs, but quickly found out whether I was dealing with someone who could consider my feelings, and meet me half-way (I couldn’t, and he didn’t).

I told supportive people

I struggled to tell close friends and family what was going on. I felt irrationally ashamed, and unsure of their reaction, embarrassed and tainted by my husband’s behaviour. But I knew very quickly that I needed to tell people close to me. I felt so much less alone when I shared what was happening, and did a lot of reading online, which is where I found the wonderful women who had been, or were also going through, this nightmare.

I prioritised key things I could do

I decided to focus primarily on stability for my children, keeping my home and job, and making sure life continued smoothly, as well as us having fun. I very much neglected my own health for several years in order to keep my job and home, and put my children absolutely first. I phoned friends from walks so that I could cry without the children seeing, and drank a lot in the evenings to deal with how stressed I felt. I slept terribly for several years. You can’t do everything, and something has to give; mine was my health and my social life. Try to cut yourself slack about what can wait/not be done, and what your main priorities are.

I tried to hold onto the truth that this was not my fault, or my failure

I wondered whether I was partly responsible for this. I raked my memory for clues I should have noticed. I felt a fool. I felt stupid. But my husband admitted to knowing for years that he intended to do this, and only told me at the very end of his process of secret research, experimentation and networking. I meanwhile had been working and bringing up children, and had no idea. It still blows my mind, but it is his responsibility and problem, not mine.

I got legal advice

I pretty quickly went to see a solicitor to find out my rights and options. Even if you feel you will probably stay with your partner, you may benefit from a one-off meeting with a lawyer, to ascertain your financial and legal position. You may never need that advice, but it gives you some protection if the situation deteriorates and you need or want to leave. I found it comforting to know where I stood, while I made up my mind what to do.

I found counselling

I was so lucky. I found a wonderful counsellor who was genuinely non-judgemental. If you can afford to go private, it’s worth every penny; if not your doctor may be able to direct you to services, and many employers offer workplace schemes. It was a great relief to me to have somewhere I could go to offload my fears and shame and pain. It saved my sanity, and I have revisited it at difficult times even years later, as recovery from this experience isn’t linear and distress, anger and grief can pop up later on quite unexpectedly. Unless you’ve decided to stay, I’d avoid organisations supporting trans people as they have a very clear bias and ideology, and a drive to educate partners to accept and stay.

I informed myself

My husband gave me a book on transitioning, which was written by a trans lobby group. Try to find information which is unbiased and includes lived experiences of women in your position who have both stayed and left. There is a lot of information which is inaccurate and unbalanced and may tell you that anything other than celebratory ‘staying’ is wrong and bad, and you are a deficient, or ignorant, or intolerant person to do otherwise. Hopefully this website and the stories within will show you that is nonsense.

I let it out

I started writing down how I was feeling, and sharing online with others. You may find this empowering and helpful. I certainly have, writing this piece. Thank you for reading.

 

[Hongourable Madisha]

An interview with a trans widow. The standard abuse patterns are all there: older man finds shy young woman, moves her to a country where she knows nobody, gets her pregnant, starts getting violent and more and more grotesque into his fetish. And Ireland is pozzed and loves troons so it was even easier for him to isolate her with the help of his local TQIAP+ orgs. What is it with tims and obeying creepy men in frocks who hurt women and kids?