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

[Lithuophile]

I wonder how all the anti-divorce Christians like Matt Walsh reconcile with this scenario

If they led good spiritual lives, they wouldn't be considering lobbing off their cocks/tits and putting on a dress/growing a beard in the first place

 

[Poppy Brown]

If they led good spiritual lives, they wouldn't be considering lobbing off their cocks/tits and putting on a dress/growing a beard in the first place

Yes, but men who lead good spiritual lives also wouldn't beat their wives, but the Church will still pressure women into not divorcing them.

 

[A Grey Cat]

While it's a stereotype (even on here) for the pipeline to go, "loner incel who couldn't attract a fly to a turd." Trooning out because he was so desperate for pussy he decided to get his dick grafted into an imitation of one. Never forget that the troon disease can and does indeed affect normies who settled for whatever they could get.

I'd say it's sadder amd easier to pity the married men who throw away their happy well adjusted lives away for a fetish than it is to pity the Lucas soerrentis or cwcs of the world, but as the saying goes; "this is your fate, this is what you chose, there is no going back."

 

[Emperor Pupienus]

Also, while pooners get credited for being less "out there" than TIMs, they are quite often more violent. Perhaps because they are trying to "prove" they are men...see here:

Pooners are like incels. Most of them are harmless retards but some of them decide to shoot up a school.

Part of the FtM violence problem is that the so-called doctors often get pooners hopped up on massive doses of testosterone, i.e. more than a natural male would have, in order to make up for lost time. The HRT lights a fire of aggression that's foreign to them; that they haven't spent their whole lives being trained to control, and channel into pro-social pursuits.

I had a friend of a friend who was in a lesbian relationship, and her girlfriend pooned out. She gets on testosterone, and next thing you know, "he" is beating the shit out of her on a regular basis.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

Bro mad (and regretted) that he came out and it wasn't the fanfare he imagined he'd receive.

*I can't add archives.

 

[Irregardless]

Part of the FtM violence problem is that the so-called doctors often get pooners hopped up on massive doses of testosterone, i.e. more than a natural male would have, in order to make up for lost time. The HRT lights a fire of aggression that's foreign to them; that they haven't spent their whole lives being trained to control, and channel into pro-social pursuits.

I had a friend of a friend who was in a lesbian relationship, and her girlfriend pooned out. She gets on testosterone, and next thing you know, "he" is beating the shit out of her on a regular basis.

I think it comes from a combination of factors. Just like TiM's, pooners a lot of the times operate off of a caricature of what they think a man is, angry, aggressive, doesn't take shit, but also still maintain the female mentality of "there's no way a man would hit a woman". These 2 things merge into pooners thinking that they're a badass and that now that they're a man they have a realistic chance of beating another man in a fight, completely forgetting that they're 4'11 and having missed the male life lesson that you can only act a fool for so long until another man comes and puts you in your place.

In terms of pooners beating up their female partners, I feel like it's probably due to their inability to handle testosterone coupled with their body intrinsically knowing that it's still female, so when they get into confrontations with their female partners their body and brain think it's still a female vs female, rather than whatever bs they made up.

 

[Lavender Moth]

If you want a gut-wrenching account of what it's like to become a transwidow as a mother, I highly recommend Ute Heggen's book In the Curated Woods. It details all the truly nightmarish things Heggen was put through by her husband (AGP troon) and how she used her relationship with nature to heal from something that would absolutely destroy most beyond all recognition. For me (someone who has lost partners, friends, and family to the trans cult) this book felt like a warm hug at times (a "you're not alone" kind of emotion, if you will) but I will give a fair warning that some of the content in the book (such as the AGP husband successfully triangulating Heggens' children against her with the help of in-school indoctrination and grooming services) is quite upsetting, but it is, nonetheless, an amazing memoir. Especially if you like plants.

She also has a youtube channel where she discusses the insanity going on in terms of trans legal stuff, and sometimes hosts the stories and accounts other transwidows who have suffered through this insanity.

Any pooner widowers out there?

Lesbian widower here. Perhaps not precisely the perspective you were looking for, but I can confirm dating a woman who poons out is a cluster B nightmare. Not only will they celebrate the act of swallowing poison that turns their junk into something straight out of a Giger painting, but they will also make up heinous shit about you in their head and run with it as if it is gospel, when in reality, it is pure delusion. They will not talk to you about these feelings, and you will become an effigy of their own self-hatred. They will assume that, because they are ashamed of themselves, then you must be too. All I have to say is: I was never ashamed of her until she said to me, "Moth, I'm a man." At which point, I dropped her like a hot rock, because that shit is disgusting lmao. She may have hated herself, but I certainly don't hate myself enough to date a woman while her crotch deforms and rots from the vaginal atrophy, all so she can live a grotesque, fabricated life as a "man".

11/10 great decision on my part. Highly recommend jumping ship immediately if your partner poons/troons out on you. No relationship is worth it. None.

 

[i440BX]

Ngl, this phenomenon has had a serious blackpilling effect on me. Whenever it comes up on MATI it fills me with a feeling of dread and emptiness, and I feel slightly sick to my stomach, so I've had to start skipping those segments.


Something needs to be done about the proliferation of porn. It's way too widely accepted by society and even young children are being exposed to and influenced by it. Straight up disastrous for humanity.

I saw porn in younger years, but I was wise enough to know this was fake and women are not treated like that in real life or are not as promiscuous. Sex IRL is a serious matter.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

I saw porn in younger years, but I was wise enough to know this was fake and women are not treated like that in real life or are not as promiscuous. Sex IRL is a serious matter.

Same. My vice was (kinda still is) softcore. Hardcore (hetero) was too visceral and really non personal for me; so going deeper into degeneracy was like the feeling you get when walking through a bad neighborhood or the woods at night that only grew more ominous with each step. Point is that I turned back. And, since what I watched was basically the equivalent to sex scenes in mainstream movies and shows, I stay away from much of that for my own good. PL, I know. Forgive me frens. That said...

​

Spoiler: Thread Tax - Beth's Story: Through The Cotton Looking Glass

From Transwidows.org

I always knew, deep down, that I was a lesbian. I was sexually abused over a period of years during my childhood, and people sometimes ask me did that make me a lesbian. No, it might have put me off men, but it couldn’t make me feel the way I always have about women.

What the abuse did was teach me that I wasn’t allowed to say no to men. By the time I was eighteen, I had a policy that if I didn’t say no to a man, he couldn’t rape me. I was also completely desperate for any kind of attention, affection, anything, I had grown up in a neglectful, abusive home, where there wasn’t much love to be had. Even negative attention felt good to me.

Sex with men for me became like cutting, or starving yourself is to some people. I did it because it both hurt me, and really, I also just wanted to be held, to be paid attention to. I felt that I deserved to be hurt, but I wanted to feel nothing, and also to be held. Sexual abuse messes you up.

I met my ex, George, when I was eighteen. I had just left my parents’ house to go to university. They rented out my room and made it clear that I was no longer able to go back to their house. I had no coping skills whatsoever. I sat in my room in halls for a term having an elaborate breakdown. I didn’t get any help for it, it wouldn’t have occurred to me.

When I met George, I was very lonely. I would have done anything, really, for a hug and somebody to talk to. I felt like sex was all I had to offer anybody. And then there was my “don’t say no” policy. And there was the self-harm element – the same sort of dissociative relief that some people get from cutting.

I was just 18, he was a couple of years older, and he could see the absolute mess my room and my life were in. If I met an 18 year old in that state, I would be giving her advice about how to seek help, not buying her presents and moving in with her. He preyed on me when I was vulnerable. I should have seen the red flags from space, but I was falling to pieces.

A couple of months later, we both dropped out of our uni courses, and moved in together. We both needed a way out. He found a job, I didn’t. I was too mentally unwell to work. My days consisted of getting drunk in the morning, falling asleep 'til he came home, then having increasingly weird sex with him.

He was very tall, well over six foot, and he was nominally bisexual. Or at least, he was so lacking in boundaries that he would try anything – I don’t believe he would ever have a relationship with a man, but he wanted to try everything.

Every single friend of mine who came to the house, male or female, he tried to orchestrate a threesome, or a foursome, or whatever. He sometimes succeeded, sometimes didn’t, but either way it always soured things with my friends. I became increasingly isolated and alone, and started to spiral again.

I look back and think, why didn’t I just leave? I was trapped. I couldn’t go back to my parents, they had rented out my room. I couldn’t go back to university. I couldn’t go to a “shelter” or whatever, because there wasn’t any violence. I had literally nobody left in my life to help me.

Then I started to notice weird things happening. My favourite shoes, that were fine when I put them in the wardrobe, were broken. My dress, that had been tight, felt looser under the arms and around the shoulders. Somebody had left the top off my lipstick. My zip was broken. He was always closing his computer when I came around the door. My underwear was going missing.

I came home one day to find that one half of the front of the dress that I wanted to wear that night was soaking wet. I confronted him about it. He confessed, and said that he had been wearing my dress, and had condoms filled with water in my bra, to make it feel like he had breasts.

I broke down at that point and told him that I couldn’t carry on with him, that my life was out of control, that I am a lesbian, that I was so sorry for getting him involved in all this, that I would just have to find somewhere to stay and see if I could work something out. I had tears streaming down my face, and snot in my hair from crying that hard.

He said that he was a lesbian too. It pulled me up short. I was only eighteen at the time. I didn’t say no to men, that wasn’t in my vocabulary. I can still hear the way a sob caught in my throat and I just stopped crying, like turning off a tap. Abruptly.

He took that as consent, rather than horror, and somehow the evening ended up with him excitedly going to get dressed up, as a “lesbian.” He came downstairs in fishnets, a short, tight red dress, my heels (several sizes too small for him), red lipstick, water filled condoms in my bra, and his penis tucked up between his legs. “See, it looks like I have a vagina,” he said. “And feel my boobs, they feel like real boobs, they even have realistic nipples!”.

He was feigning this whole coquettish, girlish thing, that looked like a parody of me. It felt like he was trying to be me, like he was mocking me, taking what was mine. He even affected my mannerisms, my laugh, the way I walk.

I felt in shock, really. I knew that he didn’t look like any lesbian I had ever seen. He was hairy, and wiry, and over six feet tall. He hadn’t even shaved, so had a day’s beard growth. He hadn’t showered, so he smelt like a man. It was like he was purposefully showing me that he was “really” male, and enjoying my discomfort with the whole thing. Under the coquette act, there was very male entitlement and rage.

I knew, I knew that he wasn’t a lesbian and that I couldn’t carry on with this, but I also knew that I couldn’t tell him that, and that I had nowhere else to go. I was frightened of what he would do if I said no. I had only said yes up to that point, and he had already managed to isolate me from all my friends and make me dependent on him for even somewhere to stay.

I just went along with it. I swallowed all my feelings and went along with it. I knew what sex with women was like, the aching tenderness, the deep passion, the desperate longing to be closer, closer, the way the soul comes in at the eyes and leaves in little gasps, the way the whole of my body turned to rushing water then rested at peace.

I knew that I couldn’t have that with him, because I didn’t feel that way about men, and there was no imagining that this person in front of me was anything other than a man. But I didn’t know what else to do.

The sex started getting more and more bizarre. He wanted me to tie him up. He wanted me to tie him up and fuck him with a strap on. He wanted me to call him names whilst he licked my boots. He wanted me to whip him. He wanted me to tell him he was a naughty little girl. Then, when we had done the weird stuff, he would switch like magic back to “being a man” and would want straight up rough/ kinky sex, and he expected me to “submit” to that (his words).

It was all controlled and orchestrated by him, he never asked me what I wanted. I had to keep all this a secret from everybody, because he didn’t want to be a woman full time, only when he was with me. Some nights were bizarre; watching TV with this man, wearing my clothes, pretending he was a lesbian, and knowing what was coming later. I didn’t know how to say no.

This went on for months. Every night. I switched myself off. I felt completely trapped, I felt like I didn’t have any other option but to do what he wanted. I was completely dependent on him for everything.

And then I found out I was pregnant. None of the demands for sex changed, if anything, they got more extreme. I wanted to keep the baby. To cut a long story short, George manipulated me into getting an abortion that I did not want. I tried to jump off the trolley on the way to the operating theatre, but they wouldn’t let me.

George wasn’t there when I woke up. He promised he would be. I lay there, in shock and alone. Eventually, they brought a commode, and helped me onto it. There was a grey paper dish in the bottom of it, and when I stood up, it was full of blood. My baby’s blood. I can still see that bowl, the end of all my hope. I collapsed to the floor and howled with grief.

It’s difficult to explain, but that was my baby. That was my little girl. I loved her. I had imagined holding her, I had imagined putting her to my breast. I imagined my life with her, and now she was dead, she was a bowl full of blood, and it was my fault, I didn’t protect her, and I was supposed to protect her. I loved her, and I had killed her, and right then I wanted to die too.

Eventually, I got myself together and got a taxi back to the house. George had put all my things in bin bags and put them outside the front door. He had changed the locks. He wasn’t home. I was bleeding, I think possibly haemorrhaging. I howled on the ground outside the house again, and then got in my car and drove to a deserted layby.

I was technically homeless for the next five years. I look back now and it seems almost incredible to me that I got from there to here.

I did my entire undergraduate degree whilst vulnerably housed – I was living in the squat in the holidays. I was still floored by grief and guilt, but I was starting to heal.

Then I met my wife, Ash, shortly after that.

There’s something so genuine, grounded, boundaried, reassuring, solid about her. I had never had any ground to stand on, any place to stay, anywhere safe in my whole life. Not even as a child. One translation of the Hebrew word for Salvation is to “come home,” and so when I say that she is my salvation, I say it with my whole heart. She is the only home I have ever known.

We have had our struggles. It took us a long time to work things out between us, to work out how we worked. We both brought our own trauma to the relationship. But, unusually for two broken people, we rescued each other. Nearly twenty years later, she is still my connection to the earth, my “rocks beneath,” my harbour, my safe and sound. I’m still her light, her inspiration, her passion, her joy.

With George, everything was always about him – what he wanted. It felt like I just existed as a kind of prop in his increasingly misogynist fantasies, more like a masturbation aid than an actual human being.

With Ash, I feel as if she sees me, at the very centre of who I am, and loves me, there, with her whole self. I feel like that connection is everything, it is healing, and beautiful and it is everything to me. It has healed my broken heart, and “she who heals her heart, heals the hearts of her children’s children”.

Children. My little girl. I dreamed about her for eighteen years after the abortion.

I have found peace with the choices I made. I no longer feel that I tried to murder my child; I was in a desperate situation, and I did what I could to save her. I failed. That’s not the same thing as murder.

One last thing. I believed that I was evil, and that I would be punished for the abortion by a miscarriage, or a still birth, or something like that. I didn’t believe I would ever be able to hold my living child, as punishment for what I had done to my daughter.

When they held up my son, a little squalling scrap, and wrapped him up, and put him in my arms, it was indescribable. I have never experienced such a shift in my emotional landscape, so quickly, as I did when I held my child in my arms. Where there were deserts, now there were seas. All that guilt, pain, grief, desperate sadness all got washed away, by this tiny child, who came into the world with his arms open.

His little brother came along a few years later, and between them, they are the absolute joy of my life. They are smart, gentle, loving children, who love each other, are almost ridiculously tall and handsome, and bring joy to the lives of everybody around them. They’ve had their struggles, and so have I, but my broken heart is healed, and I’m happy, and whole, and well beloved. I have friends and family around me, I have work that matters. I have a sense of purpose and I am at peace.

 

[Haram-Habibi]

Biden's favorite troon, Richard Levine, started his BS in 2011. Divorce was final in 2013. They had been married about 15 years at that point, and had two kids.

Fucking degenerate blew up his family so he could look ridiculous in his sailor suit. Hope it was worth it.

 

[Hassou Tobi]

Not sure what thread to post this in:
View attachment 5854806
Handmaidening won't save you from a tranny's wrath. One thing I remember someone here saying was "a man who argues that it's ok to assault women he disagrees with will disagree with you one day." So all those handmaidens posting memes about how it's totes okay to punch terfs are really saying "any woman who hurts a troons feelings deserves violence." Without ever stopping to consider what is going to happen to them when they hurt the troons feelings. Which they will, because troons are thin skinned crybabys.

I've read that troons mock handmaidens in their private discords for believing their BS, etc. I haven't seen the screenshots, but I believe it 100%.

 

[TruffleSpark]

I've read that troons mock handmaidens in their private discords for believing their BS, etc. I haven't seen the screenshots, but I believe it 100%.

I have to wonder to what extent handmaidens actually buy into the bs. I'm not sure if it's more pathetic if they do believe it or if they don't but just pretend to.

 

[DumbDude43]

I've read that troons mock handmaidens in their private discords for believing their BS, etc. I haven't seen the screenshots, but I believe it 100%.

it's the same dynamic as between niggers and the 'anti racist' whites that show up to their blm riots

 

[Crex Crex]

Also, while pooners get credited for being less "out there" than TIMs, they are quite often more violent. Perhaps because they are trying to "prove" they are men...see here:

It's because they quite literally have roid rage. The sudden testosterone spike, combined with mental illness, makes them violent and permanently enraged.

 

[Hassou Tobi]

it's the same dynamic as between niggers and the 'anti racist' whites that show up to their blm riots

omg remember that white grad student woman writing about "institutionalized racism in the court system" who literally got mugged and murdered by a pack of n-ggers?

Which makes me think...as a former emily (sorta), I feel like the handmaidens must know because how could you not? But then you just gaslight yourself by saying "No, that's my internalized transphobia talking." Add things like the toxic empathy trait women have, and how your friends will be more like to censure/ostracize you for political wrong think...it's just easier to go along with it and try to convince yourself to ignore the obvious.

 

[Kari Kamiya]

First thing I immediately thought about seeing the title was from years ago when Greta and his pajeet femboy were being exposed as the frauds they are and ex-man LordKat proved the stats of Trans Lifeline response time was so horrendous that it may have actually ended more lives than saved. A trans widow came to the Farms for a brief moment to talk about it, and she was more welcomed here than from her Facebook "friends". It sounded like she was supportive of her spouse trooning out, but mental illness and transitioning do not mix very well. I thought for sure she was a married lesbian, but probably wasn't.

Post starts here. I'm trying to find the exact post where the widow actually chimed in, it might've actually been a second victim and it might've been a pooner who 41%'d the more I scroll through looking for it.

EDIT: I found her, she showed up to a separate thread about her (estranged, it turned out) husband who trooned out. She was actually supportive of it and really was upset at Greta and gang for exploiting the suicide.

 

[Det. Frank Washington Esq]

Chris popped up instantly in my mind. He had every man's dream. A decent wife, a child- a boy even! Over a million dollars solely due to the right connection at the right time. little to zero effort put in his life. And what does he do? What does he give back to the world that blessed him so dearly?

Talk about "if wholesome was a person." This is who he left to chase the coom.

F for Katie Tyson.

 

[TapewormSalesman]

If they led good spiritual lives, they wouldn't be considering lobbing off their cocks/tits and putting on a dress/growing a beard in the first place

Now hold on, what about that beloved community priest Bubba-something, that offed himself after his secret troon life came out?

 

[BatsInTheBelfry]

It’s not my personal story, but there’s a guy that I worked with that moved in on a trans widow. She was married to a guy who trooned a few months after their second kid was born. Second kid. Just so cruel. No empathy.

I wish this story had a happy ending, but unfortunately she’s in a relationship with this guy, who also really sucks. He’s a degen that blows his money on OF girls, online poker, and magic cards. I doubt she knows she’s with another closeted pervert. I don’t know her, so who knows.

 

[DumbDude43]

He’s a degen that blows his money on OF girls

how do you know? are you telling me this clown unironically tells people irl about how he throws money at internet camgirls?
holy shit how are these people even real