This is not my child, this young "woman" who sits before me, with "her" beautiful voice, "hEr" women's denim jacket she stole from "HeR" loving "girl"friend, "HER [sic]" beautiful face. It can't be! But it is. It is not my daughter but my eldest SON, sitting there before me, in the guise of the girl I always thought I wanted but never got. But he is not a real woman, no, not at all! I should find it grotesque, horrifying, this young boy turned by cross-sex hormones and time into a facsimile of a beautiful young woman. Everything about the way he looks, the way he talks, sounding just like any actual young woman, the way people unknowingly call him "her," the synthetic-estrogen-induced gynocomastia on his chest that looks just like healthy breasts, that so many women his age choose to cut off! I should scream, I should want to tear my eyes out at the terrible sight before me, and I do, but I cannot. I cannot help myself; I find him the most beautiful thing in the world. I hear strangers refer to him, my male son, as a woman. But I cannot bring myself to do more than patiently watch, than gently push back in quiet moments, than never to affirm but never quite to do more than gently encourage desistance. I cannot bring myself to do the right thing. The so-called "transgender ideology" that these supposed "trans-identified people" espouse is so vile, it perverts my mother's love for my son into implicitly submitting to it!

Some days my little hon's happier than I have seen him in years. Other days he is miserable. I worry that that is preventing me from giving him the help he deserves, but I try my best when he is happy. When he is happy, I cannot help but be happy for him, even though I know it is wrong, it is really hurting him. When I see his feminine appearance, in all respects like a tall woman, only just the smallest amount like the obvious men in dresses I am used to seeing, I can't help but love him. I should find it grotesque, even more so because he is so convincing in his disguise. That is what it is, after all. But I cannot. I cannot help but love my child, even when that love gets in the way of TRULY LOVING him. It makes me sick.