Moving Trans History Forward Conference with Brian Belovitch
This is the first post in a short series about inclusion of detransition/retransition at a recent Trans Studies conference at the University of Victoria. It's written by our guest, Brian Belovitch.
Over the next few weeks, we will be sharing reflections from the Moving Trans History Forward conference, a hybrid conference that was held in March 2025, at the University of Victoria in British Columbia, Canada. MTHF is a bi-annual Trans Studies / trans community conference. It’s put on, in part, by the Chair in Trans Studies, Dr. Aaron Devor. Several trans, nonbinary, and detrans members of the DARE study presented virtually on our study at the conference.
This was the first time that experiences of detransition/retransition were represented at this conference, and we thank Dr. Devor and the organizing committee for the wide inclusion of community voices.
As another example, the Trans Elders panel included Brian Belovitch who is the author of our guest post today who wrote about his experience of being on the panel.
A bit about our guest author, Brian:
Brian Belovitch is a multi-hyphenate, which includes his work as an author, actor, advocate and currently as a mental health professional. He has deep connections within the LGBTQA+ community. His rich experience on gender and identity informs the work he does with those individuals who are facing their own mental health challenges. He is the author of Trans Figured: My Journey from Boy to Girl to Woman to Man.
A profile of Brian’s life story is available here in Paper magazine.
Where does a story like mine begin? Not with a neat label or a headline-grabbing identity, but in the quiet confusion of a young boy, a working-class Portuguese-American kid with too much glitter in my spirit for the town of Fall River, Massachusetts, wondering why he felt like he didn’t fit anywhere. I was effeminate, flamboyant, sensitive—words people used as weapons when I was a child. For many of us growing up queer in the 60s and 70s, survival meant shape-shifting. I learned early to find refuge in fantasy, performance, and eventually, in transformation.
In my late teens, I transitioned to live as a woman named Tish Gervais. It was the early 1970s. There wasn’t a playbook, just raw instinct and desperation. Tish was my lifeline. Even finding love in the arms of a handsome soldier who I married out of some surefire fix couldn’t save me from what was to come. As Tish, I carved out a space in New York City’s underground scene, dancing under the lights of Studio 54, brushing shoulders with icons, and making my mark in a world that prized glamor but offered little stability. I was vibrant, visible—and quietly unraveling.
Addiction, mental health struggles, and a relentless pressure to perform femininity took their toll. Being Tish meant survival, yes, but it also meant losing pieces of myself to keep up the illusion. I wasn’t living a lie—I was living a version of the truth that I thought would keep me safe.
Then came the breaking point in 1987. I was sober for a year. I got quiet. I started listening. What I heard wasn’t regret—it was exhaustion. It was the realization that I no longer needed to perform a version of myself to be valid. I made the deeply personal decision to retransition and reclaim my life as Brian. That choice didn’t erase Tish—it honored her. She got me through the darkest times. But I needed a life that was sustainable, sober, and grounded in my whole truth.
I’ve spoken about this more openly in recent years, particularly at the 2025 Moving Trans History Forward (MTHF) conference at the University of Victoria. My current work as a Mental Health Counselor has afforded me entrance into spaces where I can really make a difference in other peoples lives. Being part of the Elders Panel with Charley Burton and Lukas Walther was powerful and moving. Here we were—three people who’ve lived full lives through the shifting tides of gender, activism, and culture—sitting together, telling the truth.
The audience was diverse: trans youth, academics, allies, skeptics, all listening.
I shared what it was like to move through the world as a trans woman, and later as a gay man. I spoke about the years of addiction, the loneliness, and the healing. I talked about the realities of detransition (what I prefer to call my retransition)—not as a moral argument or political stance—but as lived experience. Many thanked me afterward. Some cried. A few had never heard someone speak about detransition without shame or agenda. I felt seen and heard in a way that had never happened before in this community. That matters.
What the mainstream conversation often misses is the nuance.
Detransition/retransition isn’t always about regret, and it sure as hell isn’t about erasing trans people. It’s about alignment. It’s about survival. It’s about the freedom to grow, change, and reclaim your voice, even if that voice doesn’t echo the one you once spoke with. My story doesn’t negate anyone else's—it adds to the mosaic.
At MTHF, I also saw something I didn’t have in the 70s and 80s: young people surrounded by community, by language, by options. That’s progress.
But I also worry that in our rush to affirm, we sometimes forget to ask deeper questions. Identity, especially gender identity, isn’t always fixed or linear. For some of us, it’s fluid. For others, it’s elusive. And for people like me, it was a process of trial, error, and ultimately, clarity.
My memoir, Trans Figured: My Journey from Boy to Girl to Woman to Man, was written for those who’ve felt lost in this conversation—for the ones who transitioned, detransitioned, retransitioned, or are still figuring it out. For those who feel erased by the extremes on either side of this cultural war. You’re not alone. Your experience is real. And it matters.
TheOnePercent Substack is one of the few spaces where we can talk honestly about what comes after transition, for some of us. Not in whispers. Not in fear. But in full view. I’m proud to share my story here because stories like ours—complex, imperfect, and deeply human—deserve to be told without being weaponized.
So, here’s what I know: You don’t owe anyone a neat narrative. You don’t have to be a poster child for any movement. You’re allowed to change. You’re allowed to question. You’re allowed to come home to yourself— however that looks.
Today, I’m a husband, a mentor, a man with a past that doesn’t define me but informs me. I’m still walking the path, still learning. I’m not looking for approval anymore— I’m looking for truth. And if my story helps someone else feel seen, then that’s more than enough.
To the ones out there navigating the messy middle: I see you. Keep going. You don’t have to explain yourself to everyone. Just don’t lose yourself in the noise. Your life is bigger than any label. And your story is far from over.
- Brian
Thank you for reading The One Percent!
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Beautifully written - thank you
Thank you, Brian! I've existed in the "messy middle" or what I call The Third Space my whole life. I'm glad you're here too.