The Ideal Detransitioner?
Can we grant equal attention to the detransitioner who regrets their transition, to the one who doesn’t, and to all who fall in-between?
Today’s guest essay is by Kirsty Rackliff, a PhD student in Sociology and Social Policy at The University of Nottingham. Kirsty’s research explores representations of detransition on social media.
How do we, as a society, decide who is worthy of our attention? Who do we afford empathy to, and who do we disparage?
If you’re a criminologist, you’re probably familiar with Christie’s (1986) concept of the Ideal Victim. The notion that victimhood is not an objective state, but rather a status granted by society, and one that you’re more or less likely to be given depending on your characteristics and the circumstances of the crime.
Being a relatively new sociocultural phenomenon, there’s very little literature about the ways detransition is constructed outside of academia (Sanders et al., 2023; Slothouber, 2020). This is unfortunate, as detransition has attracted significant public attention in recent years, shaping increasingly polarised discussions about gender, informed consent, and medical (mal)practice. Detransition has arguably become inextricably intertwined with these debates, and through this politicisation it is no longer understood as an experience but is instead synonymised with questions of ideology and philosophy. In other words, detransition has, for some, become inherently indicative of something (Hildebrand-Chupp, 2020). Detransition is not an event, but a symbol. A rhetorical tool.
Naturally, the legitimacy granted to detransition experiences will depend on how well they fit a particular chosen narrative. If detransition is indicative of an inherent incompetence within, or even deliberate strategic manipulation of patients by, the pharmaceutical industry, then it has to be defined by medical abuse.
Conversely, if detransition, especially with severe regret, is understood exclusively as a weapon wielded by anti-trans actors, then its very existence must proactively denounce this weaponisation. In other words, within these understandings, ideal detransitioners can either be damaged victims, or non-victimised allies to the transgender rights movement.
Therefore, I am arguing that the legitimacy, and more importantly, the empathy, that detransitioners are afforded depends on their perceived relationship to victimhood, and whether they embrace or reject the label of victim.
To be clear, this is not a criticism of any individual or collective group of detransitioners. It’s not about how detransitioners make meaning of their own experiences, or how detransitioners construct themselves. It is about the way value is ascribed to detransition experiences by the non-detrans collective. What types of detransitioners do we value? Who do we choose to listen to? How do we erase, edit and adjust detransition experiences into digestible, acceptable narratives? What does it mean to be the Ideal Detransitioner?
Within some circles, there is a fixation on detransition as a tragedy defined entirely by suffering. Robinson (2021) provides a more detailed exploration of this in Chapter 2 of Detransition: Beyond Before and After. With an emphasis placed on detransitioners who are irreversibly “damaged” or “mutilated,” significance here is assigned to detransition exclusively on the basis of an assumed perpetual victimhood, from which there is no recovery, and no “after” (Robinson, 2021). Detransitioners are portrayed as “... damaged goods rather than as human beings who have survived medical trauma” (Valdez & MacKinnon, 2023).
It is important to clarify again that this is not a criticism of detransitioners who do conceive of themselves in these terms and who have indeed suffered. Where severe complications or regrets are concerned, notions of damage can be vital tools for making sense of the detransition experience. The problem arises when the non-detrans collective condenses or co-opts these negative transition experiences while negating the fact that detransitioners are multifaceted human beings, whose lives don’t start or end with detransition.
There are, for example, a significant number of detrans people whose experiences are characterised by gender fluidity, complex relationships to transgender or nonbinary identities, and even positive feelings about initial transition (MacKinnon et al., 2022; Sansfacon et al., 2023). Detransition can be experienced as a significant part of ongoing self-discovery. Even for those who remain critical of medical transition, the detransition process can provide opportunities for reconnection with one's identity or sexuality and become an important step in the process of healing past trauma. As Robinson summarises:
“Suffering without context is a piece of my story, but it is far from the whole story” (p. 44).
On the other side of this is the non-victimised ally to trans people. In 2022 a detransitioner went viral on X (then Twitter) for sharing their story. While covering the negative reaction as people “Clapping Back,” Into magazine stated, “There’s a definite pick-me vibe surrounding folks who feel let down or disappointed by the process of transition” (2022). Detransitioners who share their negative experiences or regrets are accused of “grifting,” especially when these stories are circulated by conservative or right-leaning outlets (Reuters, 2022).
Detransitioners can experience rejection from previous support systems, particularly LGBTQ+ ones, by virtue of the negative connotations detransition holds (MacKinnon et al., 2022; Vandenbussche, 2022). Therefore, within progressive/leftist landscapes, acceptance of detrans people is dependent on their ongoing positive feelings about initial transition, and the vocal rejection of other detransitioners claiming victim status. In MacKinnon et al.’s (2022) exploration of detransphobia, participants expressed their support for trans people and their rejection of transantagonistic ideologies. While these behaviours were not understood as disingenuous to the participants’ feelings, researchers interpreted them as partly “... a protective strategy to buffer against detransphobic stereotyping,” due to the societal construction of detransition as inherently anti-trans.
Again, this is not an indictment of detransitioners who appear to fit the non-victimised ally archetype. With both proposed and active restrictions to gender affirming medical care happening in numerous countries, many detransitioners—particularly those who are sexual minorities or who continue to identify as transgender and nonbinary—resist the weaponisation of detransition by anti-trans actors. Rather, this is about the need for detransitioners to pre-emptively, and frequently, reiterate their positive attitudes towards transition as a deterrent for detransphobia and social rejection from the non-detrans collective.
Moving forward, there needs to be accommodation for detransition experiences that fall beyond the scope of commodifiable tragedies or palatably positive gender-journeys. Detransitioners deserve to have their experiences understood as complex and multifaceted, constructed of positive, negative, and fluctuating elements. Perhaps more importantly, they should be able to share these experiences in their entirety without fear that they will be met with detransphobia, misunderstanding, and the threat of co-option.
Although, truthfully, there should be no mandate for detransitioners to share their stories at all. Especially not with the wider, non-detrans public. There is an urgent need for private detransitioner spaces. For closed forums and in-person support groups away from scrutiny or invasion by non-detrans spectators. Digital technologies- especially social media—create an expectation, an imperative, for trauma (and joy) to be witnessed in order to be legitimised.
But, as one detransition blog puts it:
“The peanut gallery and the ringmaster are not your friends... You can walk away and find a better place to be, to think, to process what’s happening to you, and yes, to tell your story on your own terms” (Permutational, 2023. Emphasis mine).
In the meantime, we, the non-detrans collective, need to ask ourselves why we’re here. Are we only interested in detransition experiences that uphold our pre-existing beliefs? Can we grant equal attention to the detransitioner who regrets their transition, to the one who doesn’t, and to all who fall in-between? Do we have our own pre-conceived construction of the Ideal Detransitioner?
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The Ideal Detransitioner? © 2025 by Kirsty Rackliff is licensed under CC BY-NC 4.0
This article makes some really good points. While I am interested in detransition (and transition), I recognize that it is hard to capture either experience in a podcast or online survey. Gender identity, and identity in general, is complex and changeable. It seems likely to me that a person could move through being initially happy as cisgender, to unhappy as cisgender, to happily transitioning, to hating transition and deciding to detransition, to integrating their gender identity in a way that feels comfortable and less angst ridden. So the same person might be a “good” detransitioner and an “unacceptable” one to different observers at different points in time. Hard to capture this theoretical person’s experience by listening to them at a single point in time. To me, this points to a need to follow populations of people who transition over extended periods of time. Is dissatisfaction with transition an intense, but uncommon and brief experience? Or is it a sustained and common experience? Are there factors that can predict who is likely to be dissatisfied with transition? Factors (modifiable or not) that predict who moves through that dissatisfaction and who remains unhappy? I suspect that many people considering transition or detransition would find these things valuable to know.