It’s Time The Media Told the Whole Story About Adult Transition
By Emma Thomas
Imagine that, at the age of 11, you walk in on your father applying an oestrogen patch to his thigh. He tells you that he wants to be a girl.
This is how self-described “transgender activist” Amethyst Herrick introduces his son’s story in a recent Metro article, “I told my son I was trans – nothing prepared me for the response” (30 November 2025). It is presented as a heart-warming tale of acceptance. However, for those of us who grew up as the children of trans-identified fathers, it raises questions about boundaries, perceptions, and the emotional burden that children are expected to carry.
Increasingly, late-transitioning fathers narrate their lives in public – not only in print, but in videos and talks about surgery, sexual sensation, and intimate bodily changes. Any curious teenager can find this material in a few clicks. The children of these men are not just asked to accept a new identity at home; they may also discover that extremely personal details about their father’s body are available for strangers – and for them – to consume. It can feel as if nothing is off-limits. Your parent’s inner life and sex life are pushed into the spotlight, while your own reactions are meant to be invisible.
Being the child of a trans father – which was my own experience in the 1980s – can pull you into a world of far too much information about things you should never have to know. In my teens, I learned about sissy porn, transsexuals and transvestites, about surgeries and post-surgical complications, electrolysis, and breast growth. I was drawn into a transgressive adult world where my dad cast us as the cool ones.
We hung out in gay bars. Strangers congratulated me on how accepting and amazing my “mother” was. Who would dare to seem so uncool as to say, “Actually, I’m not comfortable”? And who could I possibly have told that all of this was too much, far too soon? I emerged from that period with a severe eating disorder, low self-esteem, and identity problems. And I am not the only one left with shrapnel from a father’s gender conflict.
When I set up Children of Transitioners in 2019 and began writing about my experiences, the thing I most needed to name – what I had been bottling up for forty years – was “The Pressure to Pretend That It’s All OK”. The responsibility for my father’s fragile emotional state had been pushed onto me when I was still a child. It took years to see that this should never have happened.
Red flags abound. Herrick writes that when his wife was pregnant, he longed for a girl and planned to “…channel my roiling femininity through our daughter”. When he discovered they were having a boy, he describes plunging into a “dark depression” lasting a decade, until he was “broken and hollow”. “Living as a man was killing me,” he says, “but I feared transition would harm my son’s chances at growing into a man.” What impact does this have on a son?
My own father told me he had had a “nervous breakdown” and that transitioning was his only hope of staying alive. Imagine holding the weight of that in your early teens. Imagine a father who has been depressed, angry, and short-tempered with you for years suddenly saying that the only thing that will make him happy is transitioning, and your wholehearted acceptance of it. How many of us have heard some version of: “I’ll kill myself,” “I’ll never be happy,” “do what I want, or I’ll never love you again”?
Even when it isn’t said explicitly, once a child’s cooperation and approval are initially perceived, where is their freedom later to express doubt or ambivalence?
We are constantly told two things at once. First, that transition is the most important, authentic thing a human being can do: a revelation of who they “really are” deep inside, in contrast to the false self they inhabited before. Second, that transition has virtually zero impact on family and friends: it’s “just a change of clothes and pronouns”; the person is “exactly the same” as before. But transition is not a neutral, private act. It alters the emotional landscape of everyone in the family.
Herrick works with people who have gender dysphoria and is a firm supporter of WPATH. It is no surprise that the media selects families like his to profile. Reporters do not randomly find these; they are carefully sourced to fit a particular narrative that portrays late-transitioning fathers as brave pioneers. This propaganda is intended to normalise autogynephilia.
Recent revelations about institutional bias at organisations such as the BBC have shown how the voices of trans widows and children of trans-identified people have been sidelined in favour of the one narrative of happy and successful transition. This isn’t accidental; it’s in response to activist pressure and does not help anyone affected by this issue. Many marriages break down after a transition is announced, for example, and although we have no official figures, it is unlikely that Herrick’s experience is the norm.
When only one narrative is allowed, it is usually the one controlled by the person with a vested interest in appearing as a successful partner and parent. That is why groups like Trans Widows Voices and Children of Transitioners have carved out online spaces where we write, make films, and podcasts about the bigger picture.
When the children of trans-identified people tell their own stories, a different pattern emerges. We learn that it is normal to feel grief at the ambiguous loss of your beloved parent; to feel hurt when he says that the time he was your “Dad” wasn’t real, that he was pretending and secretly in pain. Alongside the good memories may be feelings of abandonment, of broken boundaries, and shattered trust. Where does your love for your parent fit inside that?
These stories don’t fit neatly into the upbeat transition narrative, but they are there if you look. We are told, for example, that Herrick’s son is “non-binary”. We are not invited to ask what that actually means, or how it might relate to having your father announce he wants to be the opposite sex at a key stage in your own identity development. In “positive” pieces like this, those questions are never raised, yet it is possible to read between the lines.
Herrick ends his article by saying: “I’m vibrant and happy, I see a future ahead of me. I want to live … I am out; I am proud … I am Amethysta, and I am here.” That closing paragraph contains six “I” statements and not one “we”. For many of us who grew up as the children of transitioning parents, that rings horribly true. Their transition becomes the central focus of their life, leaving very little space for you.
Emma Thomas is the founder of Children of Transitioners.
Watch her presentation from the Bigger Picture Conference 2024 here.
If a parent, partner, sibling, or other loved one in your own family has transitioned, you don’t have to deal with the impact on your own. Genspect’s Beyond Trans service is launching a new, free online support group in January, offering a compassionate space to talk honestly, share experiences, and be heard by others who understand. Children of Transitioners is pleased to be involved in this new group.