Today is another of those bad days. It's been four years since it all began. My daughter has a beard, a deep voice, a sunken, scarred chest and a body covered in hair. And that is just the part I can see. I have nightmares imagining the state of her internal organs.

We have an on-off relationship. If I slip up and say something unacceptable to her, she stops talking to me for months. I have to compromise all the time to keep our connection. I am tired. So, so tired. I wish I could have a break from all of it, but this is my life. There is no way out.

[...]

I have written many articles and letters to newspapers and magazines, most of which go unpublished, and yet I can't stop writing. I argue on Facebook and post articles in response to all the pro-trans ideology propaganda even though it feels pointless.

Very few of my family and friends support me. They are either aggressively pro-trans or they are deathly silent. Some friends try to convince me to accept my new 'son' and to use the pronouns she wants. I see red but I am too tired to argue any more. If another person asks, 'Why can't you just accept it and move on?' I will scream.

My family has been torn apart. My marriage is suffering from the fallout. My husband won't talk about it. He gets angry when I cry. My younger daughter rolls her eyes in frustration when I tell her about the effects of testosterone or about the misogyny and homophobia of trans activism.

Two of my three sisters get angry, tearful and defensive when I show them any articles that challenge the 'gender affirmative care’ model. They loudly and proudly refer to my daughter as 'him'. My mother is old and frail. She wants a relationship with her granddaughter so she acquiesces and will accept her as a 'him.' She is mainly concerned about her own health and about the children of Gaza.