When we talk about transgenderism, we often talk about the process and its effects — about cross-sex hormones and puberty blockers, about mental health problems and suicidal ideation, and about life-altering surgeries that mutilate bodies and leave patients with compounding health problems for years. 

When we talk about transgenderism, we don’t often talk about the “before.”

I had a lot of friends when I was 14 who have since gone on to “transition” over the course of the intervening 10 years. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was surrounded by the “before” of transgenderism. The consequences of its life-altering effects were still in the process of being kicked down the road.

At 14, I considered myself a Christian, but in a detached, 14-year-old way. Attending a public school allowed me to easily believe the lies that “love is love” and homosexuality was being attacked by old-fashioned, traditionalist conservatives because they were fueled by hate. It would take several years before I understood homosexuality as denying God’s natural order. But I was 14, so I had a long way to go before I learned that lesson and saw the corrosive effects of LGBT lifestyles. 

Many of my friends identified as bisexual or some version of gay, which usually meant they kissed people at parties, regardless of the other people’s sex. Chalk it up to them being young, dumb teenagers. 

We lived in a suburban community in the Midwest. About half of their parents were divorced, typically their families were middle-class, and most were awkward but sweet, funny kids. We played video games and listened to music together. We loved to meet at the park and go for walks. Someone had a YouTube channel and would film us whenever our parents would drive us to the movie theater or the mall. Most of us were in the same art classes, and we would sit together and talk while working on assignments. 

There were more guys than girls in our friend group, but we didn’t really think about that. Our first homecoming, there were only about four of us girls getting ready before pictures and the dance. 

Before, before, before. 

I often find myself caught in the trap of looking at old photos from then. Many people are nostalgic for high school, even if they agree it might have been embarrassing and difficult. Older folks sometimes look back at those photos and reminisce about their friends who have died in the decades since graduation day. 

I graduated from high school five years ago. Most of the people I knew back then are no longer with me — not because they died, but because they have fallen victim to the LGBT cult.

Most of the friends I made at age 14 now identify as either transgender or nonbinary. They exist in a nebulous realm of non-gender, denying their biological realities in favor of a victimhood status. I knew these kids: The boys were rambunctious and liked to fight and make silly jokes, and the girls were amicable and artistic. However, as they grew up, they pretended the traits that aligned with their biology were irrelevant. They decided the quirky, nerdy attributes that meant they didn’t fit in with the more “popular” kids were signs that they were born in the wrong bodies. They decided their sensitivities were actually biological mistakes. 

Two things happened at once: A lot of my friends began drinking, smoking weed, and diagnosing themselves with mental health problems at the same time that they came out as some version of LGBTQIA+. For most, they started by asking people to use “they/them” pronouns because they didn’t quite feel like a normal boy or girl. Eventually, lunchroom table conversations would include people saying things like, “I think I’m pansexual,” or, “I think I’m nonbinary.” One went on to start taking cross-sex hormones and eventually received a body-mutilating surgery.

I know transgenderism is fake because I know what the before looks like. I know my friends were born in the right bodies, that God made no mistakes with them. They were nerdy kids who liked video games and art instead of football and shopping. These discrepancies in interests and personalities led them to feel like outcasts. The monstrous adults behind the LGBT movement convinced them that feeling different meant they were transgender, nonbinary, bisexual, or something else. 

Lots of my old friends changed their names, ditching the beautiful ones their parents gave them while holding their newborn children in their arms. Instead, they picked out names that were neutered, without any genealogical significance. Their old names were labeled “dead names,” and using them became an intolerable hate crime.

I don’t like to talk about the “after.” After, my friends told me God didn’t exist. After, there were drugs and surgeries and mental health crises. After, I was totally cut out of the lives of people I grew up with because I embraced my Christian faith and leaned into conservatism. After, I became the outcast because I voted for Donald Trump. 

I like to think about the before. I like to think that if my friends had been protected from predatory ideologues, they wouldn’t have been pulled into that sick cult. 

Unfortunately, I have seen those kids be transformed into diseased and addicted adults. Worse, the next generation is even more prone to these same risks. Teachers, parents, and adults with bad intentions are trying to normalize transgenderism, even though it destroys the lives of children. The “love is love, be who you are” narrative has proven to be a weapon used to make awkward kids think they’re fundamentally broken. 

I remember the before. It was beautiful. Let’s make sure no more kids have to grow up in the after.