Foreword
Four years ago, I wrote my initial blog about the problems and issues with seeking help for sexual violence as a trans person. Today I find myself writing another. Writing this post has been an emotional and personal journey. It has taken time (and a great deal of courage and therapy) – to put words to experiences. And parts of it I have written through tears and a box of tissues. I have written this in a way that I hope isn’t too difficult for survivors to read – there are no graphic descriptions, although everyone’s responses are personal, do take care while you read. I hope that in some small way, I can put into words to the kinds of difficulties, feelings and emotions that trans women who are survivors, might relate to when trying to seek help. I hope that I can help be your voice when you have none, and that you too can have space to share your burdens.
Introduction: A little background.
Living as a transitioned woman in the UK presents unique challenges, especially when navigating systems of support and recovery for trauma survivors. These experiences are deeply shaped by societal power dynamics, which often exacerbate feelings of vulnerability and exclusion. In spaces intended for healing, such as survivor support groups, the layers of systemic bias and interpersonal dynamics can either facilitate profound healing or intensify feelings of isolation and mistrust. Here, I explore my journey as a survivor seeking support, the complex interplay of gender and power, and how I found unexpected solidarity and growth in unconventional spaces.
The very act of reaching out is fraught with tension because it intersects with a deeply ingrained social hierarchy and the prioritization of cisgender women’s experiences within feminist movements and support systems. This is accentuated by the dearth of spaces for men to share and recover, or at least find some solidarity and share experiences. There are only two such groups, Mankind, and Survivors UK. Combined in this environment are trans women who find themselves frequently relegated to the margins, our voices minimized or dismissed altogether. It’s not simply about individual prejudice; it’s about systemic biases that leave us fearful, vulnerable and unable to find spaces designed for healing.
While I hoped to find solidarity in a women’s service open to trans women, I found myself carrying so many of those fears and anxieties alone, acutely feeling the societal biases surrounded by the questioning of the legitimacy of trans women’s womanhood. This dynamic made an already daunting process of seeking help even more challenging, as I carried the weight of societal stigma alongside my personal trauma. I carried the feeling that trans women are often not seen as “real” survivors: neither deserving of empathy nor compassion. That our lived experiences were merely a reflection of us “wanting to be like women”.
When I first sought support from the Survivors Network (a women’s support group that has inclusive policies), I was overwhelmed by PTSD and struggling to articulate my experiences. Initially, having summoned the courage to go, I was dismissed and told to seek mental health support elsewhere. This initial rejection was only a part of things to come. Later, after being stabilised with medication, I returned, although this time l felt compelled to hide my identity, never feeling safe enough to disclose my transness. I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but it probably reflected hypervigilance in the space, of not feeling safe.
Eventually, I turned to one-on-one therapy, trying to fill that silent void that remained – one that the Survivors Network could not fill. I’m not saying that it wasn’t useful, I resonated with the experiences of survivors and valued their bravery, which helped me to understand parts of my experiences, but I was unable to fully articulate my experiences, I had to hide parts that needed to talk. Certainly, I found the coping strategies helpful and I was happy to listen to and hold space for the emotional aspects that other members had. I have to add here, that my experience with Survivors Network was over a decade ago now, and the social context now is worse, certainly considering my recent contact with them – and probably even more acutely overshadowed by the fear of other members’ responses. I have since read that another trans woman who tried to find help and solidarity there found herself on the front page of the Daily Mail. I do not have the words to articulate how abusive that feels, that poor woman, bringing with her the most vulnerable past and experience only to be pilloried in public. Of course, they said she was six-foot-four and sounded like a dude. They always do. Reflecting on it, I feel like I’d dodged a bullet.
After another good few years of therapy, all was good for me – for a while. But social policy in the UK is changing: I am facing the very real possibility of getting changed in front of men, and using men’s toilets in the UK. In recent years, the UK’s political landscape has become increasingly hostile toward trans people. On January 8, 2025, Baroness Buckley reignited discussions in the House of Lords around single-sex provisions in NHS services, its aim of course to exclude transitioned women from women’s wards and changing rooms. If implemented, it will have a knock-on effect across the country. As I’ve covered previously, there have been two instances where cisgender women are engaged with anti-trans organisations creating legal battles on a similar theme. And we have a Prime Minister saying that I clearly did not belong with other women. It is not a case of if, it is when.
And so I know that there is a very real possibility that I will have to undress in front of men. The only power I have, when I cannot change the circumstances, is to change my reaction to them – this I learned from therapy. However, I found myself experiencing a familiar cycle of fear and distress – and it was twofold, firstly acutely feeling the female gaze, risk-assessing every interaction, going to work early to avoid it, and secondly the fear of being exposed to the very same types of people that were my perpetrators. I found myself playing and replaying situations, amalgamating them with my present, feeling helpless and exposed. It’s going to happen again, I thought. Hypervigilance. Traumatic recall. Anxiety. It was happening again. I was getting sick. Alone and frightened, I was once again carrying the burden of silence. I found myself forced into a uniquely vulnerable position – not only marked as “trans” but also exposed to the male gaze in the most undignified and objectifying way.
Desperate for support, I reached out to the LGBT charity Galop, which proudly claims a legacy of “[working] with LGBT+ victims and survivors of abuse and violence for more than 40 years.” Even within LGBTQ+ support services, trans women are not immune to marginalization. When I sought help from Galop, I was referred to their National Independent Sexual Violence Advocate who referred me to a men’s survivor group solely because of my trans identity. Consideration of any women-only groups or resources specifically tailored toward trans women who have experienced abuse and trauma resulted in a flat no – they did not know of any. I didn’t feel much sensitivity, it was just… surreal. In that moment, I felt sick, I felt violated in a space that should have been safe. I hid my reaction by dissociating, of course. Faced with this – what choice did I have? I needed to have space to work through old wounds and to deal with the present. After all, I need to be on the ball at work, not phasing in and out, not multitasking all the “what if’s”.
I tried Survivors Network regardless, just in case they would be helpful. However, they were tone-deaf as to why I needed support. They inappropriately referred me to the local trans support group who had absolutely no expertise in trans survivors of sexual violence, and even in asking them (as I was referred), I felt vulnerable and violated – even though I wrote the briefest of questions – do you support trans survivors? It felt deliberate. Again. It’s as bad coming out as a survivor as it is having to come out as having transitioned, you have to be careful who you talk with. You are presenting your vulnerability and the emotional penalty for getting it wrong is harsh*.
Faced with such a situation, I know that most, if not all transitioned women would simply consider all paths closed. However, I had reached the limit of what therapists could offer. Having previously talked with a psychologist about “exposure therapy”, I carried with me all the best parts of therapy and bit the bullet. I did not have anything else to lose, after all, any dignity I had is going to be over anyway. I took the plunge.
Survivors UK – A ray of hope.
Biting the bullet brought me to my first contact with Marcia. I gave her some background and details – obviously not too much – but was met with surprising compassion. Honestly, I practically begged for support, because every avenue was closed. I gingerly read the response, guarding myself for rejection, expecting a reply that ultimately leads to refusal. I got the opposite. And I want to highlight a few things that she said that began my journey to finding resilience and growth. Firstly she talked about talking, which for me personally, I find really helpful, having someone to talk with who truly understands, takes away some of the power of overwhelming experiences. You are no longer carrying it, you are sharing it with others.
Additionally, she wrote:
“I want, personally want trans people to know that they have at SurvivorsUK and that I would like them to actually feel both with SurvivorsUK and with me. You are not with us because we “tolerate” you or even simply accept you; it is because we do truly value you as the wonderful people that you are and it is such a privilege to be allowed to walk beside you on your journey.”
True understanding means understanding the whole person – we do not exist as survivors as our traumatic experiences. We exist carrying them amongst other parts we call ourselves, and in the context of our previous and current experiences (you can tell my positive experiences of group work are coming out here!). Marcia’s appreciation and understanding of the context of “toleration” in one word described my previous experiences trying to get help. It is not enough for transitioned women to exist in vulnerable spaces within a context of, at best, “toleration”.
And so, tacitly, I began my journey towards healing in the most unlikely of places. I’m going to be honest, when you’re carrying all your sensitive parts to group work it’s hard. It’s hard for anyone, and initially I found a whole screen full of men in online support and deep bassy voices completely overwhelming. I had to use all my skills to cope, I turned my camera off to shake and cry often – my triggers about men hadn’t disappeared, but I used all the skills of therapy – grounding, reminding myself that I’m safe, hugging myself, orientation to time and place, getting up and walking around. And I took with me my psychologist’s thoughts about exposure therapy. It’s hard to start with, it always is.
Although I feared rejection and judgment, to my surprise, the facilitators Del and Marcia fostered a compassionate, inclusive environment where I felt safe to share my experiences.
The moments where I was centred I found myself listening to men who have experienced similar things, being courageous and vulnerable, too. And I’m not talking about abuse, here, because for everyone it is different, but it is the way that we internalise it, how it shaped us growing up and our adaptations to it. I found myself putting my issues aside and feeling so much empathy – especially for those early on in their journey to recovery. I related in a raw and real way to their suffering. I found myself relating to their struggles with traumatic recall, realising what happened to them, that it was real and how it shaped their life. Their emotions and vulnerability reflected my own. So many of us hid our experiences for decades – there were older people navigating issues from their childhood, and others with relatively new experiences they needed to process. There was so much more to process, so many things I’d hidden. At times, after groupwork, I would find myself bursting into tears, my partner holding me, as I processed everything. To actually be able to touch, and reflect on our experiences was the healing I was seeking – to hear, and to be heard.
And there it was. Something inside me had changed. I found myself wanting to take care of them, as my therapists had taken care of me. The parts of therapy that helped me to ground and stabilise are not limited to my own internal world, they are counter-weights to traumatic experiences and they exist as a part of me. Men were no longer the monsters that my hyperactive sense of self-preservation had taught me. The generalisation was not true. And not only that, but I was often received with such warmth and compassion. It was a stark contrast to the fear and “holding back” that I had experienced before. There were no worries that I would inadvertently “trigger” a cisgender woman.
There are caveats, of course. I found that in mixed groupwork (and by this I mean cis and trans), if I did not explain why I was there in a group full of men, I was treated as a female “interloper”. I did experience marginalisation, sometimes in breakout rooms, and there were times in the main group when certain members were saying how “we’re all men together” which felt particularly off. Again, I existed in the margins, but is this not par for the course for transitioned women?
But it was worth it, because the experience challenged my long-held fear of men, allowing me to see them not as threats but as individuals navigating their own pain. It surprisingly opened the door to exploring emotional and physical relationships with men, something I had previously avoided. It was such a huge revelation and shift in perspective to go from all-out fear, to feelings of compassion, and even love. I am, and will always be grateful to not only the facilitators but the survivors I shared space with who facilitated this unexpected turn. They all helped it happen.
While disclosing my trans identity in such spaces was emotionally taxing, the overall environment of support outweighed the challenges. Del and Marcia fostered a compassionate, inclusive environment where I felt safe – especially so during the “trans” groups that happen once a month.
In contrast, my experiences with women’s groups often reflected the same power dynamics as the systems that perpetuate abuse. Cis women’s experiences were prioritized, leaving trans women’s identities scrutinized or invalidated. The lack of inclusivity in these spaces stood in stark contrast to the thoughtful allyship I encountered in the men’s group. Del and Marcia’s approach modeled the care and understanding desperately needed if women’s survivor spaces want to include transitioned women. They must understand us in all of our lived context and experiences, and allow us to express them.
Final Words
To any transitioned women carrying their trauma, I want you to know that you are not alone. The weight you bear is real, and the journey to healing can feel isolating and overwhelming. But your experiences, your pain, and your courage are valid. I see you. I see the resilience it takes to face each day in a world that often feels unkind. I see the strength it takes to navigate spaces that don’t always feel safe, and the tenderness in your heart that longs for acceptance and understanding.
Please know that even in moments of darkness, there is solidarity waiting for you. I know how lonely it can feel to carry the scars of trauma, but you don’t have to carry them alone. Difficult though it is to find them, there are others who understand, who have walked similar paths, and who will stand beside you with compassion. You are deserving of spaces that embrace you fully, of people who see your truth and honour it, and of the kindness that reminds you that you are loved. Healing is not linear, but it is possible. Even if the world hasn’t always made room for you, you have a right to exist in your fullness, to take up space, and to find joy and peace on your terms.
My journey has been one of resilience and unexpected growth. The solidarity I found in the men’s group helped me heal in ways I never anticipated. It also highlighted that, for women’s survivor groups, if they truly intend to include trans women, they need to address their biases and create spaces that truly support all survivors. For these spaces to foster trust and healing, they must engage with transitioned women and dismantle systemic barriers to inclusion. Facilitators must recognize the unique vulnerabilities of trans survivors and model genuine allyship, although I wonder if this is even possible in the current political climate.
The kindness and inclusivity of individuals like Del and Marcia serve as a testament to the transformative power of allyship. Their efforts remind me that healing is possible when spaces are truly inclusive, and they provide a blueprint for survivor support systems to follow. If you do want to talk with them, you can email them at “help@survivorsuk.org“.
*- Spoiler, yes this is something we’ve talked about at Survivor’s UK!
With special thanks to Del and Marcia, Charlotte, Zoe, and to ALL the survivors who bravely shared their experiences.
To all my sisters who are carrying pain, I extend to you my love and solidarity. You are worthy of every bit of care, healing, and joy this world has to offer.
Powerful story of courage and healing 💪❤️ Remember, everyone deserves connection and support.