Doctors Said Transition Would Save Her—Years Later, She Says It Cost Her Everything

Prisha Mosley often finds herself quietly watching her six-month-old son as he learns to sit with support, reaches clumsily for nearby objects, and fills the room with soft babbling. The 26-year-old new mother cherishes the early morning moments most, when her baby wakes before sunrise and they share calm, wordless cuddles in bed.

Yet those tender moments are shadowed by a deep sense of loss. Prisha lives with permanent physical consequences from medical decisions she made as a teenager—decisions she now says she did not fully understand at the time. As a distressed adolescent, she transitioned from female to male, only to later realize that the path she took was not right for her.

At just 18, Prisha underwent a double mastectomy. Today, she says that surgery has profoundly shaped her experience of motherhood. She cannot breastfeed, and even holding her son close is painful in ways that go beyond emotion. Her chest, she explains, is numb and scarred, lacking the softness and sensation most mothers rely on when comforting a baby.

“When he searches for milk, there’s nothing there,” she says quietly. “I can feel him on my shoulders and stomach, but my chest feels like a blank space. There’s no warmth, no feeling.”

Prisha now considers herself part of a growing group of young adults who believe they were rushed into irreversible medical interventions while struggling with mental health issues. She argues that her care focused narrowly on gender dysphoria, while overlooking a complex history of trauma, anxiety, eating disorders, and suicidal thoughts.

Her story echoes that of other high-profile detransitioners, including Keira Bell in the UK, whose legal case against the Tavistock gender clinic brought international attention to the issue of consent and medical oversight for minors. Prisha believes these cases highlight systemic failures rather than isolated mistakes.

Currently living in Big Rapids, Michigan, Prisha appears outwardly like any other young parent—stylish glasses, dyed red hair, and a warm presence on video calls. But she says she keeps her son’s identity private due to threats she has received since speaking publicly against gender-affirming medical care for minors.

“I’m told constantly that I’m harming children just by telling my story,” she says. “People threaten to report me to child services or say they’ll ‘transition’ my child out of spite. It’s terrifying.”

Growing up in North Carolina, Prisha describes her teenage years as deeply unstable. She struggled with anorexia, OCD, and anxiety, and at 14 survived a sexual assault that resulted in pregnancy and miscarriage. By 15, she believed becoming male would free her from pain, vulnerability, and expectations she felt unable to meet.

“I thought boys were stronger, safer,” she recalls. “I thought becoming one would erase everything that hurt.”

After expressing distress about menstruation to a healthcare provider, she was quickly referred to a gender therapist and soon diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Medical interventions followed rapidly. By 17, she was taking testosterone, which caused permanent physical changes. At 18, she legally changed her name and sex markers and underwent surgery.

She says her parents were deeply conflicted but felt pressured to consent. “They were told they had to choose between a dead daughter or a living son,” she says. “That’s not a real choice.”

For a time, Prisha believed she had done the right thing. But the promised relief never came. Her mental health struggles persisted, and eventually she stopped taking testosterone in secret. In late 2022, she detransitioned and returned to living as a woman.

Unexpectedly, she became pregnant—something she once believed was impossible. The pregnancy, however, was medically complicated. Hormonal imbalances, pelvic limitations, and severe nausea made it physically taxing, and she ultimately delivered her son by Caesarean section.

After birth, another painful consequence emerged. Her body produced breast milk, but the surgical reconstruction from years earlier prevented release, causing intense and prolonged pain. “It was unbearable,” she says. “There was nowhere for it to go.”

Today, Prisha continues to manage chronic pain, metabolic issues, hormonal disorders, and vocal damage caused by testosterone. She takes hormone replacement therapy and has undergone hair removal and fundraising for reconstructive surgery.

Despite everything, she describes motherhood as grounding and meaningful. Donated breast milk helped her son early on, and he is now thriving on formula and solid foods.

Prisha has since become an outspoken advocate for stricter limits on medical transition for minors and is currently pursuing legal action against the healthcare providers involved in her care. Her lawsuit, one of the first of its kind in the U.S., alleges negligence and misrepresentation. The defendants deny wrongdoing.

“I feel like I was part of an experiment,” she says. “And I don’t want anyone else to learn the cost the way I did.”

Though she lives with lasting consequences, Prisha says her goal is not revenge, but awareness. “If one teenager pauses and asks more questions because they heard my story,” she says, “then speaking out is worth it.”