Grieving the Years I Lost: A Reckoning with Conversion Therapy

There’s a particular kind of grief that comes with looking back at your life and realizing you weren’t living it. Not fully. Not authentically. Not as yourself.

I’m in that grief right now.

I’m grieving the years I lost after choosing to put myself through conversion therapy. And I need to say this out loud, not just for myself, but for anyone else who might be sitting in this same painful space of reckoning.

The Weight of Lost Time

When people talk about conversion therapy, they often focus on the immediate harm—the shame, the psychological damage, the messages that something fundamental about you is broken and needs fixing. All of that is true and devastating.

But there’s another layer that sometimes takes years to surface: the grief over what you missed while you were trying to become someone else.

I lost time. Years of it. Time I can never get back.

Time when I could have been falling in love honestly. Building friendships without walls. Pursuing dreams I didn’t even let myself acknowledge. Creating memories as my authentic self instead of the person I was desperately trying to become.

I missed milestones I didn’t even know I was entitled to. First dates where I could be myself. Coming out stories. Pride celebrations. The simple, profound experience of living in alignment with who I actually am.

And now, on the other side, I’m left holding this grief.

The Complicated Reality of Choice

Here’s what makes this even harder: I chose this.

Nobody forced me into conversion therapy. I walked in willingly, desperately hopeful that it would “work.” That I could change. That I could finally be acceptable—to my community, to God, to myself.

I chose it because it became apparent that who I am was wrong. I chose it because I was scared and lonely. I chose it because I genuinely believed it was the path to peace, to belonging, to a life that made sense within the framework I’d been given.

But a choice made under that kind of pressure, fear, and misinformation isn’t really a free choice at all.

Still, I carry the weight of it. The knowledge that I participated in my own erasure. That I spent years fighting against myself instead of fighting for myself.

That adds another layer to the grief—not just mourning what was taken, but reckoning with what I gave away.

What Grief Actually Looks Like

This grief doesn’t follow a neat timeline. It shows up in unexpected moments.

It’s seeing someone my age living openly and authentically, and feeling the sharp pang of “that could have been me.”

It’s looking at old photos and seeing someone who looks hollow, performing a version of life rather than living it.

It’s realizing how much energy I spent monitoring myself, controlling myself, trying to pray away or therapy away or behavior-modify away something that was never wrong in the first place.

It’s the anger that rises when I think about the systems, the teachings, the people who convinced me that conversion therapy was love, was help, was the answer.

And it’s the sadness—deep, aching sadness—for the younger version of me who believed them.

The Lost History That Never Was

One of the hardest parts is grieving a history I never got to have.

There’s no photo album of my first Pride parade. No texts saved from early relationships lived out loud. No memories of introducing a partner to friends without careful calculation about what I could safely reveal.

That history doesn’t exist. It can’t be recovered or reclaimed because it was never created in the first place.

I’m building that history now, yes. I’m living authentically now. I’m creating new memories, new connections, new experiences of being fully myself in the world.

But there’s still this gap. This absence. These missing years that shaped who I am by their very emptiness.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m writing this because I know I’m not alone in this grief.

If you went through conversion therapy—whether by choice or force—you might be feeling this too. This strange, complicated mourning for time you can’t get back and a life you didn’t get to live.

I want you to know: your grief is valid.

You’re allowed to mourn what was lost, even if others don’t understand it. Even if you “chose” it at the time. Even if you’ve moved forward and built a beautiful, authentic life since then.

Healing and grief can coexist. You can be proud of who you are now and still sad about the years it took to get here. You can celebrate your authenticity and simultaneously mourn the cost of reaching it.

Both things are true.

What I’m Learning About Grief

This grief has taught me some things I didn’t expect:

Grief is not linear. Some days I feel strong and free and grateful to finally be living authentically. Other days I’m furious. Or heartbroken. Or numb. All of it is part of the process.

Anger is grief’s bodyguard. The anger I feel toward the systems and beliefs that harmed me is real and justified. But underneath it is profound sadness. Both need space.

You can’t rush healing. I spent years trying to fix something that wasn’t broken. I won’t dishonor my journey now by demanding that I “get over” the impact on some predetermined timeline.

Community matters. Connecting with others who understand this specific grief—the loss, the rage, the complicated layers—has been essential. We need witnesses to our pain.

My younger self deserves compassion, not judgment. I’m learning to hold space for the person I was—the one who chose conversion therapy out of fear and hope. They were doing the best they could with what they knew. They deserve tenderness, not blame.

Moving Forward While Looking Back

Here’s what I’m trying to hold onto: I can grieve the past and build the future at the same time.

I can honor the years I lost while investing fully in the years ahead. I can acknowledge that time was stolen while refusing to let that theft define the rest of my story.

I’m creating the history now that I couldn’t create then. I’m living openly, loving freely, showing up authentically. Every day I do that is a small rebellion against everything conversion therapy tried to accomplish.

But I’m also allowing myself to feel the loss. To sit with the grief. To acknowledge that something precious was taken—time, experiences, a whole chapter of life lived honestly.

Both realities exist. The loss is real. And so is the life I’m building now.

If You’re in This Grief Too

If you’re reading this and recognizing your own story, I see you.

I see the years you lost. I see the person you tried to become and the pain of that attempt. I see the grief you’re carrying now for a life you didn’t get to live.

Your grief matters. Your story matters. And you deserved better—then and now.

There’s no timeline for this healing. No five-step process to move through it efficiently. Grief is messy and nonlinear and sometimes overwhelming.

But you’re not alone in it. And you’re not broken for feeling it.

You’re just human, mourning a very real loss, and that’s okay.

We’ll carry this grief, and we’ll keep building lives worth living. We’ll honor what was lost while refusing to lose anything more.

We’ll be, finally and fiercely, ourselves.

You Don’t Have to Do This Alone

If you’re navigating this grief, if you’re rebuilding your life after conversion therapy, if you’re trying to figure out who you actually are after years of being told who you should be—I want you to know that support exists.
This is part of why I do the work I do as a life coach. I understand the unique challenges of reconstructing your identity, your goals, and your sense of self after experiencing this kind of harm. I know what it’s like to grieve lost time while simultaneously trying to build an authentic future.
Working with someone who gets it—who understands the layers of this grief, the complexity of moving forward, the courage it takes to show up as yourself—can make all the difference.
If you’re ready to:
∙ Process this grief with someone who truly understands
∙ Build goals and a life that align with who you actually are
∙ Navigate the complexities of living authentically after years of suppression
∙ Create the future you deserve while honoring what you’ve been through
I’d be honored to walk alongside you in that journey.
Book a free discovery call and let’s talk about what support might look like for you. You’ve spent enough years living for everyone else’s expectations. It’s time to live for yourself.