Following her son’s third round of baby vaccinations, Zoe Nichols felt helpless as she listened to his endless cries. Even though the little boy had been given the suggested doses of Calpol, he just wouldn’t settle. 

‘He was just crying and crying,’ Zoe, 39, tells Metro.

She wanted to stay with him following the vaccinations, but Zoe had compulsory training at work the next day, so that afternoon the beauty therapist bundled her baby into the car to take him to his grandparents, a two-hour drive away. 

‘For the whole journey, he mainly slept – he loved being in the car,’ Zoe remembers. 

After dropping her son off with his grandparents, she made the two-hour drive back to Dorset, only to receive a worrying phone call as soon as she walked through the door at around 11pm.

‘His grandparents were saying that he wasn’t right – he wouldn’t stop crying, and he had a fever that wasn’t coming down with medicine,’ Zoe remembers. ‘They were going to take him to the hospital.’

The doctors tried to reassure the family that it was probably just a common virus, but Zoe couldn’t help but feel eaten up with ‘mum guilt’, because she couldn’t do anything to help. Eventually, her son was put on a drip for the night and, as she tried to sleep, Zoe kept her phone close by in case of an update.  

Thankfully, the next morning, she received a smiling photo of her baby, who was all back to normal.

As a child, Zoe remembers having all her vaccines, and yet, at 15, she still got measles. She says that two years later, at beauty college, half of her class — some who had been vaccinated and some who hadn’t — were off with mumps. 

The experience always made her question the point of vaccinations and whether they actually worked, she says. So when Zoe became pregnant at 31, she started to think about what she should do for her baby. 

At her NCT class, she remembers being urged by the leading midwife to give children whatever vaccines are offered by the NHS. ‘You take all the information that you’re given as gospel,’ Zoe explains. ‘But all pros and cons should be made available.’ 

Although a couple of acquaintances had said there were ‘lots of warnings on side effects’ when it came to jabs, she eventually decided to go along with NHS guidelines and booked the MMR vaccinations for her baby. 

While her son’s eight and 12-week jabs were uneventful – he had just a mild fever manageable with Calpol – it was the 16-week shots that Zoe believes landed her baby in hospital. 

‘I  thought that it came and went too quickly to be a virus,’ she says.

Just before he turned one, it was then suggested that her little boy have a Bacillus Calmette-Guérin (BCG) vaccine to protect him from picking up tuberculosis from abroad, as his father’s family from India often visited. Again, Zoe did what the doctors recommended.

‘But the vaccine injection site got scabby and pussy. It took ages for his skin to heal, and he still has a big scar from it,’ she says, adding that it was the last straw for her.  ‘I wasn’t going to put him through that anymore.’

Since then, Zoe’s son hasn’t had any of the vaccines offered through the NHS to children, at one year, 18 months, three years, flu, or Covid vaccines. 

‘I’m not a scientist, but I know what happened for me and mine,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to look at stats and figures, because those can be easily manipulated by pharmaceutical companies.’

But her choice has raised eyebrows, with several healthcare professionals and acquaintances warning the mum that she should ‘protect’ her little boy by getting him vaccinated.

Zoe remembers one occasion in early spring 2023, when her son was rushed to the A&E because he couldn’t breathe at nursery. 

‘Initially, I was asked if he had received all his jabs. When I replied no, the nurse gave me a look as if I had sneezed in her face,’ she claims. ‘She then told the doctor with an attitude, and acted as if I hadn’t fed him for a week or had committed some other form of neglect.’

The toddler ended up being diagnosed as having both enterovirus and rhinovirus and recovered within days. 

Zoe insists that she feels cautious when anyone pushes her into making a decision, not just whether it involves vaccinating her son. Anyone quick to judge anti-vaxxers, she’d like to know the ‘primary experience’ that led them to think the way they do. 

‘Why are they so for vaccines?’ Zoe asks. ‘My child was in the hospital overnight directly after having had a vaccine. That’s why I’m against it. My primary experience has led to my decision.’

News that measles cases have been found in the UK doesn’t scare Zoe, either. In fact, what frightens her is thinking about the children who do get vaccinations and what they are having put into their bodies.

She wonders why we question what is in our food and water, but don’t ask what the vaccines are, and the harmful impacts that they could have on adults and children.

‘I think there are pros and cons to everything,’ she says.

Zoe believes that if her child did get measles, he would get ill and then get better, just like she did when she had measles at 15.  However, recent statistics have shown that measles is on the rise across Europe, with nearly 130,000 people contracting it last year, double the number in 2023 and the highest rate since 1997. Last June, a child from Liverpool died from contracting the disease, while London is currently seeing a fast-spreading outbreak infect dozens of schoolchildren.

While Zoe acknowledges the pain families who have lost children due to measles must feel, her personal experiences mean she will not sway her decision. Instead, she asks: ‘Why in 30 years has nobody managed to find a cure for when you actually have measles?’

The mum insists she doesn’t throw caution to the wind either, but takes precautions to keep herself, her child, and the people around her safe from any virus. When her son comes home from playdates and school, or is about to eat a meal, Zoe makes sure he washes his hands. 

‘In my opinion, there are better ways to stop disease spreading than vaccinating people,’ she explains. ‘It can just start with safe measures like washing your hands or using a bit of sanitiser. If clients are under the weather, I don’t see them, and I wear a mask during my treatments.

‘I just don’t feel that mass medication will help. If you look after your body and your mind, I really don’t think you need a vaccine.’ 

Zoe is also keen to guide her son away from injections until he can make a fully educated decision for himself. 

‘I’m not a radical conspiracy theorist,’ she insists. ‘I’m just being mindful and conscious. It’s my choice and I don’t want myself or my child to be an experiment.’

A version of this article was first published in October 2025.

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One day in 2023, I was scrutinising my body in a full-length mirror.

I did this a lot, this tearful ritual of self-flagellation – but this time, I noticed something that had never been there before.

Cellulite, dappled along the backs of my thighs.

The tears started flowing, as they often did. I wasn’t crying with horror, though, but with happiness.

Two years before, I had come out as transgender. Ever since starting Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), I’d been experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions trying to reconcile my outer appearance with my inner sense of self – but seeing the cellulite on my thighs was a moment of sheer catharsis.

I finally felt at home in my body.

I knew all the messages sold to women and girls: that cellulite is unattractive and undesirable, that it should be eliminated. And yet, standing in front of the mirror, I didn’t feel any of the shame women are taught to feel.

Instead, I felt overjoyed and proud to be experiencing something that so many women experience.

In short, I felt gender euphoria.

But I certainly haven’t always felt this way – far from it.

My relationship with my body has always been complicated. As a child, I struggled with comfort eating and ended up overweight. Since then, I’ve dealt with persistent issues of body image.

Growing up, the mirror was my great enemy; it was the cudgel I used to punish myself for my (imagined) inadequacies.

This is an experience I share with lots of women – except that I first spent years of my life as a man.

I had always felt a sense of dissonance between how the world perceived me and how I perceived myself, and in puberty those issues only worsened. With each change I experienced – every new hair that sprouted on my body, every inch my shoulders grew – the gulf between the burgeoning woman I felt myself to be and the reality of my reflection widened.

Looking in the mirror felt like staring at a stranger.

Over the years, gender dysphoria manifested itself subtly in me, as a nebulous feeling of absence. I didn’t have any exposure to the trans experience so I didn’t have language that would help me describe that painful feeling of something missing.

But I felt disconnected from myself, and for years I couldn’t understand why.

When I interacted with the world outside my room, I struggled to understand the expectations ascribed to boys and men. When strangers called me ‘Sir’, I often asked myself who they could be talking to.

I spent years as a passive observer in my own life – and, consequently, spent decades dealing with persistent depression.

I truly felt as though nothing mattered. I had no investment in my own life.

Even when I came out as transgender in February 2021, aged 30, I remained in front of the mirror – because coming out only served to further complicate my relationship with my reflection.

I’d always been prone to negative self-comparison; but, while I was transitioning, this grew to include the impossible standards of feminine beauty levied upon women. ‘Your waist must be small, but not too small.’ ‘You must not have visible body hair.’ ‘You must sound, look, and act a certain way.’

I spent countless hours studying all the ways my body failed to meet the ideals of feminine beauty. I was ‘too fat’, ‘too broad’, ‘too masculine’.

It all left me feeling emotionally exhausted, depleted, and hopeless, and the irony – that comparing yourself unfavourably to other women is a common experience of womanhood – was lost on me.

I started HRT in June 2021 with the aim of raising my progesterone and oestrogen levels, and reducing my testosterone. Over the next few years, HRT slowly began to change my body in a myriad of ways – some expected, and others less so.

The redistribution of body fat, the softening of my features, the thickening of my hair.

These things came too slowly to notice any change from one day to the next, and I still contended with my reflection daily, continuing to find ways to compare myself negatively to others.

It was on one of these days, years into my treatment, that I first noticed the cellulite rippling down the backs of my thighs and cried.

I’d spent my life in a prison; now here I was, crying with joy over something many women have been taught to hate about themselves.

To me, the appearance of cellulite wasn’t some omen of undesirability. It was evidence that I was moving closer to a body I felt at home in.

And in that moment, I recognised the beauty in my experience as a trans person.

I may have lost the ease of navigating the world as the gender I was assigned at birth – but I had also gained so much. I’d been afforded the chance to know myself intimately, to become who I always was; and I could experience the feeling of watching my body slowly change into something that didn’t hurt so much to see.

I didn’t always know when I was suffering through gender dysphoria, but I certainly knew when I’d found relief from it. It was like I’d cast off a weight, and in place of that weight was gender euphoria. A storm of butterflies in my stomach. A smile that nearly broke my jaw.

Happiness. Bliss. Relief.

It’s been two and a half years since that day, and I cannot say my gender dysphoria is cured. If you’ve lived with body dysmorphia, you understand that your self-image can fluctuate from day to day.

I’ve heard it said by cis women over and over again – both on social media and in my day to day discussions with friends – that their trans sisters give them new perspectives on womanhood. 

That knowing and loving trans women helps them find new ways to appreciate the many joys of their gender, to divorce themselves from the insecurities packaged and sold to them as products.

And so my hope is that, in hearing my joy, in knowing my freedom, you can experience it for yourself. 

Perhaps the next time you look in the mirror and see the cellulite on your thighs, you’ll remember my story and the elation I felt; my hope is that you can learn to see it not as a burden but a bounty, and a reminder that it is a beautiful reflection of your womanhood staring unapologetically back at you.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jessica.aureli@metro.co.uk. 

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