The Van Schoondrager Hell
From the age of nine, I already knew I was “different,” but within our family, there was no room for expression. My childhood was defined by countless moves because my parents constantly lived far beyond their means. My mother, Tonnie van Schoondrager, is a narcissist pur sang. My father, Jan van Schoondrager, was never emotionally reachable. When I once asked my mother why I never received love or comfort, she simply replied: “I never wanted to give it to you.”
The Princess Who Walks Over Bodies
My sister, Stephanie van Schoondrager, was always treated like a princess and has behaved that way her entire life. She was allowed everything, while my mother destroyed every relationship I ever had. Stephanie has ruined numerous marriages and even shared a bed with one of my employers while his wife was pregnant. She has spent a lifetime “walking over bodies” to get what she wants. She is a remorseless, cold fish who acts purely out of self-interest and possesses not a single trace of empathy. She is my biological sister—nothing more.
The Suicide Attempt in Boxtel
When I first became depressed in my early twenties and subsequently made several suicide attempts, my mother told my psychiatrist at the time that I only wanted to “put the family in the stocks.” During my three-month voluntary admission to the psychiatric ward of the hospital, they never visited. When the nursing staff asked my parents for clothes, they were dropped off in a trash bag at the central reception desk.
Just before Christmas, after those three months, I had to leave the hospital. I was not welcome at home, and there was no follow-up care. In total despair on the day of my discharge, I grabbed medication from the bag of a fellow patient who was visiting family that weekend. With that medication, my own prescriptions, and a liter of whiskey, I went into a park in Boxtel in freezing temperatures. I lost consciousness and was found by a GP walking his dog. He brought me to a restaurant kitchen and stayed with me until the ambulance arrived.
I only regained consciousness in the hospital. The memory of the tube down my throat and the black fluid poured through a funnel directly into my stomach in the ER stays with me to this day. When I think back on it, I regret being found by that doctor. It would have spared me 30 years of hell—a hell that continues every day, every hour.
Financial Fraud and the Destruction of My Past
Twenty-five years ago, I severed ties. My parents had lied again and failed to comply with agreements made with the Tax Authorities. I had stood as a guarantor for them, which resulted in a seizure of all my possessions. My sister, Stephanie van Schoondrager, escaped completely unscathed.
It was only after a grueling legal procedure through a lawyer that I got my belongings back. Everything turned out to be heavily damaged on purpose. The ultimate cruelty: every single photo of me from before the age of 18 had been pulled out of the albums or torn to pieces. I never saw a cent of the amount—over 50,000 guilders—returned to me. My past and my financial foundation were deliberately destroyed.
The Transition and the Intercepted Letters
It wasn’t until I was 50 that I came out as a trans woman. This has been the biggest mistake I could have made in my life, and in just under seven years, it has completely devastated my existence. On December 2, 2024, in my kitchen, I felt the urge to visit my parents at the address in Son & Breugel, where they live with my sister. My sister opened the door and told me I could come in, but that my parents were fragile. My mother sat on the couch and held my hands for ten minutes without saying a word.
When I asked my father about the letter I had written him in January of that year—a letter that took me five days to write—my sister took the floor. She admitted the letter had arrived, but that she had opened it, read it, and decided my father did not need to know its contents.
She then told me it was scandalous that I dared to show myself as a woman and that I had no idea what I was doing to my parents. Even the legally required letters from the Municipality regarding my name change had been intercepted by her. After this 2.5-hour visit, I was completely exhausted and spent four days in bed at home. I later gave my sister Stephanie a piece of my mind via Facebook chat regarding her criminal behavior, but she never responded.
Missing Persons, Lisbon, and the Final Confrontation
From the last week of March 2025 through the first week of April 2025, I was officially a missing person for ten days. On the morning of my departure, I gave away my rabbits, Binky and Bruintje, after taking care of them for over six years. I made a farewell video at home, parked my car at Maike’s house, and put the car and house keys, along with all car documents, through her letterbox. From her house, I walked to the station in Boskoop and took the train to Schiphol. At that moment, I had only a backpack and a sleeping bag. Upon arrival at Schiphol, I booked a one-way ticket to Lisbon, determined never to return.
A week after returning, I drove to Luxembourg to buy cigarettes and spent the night in my car along the way. On the way back, I drove past Son & Breugel, where my sister and parents live. I hesitated, but went anyway. This time, I was not let in. My sister Stephanie said: “Your father is doing very badly, and you are no longer welcome.” When my mother, Tonnie van Schoondrager, came stumbling into the hallway, she was sent back to the living room by Stephanie like a small child. Stephanie looked at me and said: “Piss off, asshole.”
I told her: “I am going, and know that you will never see me again. You should be ashamed of yourself, working in Eindhoven at the UWV as a Reintegration Supervisor for Social Medical Affairs. You deny me contact with my parents and don’t let them decide for themselves. You are still walking over bodies and still pretending to be someone you are not.”
Conclusion
The circle is now closed for good. Breaking ties was not a choice made out of anger, but a necessity for self-preservation against a toxic dynamic of narcissism, deceit, and emotional neglect. That a professional working in the socio-medical sector, like my sister, Stephanie van Schoondrager, manipulates and isolates her own family in such a manner is the ultimate confirmation that the “Power of Touch” never existed in our family. I am disappearing for good, far away from the shadow of Son & Breugel, far away from this world where I was never allowed to exist.
