A military mom on the heartbreak of watching her country strip away the rights, safety and dignity of her trans child.

Editor’s note: Due to privacy and safety concerns, the author of this essay is anonymous. The author is a licensed psychologist and trans rights advocate based in Alaska, where she lives with her two children and partner. She has a Ph.D. in clinical psychology.

As an active-duty military family, my children, now 13 and 16, have perfected the art of navigating change. They’ve muddled through months of deployment without their dad and repeated tearful goodbyes to friends, teachers and communities.

Throughout the sacrifice inherent in serving our country, I have worked as a parent to ensure that my kids feel safe, included and engaged wherever we land. Among the most important criteria for determining where we can be stationed are that my children must have access to their individual healthcare needs and be able to find community through sports. 

Imagine, then, my horror and fury to see the country we have served with honor for so many years debate my 16-year-old child’s existence and limit their ability to thrive.

In recent months, lawmakers voted to strip military families of the right to access life-saving, evidence-based medical care for their trans loved ones. In a one-two punch, the House and Senate then voted to ban trans girls and women from playing on teams that align with their gender. Since then, President Donald Trump has signed multiple executive orders targeting trans kids, including language erasing our child’s existence, prohibiting access to medical care, and directing schools to call my child by the wrong name and pronouns.

Their impact is far-reaching and has a chilling effect. Trusted organizations and providers are silently backing away from our community. As a result, my child is no longer able to live as freely as other children.

Our family, approaching our 20-year milestone in the military, did not get the care we were promised. 

How it Began

My older child, James (he/they), came out as nonbinary and transmasculine in sixth grade while we were stationed in southwest Ohio. At the time, we were surprised—but, looking back, the news was not unexpected. James had eschewed traditional gender roles for years. When asked to give the keynote speech at a Girls on the Run charity gala in fifth grade, he did so dressed in a suit, reminding folks that “clothes have no gender” during his remarks. 

Right around the onset of puberty, our entire family noticed a dramatic shift. James felt like a shell of a person, filled with self-loathing as his body changed in ways that were deeply at odds with his innate sense of self. 

After James came out, we patiently and diligently followed medical-based practices for affirming our trans child. We tried therapy, new pronouns, and ways to socially transition James, but it wasn’t enough. We took the next step and met with specialists to begin a low dose of testosterone. 

This medical intervention was “world-changing” for James. He could finally see his true self reflected in the mirror. I’ve watched him become lighter, freer and more confident. As a mother, my fears of losing James—emotionally and physically—slowly started to dissipate.

Where We Are Now

At 16, James is flourishing, despite living in a country seemingly intent on erasing kids like him. But as his mother, the widespread actions of legislators in recent months have reignited and magnified my previous fears. 

Trump’s executive order banning transgender care for youth has decidedly threatened my child’s life. James was suicidal before going on testosterone. We’re navigating whether we can continue seeing his current provider and waiting to see if providers will risk their careers to fulfill his life-saving prescriptions. 

We tried therapy, new pronouns, and ways to socially transition James, but it wasn’t enough. We took the next step and met with specialists to begin a low dose of testosterone.  … James is flourishing, despite living in a country seemingly intent on erasing kids like him.

James’ father and I have decided that if our military benefits do not cover his medication, we will pay out of pocket, even if we must go into debt. Simply put, our family, approaching our 20-year milestone in the military, did not get the care we were promised. 

Exacerbating the pain of his medical uncertainty, one of James’ most reliable safe havens is now under threat as well. James has always loved sports. As a tween living in Ohio, he fell in love with field hockey, where he had other gender-diverse teammates. When we were restationed in Alaska, he was devastated to leave the team—that is, until he fell in love with rock climbing.

Today James competes in the men’s division, despite being just over five feet tall. He says that, as a nonbinary person, the men’s division is not a perfect fit, but it feels “mostly right” and is “better than the alternative.” For now, James is “safe,” because his team holds coed practices and does not dictate how kids compete. One of his best friends is not so lucky. She is barred from participating in high school sports just because she is a trans girl, despite the fact that, here in Alaska, there is not a single instance of a trans athlete outperforming a cis peer for a spot on a podium or a scholarship.

Protecting Who?

Studies have shown that the presence of an anti-trans bill causes direct psychological harm to the trans community and those who love them. In the past year, more than 50 percent of trans kids considered suicide, largely due to heightened stigma and discrimination. 

These laws don’t protect my cis daughter, either. As a highly competitive swimmer, she has been held hostage in the locker room by her peers, who force her to listen to anti-trans songs while they misgender and insult her beloved sibling. Last year, she won at the state championship. I asked her what she would think if a trans girl beat her to the podium. She said, “Well, I’d think she swam a great race because I’m pretty good.”

Trans kids exist, and they know exactly who they are. By politicizing their lives and healthcare, we are threatening their lives and forcing them to choose between doing what they love and being who they are. Trans kids are not a threat to their cis peers on the court or in the pool, in the bathroom or the classroom. Trans kids just want to live their lives.

No matter where you are, you can make a positive difference for trans people and their families. Raise your voice at your school board, city council, state legislature, all the way up to Congress.

And to the trans folks? You are pillars of authenticity. Everyone who steps into your light is better for it, whether they recognize it or not. Thank you for lighting the way for the rest of us.