If I were still 18 or younger right now, I genuinely don’t know if I would’ve made it.
I came out as trans when I was 11. I was out to my friends, then parents, and eventually my whole middle school by age 12. I fought tooth and nail for the medical transition I have access to now, and I live in liberal California (though I grew up in a smaller town that was less so). My days were spent advocating for myself and others like me; I was out, proud, and somewhat loud in spite of my social anxiety.
Though being out was miserable for me — and in some ways, occasionally, I do regret it — I also realize living through that experience was a luxury. The fact that I made it to graduation and now to college, got top surgery, and have been able to FINALLY focus my energy and time on something other than life-encompassing social and physical dysphoria — is all a privilege this next generation of trans youth likely will not have.
I had to be my own advocate, parent, doctor, and therapist; I had to be an activist a student, and a child with child thoughts all at once. The weight of the expectations of my peers and the adults around me became an ever-present crushing panic. I had to explain my identity over and over to other kids, teachers, therapists and doctors.
I had go-to ways of correcting misgendering (or not), and I memorized the Tanner Stages of pubertal development. I knew how hormone blockers and hormones worked and their side effects long before I took a chemistry class. I could’ve taught sex ed in a much more inclusive and correct way than my school was teaching me, and it agonized me. I was bullied for correcting the teacher when he said “hermaphrodite” while talking about intersex people.
I spent hours reading and watching commentary on the news and was much more up-to-date with current events than my peers. I knew my rights and existence were both political and, therefore, saw it as imperative that I kept up with politics. Other people in my “Modern World” class had no idea that a war was occurring between Russia and Ukraine, and when they found out, few cared.
I guess you could say I was “woke,” but I’d say I was adultified and parentified because the adults around me simultaneously did not trust my identity and did not trust their ability to engage with my existence. I had to “prove” I was trans, real, and valid, not going to change my mind, over and over since I was “a kid.” As Ben Shapiro recently said:
“There are no trans kids, there are children with gender dysphoria, but the notion that a child knows that their body is not in line with their sex is ridiculous.”
That is how many adults around me viewed it, even medical professionals. They “believed me” in the sense that they believed there was a problem and that I needed help; what they didn’t believe was what I told them I needed. Even those who claimed to support me in my autonomy to express my identity stopped short of supporting my autonomy to decide what puberty happens to my body. Adults were clearly uncomfortable with the notion of me transitioning, uncomfortable with the idea of advocating for me. This discomfort festered in me until it took its current form as a burning desire for things to be better. It felt like I was being slowly waterboarded by an inability — yet an obligation — to help myself get what I needed.
This is the position we (as a nation) are putting trans youth aged 18 and below — because, yes, the executive order includes 18-year-olds. (This means in many states, a child could be married for several years before being allowed to access gender-affirming care). When I was younger, I wanted more than anything for trans minors to be able to access care without the consent of their parents, much like laws allowed them to access reproductive healthcare without such approval. Now, we’ve gotten to a point where government offices are being ordered to “prosecute” the practice of gender-affirming care, not just on minors, but as a whole.
I realize that this is part of a much larger coordinated attack on marginalized groups, poor people, and science itself. I cannot, however, overlook how these orders will impact my community, the people I care about, and even myself. If I were arrested today, there is a very real chance I’d be placed in a women’s prison and be denied access to my hormones. If either of my girlfriends were, they might be sent to a men’s prison. If I were 14, 16, or even 18 today, I don’t know how much longer I’d make it.
