Still Here: Reflections on a Year of Backlash, Resilience, and Becoming

2025 was a brutal year for trans rights. But we’re still here — still fighting, still loving, still dreaming.

2025 has been a year.

A year of headlines that don’t feel real. A year of policies that read more like threats. A year of watching, helpless at times, as the rights and dignity of transgender people — including my own child — have been debated, dismantled, and denied on national stages.

I’m a mom. I’m also an advocate. But more than anything, I’m a witness — to the pain, the courage, the joy, and the sheer determination it takes to be trans in the United States today. And I want to reflect, honestly and fully, on what this year has meant for families like mine and for the transgender community at large.

The Weight of Policy

When Trump returned to office, his administration wasted no time in targeting LGBTQ+ people — particularly the trans community. On January 20, he signed Executive Order 14168, “Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government.”

That innocuous title sanitizes the deeply harmful implications. The order redefined “sex” across all federal agencies to mean strictly “biological sex” (despite the actual medical complexity of that phrase) — erasing recognition of gender identity in housing, healthcare, education, employment protections, and more. It mandated the removal of the word “gender” in federal documentation and required all agencies to realign programs and data collection based solely on binary sex assigned at birth.

For many, this was a sweeping and chilling erasure — not just of civil rights protections, but of our children, our families, and our truths.

And the policy changes didn’t stop there.

Just a week later, the president issued Executive Order 14187, “Protecting Children from Chemical and Surgical Mutilation.” This EO targeted gender-affirming care for minors, calling on federal agencies to restrict any form of support or funding for that care. It used cruel, inflammatory language — equating life-saving healthcare with abuse — and directed a coordinated federal push to discourage providers and threaten states offering protection.

For parents like me, the language wasn’t just offensive. It was dangerous. It painted affirming families as abusers and set the stage for states — many have wanted to redefine child abuse laws for years to include supporting trans youth — to treat us that way.

It’s forced families to ask questions no parent should have to consider: Could seeking medical care make us the subject of a child welfare investigation? Could supportive doctors be prosecuted? Should we flee our home state, or the country, just to ensure our child’s safety? (If you’re new here, you may not know that these state-level child abuse bills are one of the reasons we did leave the country a couple of years ago.)

And then came the passport nightmare.

As part of the implementation of EO 14168, the State Department announced it would no longer allow “X” gender markers on passports. My child’s current passport — which proudly and affirmatively lists their gender as “X” — became a source of real fear. Would it still be valid? Could they be detained while traveling? Would they be denied a renewal in a few years? What would this mean for them — a trans immigrant living in a new country — if their U.S. identification was suddenly rendered invalid?

This wasn’t some abstract debate about terminology. It was our lives, our mobility, our legitimacy — called into question with the stroke of a pen.

The ACLU and others challenged the passport policy in court in a case known as Orr v. Trump, and while an initial injunction offered temporary protection, the Supreme Court allowed the administration to lift that block while litigation continues. So families like mine remain in limbo — unsure whether our children’s documents will be honored or revoked.

In a different era, this kind of rollback would’ve been shocking. In 2025, it felt like just another week of holding our breath.

A Nation at Odds

The federal landscape was devastating — but the state-level attacks made things worse.

Over 1,000 anti-trans bills were introduced in state legislatures this year, breaking yet another record. Many aimed directly at trans youth: banning access to care, criminalizing pronoun use in schools, excluding trans athletes, and silencing LGBTQ+ content in books and curricula. Others targeted adults — restricting Medicaid coverage, banning ID corrections, or threatening criminal charges for affirming care providers.

Some courts blocked these laws. Others upheld them. And then came a ruling that reshaped the legal terrain entirely.

In United States v. Skrmetti, the Supreme Court upheld Tennessee’s ban on puberty blockers and hormone therapy for minors — legislation that had been challenged under the Equal Protection Clause. The Court applied only a rational basis standard, rather than the heightened scrutiny usually applied to sex-based discrimination. The ruling didn’t just greenlight Tennessee’s ban — it signaled that many other state laws would likely be upheld as well.

The effect was immediate: other lawsuits were dropped, more bans went into effect, and constitutional protections for trans youth’s medical care narrowed dramatically overnight.

And yet again, trans kids felt it. Not just in doctor’s offices, but in classrooms, in sports teams, in public conversation. The very idea that their existence could be criminalized or delegitimized — that people in power could deny their humanity — weighed heavily on their shoulders.

As a parent, I watched the light dim, just a bit, in the face of each new ruling. Not because my child stopped believing in who they are — but because it gets exhausting to constantly prove it to others. And while Avery personally feels safe now, they feel stress and worry over queer friends back in the States, as well as the larger community. With their own passport concerns, they feel betrayed by their country and that they will never be welcomed again.

Defiance in the Face of Erasure

Still, 2025 was not only a story of loss.

In the midst of so much cruelty, trans people and their allies kept showing up. They testified at hearings, organized protests, started mutual aid funds, and filed lawsuits to fight back. They reminded the world — and themselves — that their existence is not up for debate.

In New York City, Mayor Eric Adams announced a $2 million emergency fund to support transgender healthcare and services, after federal cuts threatened critical clinics. It was a lifeline for many and a bold act of resistance in a hostile national environment.

Advocacy organizations mobilized on every front — in courtrooms, in legislatures, and on social media. Trans youth spoke out, families shared their stories, and allies amplified the truth: that gender-affirming care saves lives, and that trans people deserve to live freely and fully.

In the November elections, pro-equality candidates defied expectations. Anti-trans rhetoric didn’t deliver votes the way its architects had hoped. And in New York, Zohran Mamdani, a longtime progressive leader, was elected mayor — pledging to make the city a sanctuary for trans people nationwide.

And in a powerful stand for patient privacy and medical ethics, several hospitals and clinics refused to comply with state demands for the private medical records of minors receiving gender-affirming care and filed lawsuits to block invasive subpoenas that sought to expose families and patients simply for seeking medically necessary care. Their defiance — rooted in both legal principle and moral clarity — sent a strong message: trans youth are entitled to privacy, dignity, and protection, and the medical community has a duty to defend those rights, even in the face of political intimidation.

These wins don’t undo the harm. But they matter. They show what’s possible when we refuse to be silent.

Parenting in the Fire

Being the parent of a trans teen during all of this means learning how to hold grief and joy in the same breath.

It means watching your child come alive in their identity, while knowing there are lawmakers who’d rather they disappear. It means shielding them from headlines some days, and talking through hard truths on others. It means reminding them — over and over — that their worth is not up for debate.

And it means checking your own heartbreak so that you can be their anchor. I’ve had to learn how to cry privately, to process rage quietly, to stay grounded while the world spins cruel stories about the very person I love most.

But I’ve also learned this: our kids are not just surviving. They are becoming. Even in the shadow of harmful laws, they are building friendships, dreaming big, and laughing loudly. They are learning to navigate a world that wasn’t built for them — and they are insisting that it change.

And every time Avery shares one of their dreams for their future, I remember a time when they weren't sure they would even have a future, and I remember why this fight matters.

A Different Future

2025 reminded me how much is still at stake — but also how much is still possible.

We are still here. We are still fighting. And we are still finding moments of joy, connection, and healing. Trans people are not going anywhere. And those of us who love them will not be silent.

There’s an urgency to this moment. But there’s also a profound beauty in witnessing what resilience (as much as I hate the overuse of or need to use that word) really looks like. It’s messy. It’s painful. And it’s radiant.

To our allies: we need you. Not just in election years or after tragedies, but in the day-to-day — when laws pass quietly, when clinics close quietly, when fear grows quietly. This work isn’t just about policy. It’s about people. And it will take all of us.

As this year ends, I hold close the vision of a future where our kids don’t just fight to exist — they thrive, fully and freely.

Until then, we keep going. Together.

---