Trump Has Made Me Terrified For My Trans Son’s Life, But There’s 1 Thing I Won’t Do To Save Him

In my favorite picture from my boys’ childhood, my older son is leaning over and straightening his younger brother’s tie, while his brother stands with a look of perplexed surrender on his face. It’s so typical of both of them, especially my oldest. He’s helpful, a little bossy, always looking out for his younger brother, and always directing our fashion choices. He was a thoughtful, kind child who grew into a thoughtful, kind young man.

Now his life is in danger.

I woke up in a sweaty panic at 2:30 a.m. on Jan. 29, hours after President Donald Trump signed an executive order limiting gender-affirming care for children and teenagers under 19 ― one of several executive orders he has signed that take aim at transgender and nonbinary people.

He’s coming for trans adults next, I thought. He’s going to criminalize being trans.

I poked at this thought the way one pokes at a sore tooth with their tongue, following it into the most frightening corners of my mind. I imagined death camps. I imagined trans people being dragged from their homes, their loved ones, their lives. I imagined others doing nothing to stop it. I couldn’t turn off my brain.

In those breathless moments, what I couldn’t imagine was how to keep my trans son, now 22, safe — at least not in a way that allowed us to still be a family. Where can he go? I asked myself, mapping out escape routes in my mind. Who can we ask to hide him?

I made a mental list of names, refusing to risk a paper or electronic trail, thinking of places and people who would welcome him, keep him safe, hold him until I could again. I let my imagination roam this dark path until my heart almost broke with a vision of what might come to pass.

What I didn’t think of — not until much later, after my panic had run its course and I remembered to breathe again — was what my son would want. It’s sobering to know that I can’t force him to do what I think would keep him safe, and that to try to do so would undermine the very strength that being trans has given him, and rob him of his hard-won, fulfilling life.

My son is a fighter — a survivor. He’s had to be, starting at a very young age when he discovered that his sex assigned at birth and his gender identity didn’t match. He fought to understand himself, and then to be understood by others. He fought to be affirmed and respected and treated with dignity. Were I to suggest that the safest life for him is in the shadows, I wouldn’t be honoring any of that, even if my desire can be understood as the desperate love of a frightened parent.

There’s much to love about my son. He’s kind. He’s a leader. He has a wicked sense of humor and a wonderful streak of mischief. He looks out for others and he’s way cooler than any offspring of mine has a right to be. He throws himself into new things and loves with his whole heart. Most importantly, he loves himself.

If Republicans had their way, he would hate himself into not existing anymore. They’ve stated outright that “transgenderism must be eradicated from public life,” and that they want to end “woke gender ideology.” According to the Trevor Project, LGBTQ+ youth are more than four times as likely as their peers to attempt suicide — not because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, but because of bullying, harassment, lack of support, and ingesting messages that their very existence is up for debate. For my son to love himself in spite of all that is one of the greatest miracles in my life.

It’s a strange and terrible thing to recognize that my fiercest desire — for my son to survive whatever Trump and his goons have in store for trans people — has the potential to harm him in the same way. I don’t want him to have to hide who he is, avoid connection and community, or sacrifice his future. That’s what living as his authentic self was supposed to prevent. I want him to live his life out loud, be as visible as he wants, and experience joy and love unabashedly.

I will do anything to save my son’s life, but I won’t ask him to live a life as anyone other than who he really is. And I know that’s exactly what he wants for himself — and for everyone.

I’ve read that having a child is like having your heart walk around outside your body, and I agree. However, having a trans child is like having other people shoot arrows at that heart on a daily basis. I want nothing more than to shield him from those arrows — throw myself between them and him — but there are so. Damn. Many.

Trans people need allies to shield them from the arrows. They need support. They need community. Their lives can seem very small in the face of a constant barrage of hate, of being told they shouldn’t exist, of being scapegoated by politicians who want you to pay no attention to the man behind the curtain because they’re robbing you blind and taking away your rights and selling your safety to our enemies and handing unlimited power to billionaires.

None of what’s going wrong in the country today has anything to do with trans people. But they’re being made to shoulder an outsize blame so you won’t notice that you’re a frog in a pot of water that’s getting very, very hot.

So what can we do? We can call our elected officials and tell them they need to protect trans people. We can learn more about trans experiences and lives. We can speak up when friends or family members say transphobic things or repeat anti-trans misinformation. If we see a trans person being targeted — whether it’s in a public restroom, on the bus, or anywhere else — we can step in and try to defuse the situation.

We can donate to organizations that are working tirelessly to protect trans rights. We can tell the trans people in our lives that we care about them, and ask them how we can best help. We can refrain from openly talking about individuals’ identities — even if they’re out to us — in order to help keep them safe.

I remember when my son went to his first Pride parade with his school’s Gender and Sexuality Alliance. I dropped him off at the meeting place and watched him join his peers. Suddenly, I felt certain that he was not so much walking away from me as he was walking toward something wonderful — something he would share with me once it was fully in his grasp.

I search for that feeling today, reaching down beneath the news and the noise and the hate. It’s hazy, flimsy, but it’s there.

All I can do is remember to breathe and let my son lead me. I’m ready to help do whatever it takes to save his proud, beautiful life.

Grace Finch is the pseudonym of a passionate activist, ally, and parent. She uses storytelling to uplift marginalized communities and shine a light on opportunities to fight oppression. She lives on the East Coast with her family and in her spare time volunteers with community organizations serving LGBTQ individuals and their loved ones.

If you or someone you know needs help, call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org for mental health support. Additionally, you can find local mental health and crisis resources at dontcallthepolice.com. Outside of the U.S., please visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention.

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