One year ago today, my husband Ryan and I, along with three other families and one health care provider and clinic, filed suit challenging SEA 480, an Indiana law prohibiting gender-affirming care for transgender young people.

I have been mulling over the idea of publishing something about our experiences having a transgender son, from parenting to protesting to plaintiffing to politicking, and this solemn milestone seemed a fitting time to stop chewing on the idea and just start the conversation.

Bans on this scientifically sound, medically necessary, lifesaving health care have been passed in 22 states at the time of this writing, with most of them facing challenges in the courts. Across the country, transgender youth and their families face the long battle to regain our humanity, privacy, and civil and parental rights that have been stripped of us in varying degrees depending on our zip code. In our case, a federal judge granted an injunction in June 2023, preventing the law from going into effect. The state appealed of course, but until that hearing, we were safe. WERE.

Life while suing your state for your child’s right to exist is not the cinema-worthy affair you might think it would be. There are moments of high drama and being in the public eye punctuating what is otherwise a long slog. As the months rolled by, little changed in our day-to-day lives. My son continued to grow into his authentic self and find more and more happiness. The light in his eyes that had been dimmed for years returned. Ryan and I had previously set to work educating our friends and family about our son, what gender-affirming care was, what to expect and how best they could support him and us on his journey. His social transition began two years before he began getting medical treatment and efforts were underway to get his name officially changed. Having our case make its way through the courts seemed to change almost nothing. We worked, we baked, we laughed, we argued, we traveled, had family game night here, a cookout there…and got told by people on what was still Twitter that we were pedophiles and butchers and deserved a bullet in the face. You know, the usual stuff.

There is always a low hum of fear when you have a transgender child, like a tinnitus that’s unnoticeable until you’re in a quiet room. Safety is always a concern. My son is a teenager and fortunately has always enjoyed having loving, accepting friends. But evaluating people as he becomes more and more independent can be exhausting: does the friend inviting him to a party have safe parents? Will his teachers treat him fairly? Even a trip to the grocery store early in his transition was fraught with anxiety. Questioning stares become manageable; to obscure the menacing ones I got used to just making sure he was distracted by my antics before he could clock it. I hope, anyway. Eventually, you grow accustomed to the low hum and increased vigilance. You make sure everyone allowed proximity passes the vibe check. You avoid crying lest you find yourself unable to stop once you start. You read every room. You avoid quiet ones.

On February 27, 2024, we were devastated to learn that the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals issued an order (without issuing an opinion in the appeal) staying the injunction in our case, allowing this heinous law to immediately take effect. With no warning, all transgender youth in Indiana had the gender-affirming care essential to their health and well-being ripped from them in an instant. Families have been struggling and scrambling since to find ways to care for their children, and physicians have had to terminate care for their patients without even being able to provide referral information on how to obtain care elsewhere.

These days, the low hum is louder.

On a recent trip to Chicago, our itinerary grew from just a college tour to also include an appointment as medical refugees to ensure our son didn’t experience a disruption in his care. Suddenly, the little things we do to move safely in the world seemed bigger, heavier. As we left Indianapolis on the unremarkable drive north on I-65, I felt the prickling flush of anxiety creep up my neck and face as we approached the exits leading to the small town of Lebanon, Indiana.

I’d gotten complacent, too excited about our trip. I had forgotten about the billboard. Was it still there?

It had stood along the highway last April when we filed suit, proudly proclaiming the beliefs of Harvey Gutwein of Gutwein Popcorn in Francesville, Indiana. Not content to simply hold reprehensible views in silence (what old white man is?) and let us pass as we left the state where it was now illegal to care for our child in the best way possible, Harvey demanded that we know he didn’t approve: not of women’s rights to abortion, not of gay marriage, and not of my family’s, my CHILD’S existence. All the while, he of course demanded freedom.

What was my son doing? I looked back to see him reading and listening to music with his headphones. But what if he looked up? What if he saw it? I quickly turned back around as the road between us and that abomination grew shorter. Look out for it. Look on both sides. Try to see it way ahead of time. Keep checking, make sure he isn’t looking out the window. Figure out a question to ask him if he looks up. Is that it? No. Two more exits. Is that it? Did we miss it maybe? Think of something funny to ask him. Ask him what he wants to do on our free day in the Chi. Is that it? No. One more exit. After that we’re clear. Is he looking up?

The last exit disappeared behind us and I leaned against the window, looking at the sullen fields stretched out under a cold gray midwestern spring sky, exhausted, welling with tears. In the wake of our first major defeat in this fight, these little wars I wage with the world to protect my child, my family, and my sense of hope and faith in this country weigh heavier than before. I know this is true for all the parents enduring this time of discrimination, hardship, fear, and vilification, just for loving our kids. I know that even if we triumph in the end, we will emerge from the big fight forever changed, and will never know what else we could have done in this life without having to fight these little wars. And I know this is far truer for far too many people standing at the intersection of marginalized identities than it will ever be for me. I’ll learn at their feet for the rest of my life.

Nevertheless, if these are the times we are given, my family will continue to meet the moment, help all those we can along the way who are struggling, and celebrate our triumphs. Each piece here will provide resources and updates on our case as well as others, notions on being blessed with a transgender child, and building community. I will also talk about knowing thy enemy and fighting back against a cynical political machine which has infested the Republican Party in the U.S. and seeks to use our families as a political tool to advance a Christian nationalist agenda and eventually achieve one-party rule. 

I don’t know who I will be at the end of this struggle, but I would be honored to have you join me and find out. Morbid curiosity welcome, kindred preferred. Be well.

In kindness,

Lisa