This week Texas will join the 20 or so other states that have passed laws restricting access to medical therapies and procedures for transgender children. The new law is a triumph for Governor Greg Abbott, who has tried a couple of different strategies to restrict gender transitions, first threatening to investigate parents and caregivers for child abuse and now, in the latest bill, threatening doctors with prosecution. Civil-rights groups challenged the bills, and some medical providers who oversee the treatments have already quit or left the state. The estimated tens of thousands of young people in Texas who identify as trans—roughly 1 percent of the state’s population of kids between ages 13 and 17, according to one count—and their families, must grapple with a new political reality.
In this episode of Radio Atlantic, we talk to one trans girl who found herself caught in the middle of these debates in Texas. She says she’s not an activist. She doesn’t protest for her right to medical care or mention her identity on her Instagram bio. She’s not “super-pro Democrat,” she says. She describes herself as not a “cheerleader or anything,” just a “normal, semi-popular girl.” She’s grown up with supportive parents, in an accepting community. But just as she was facing puberty, trans medical care became something politicians argue over. She could handle middle-school bullies. It was knowing the Texas government was against her that made her worry that she would be taken away from her parents, and question whether she could stay in the state.
Her mother and father faced an agonizing decision about what to do. They loved living in Austin. But their family was not safe. And they started to see signs in their daily life—in school, in the dentist’s office, at the hospital—that their family was in danger. They ultimately decided to leave, becoming a new kind of domestic political refugee.
“I started realizing that not only it was the kids and the people being mean, but it was the government in my state that was now also against me.”
Listen to the conversation here:
The following is a lightly edited transcript of the episode:
Hanna Rosin: I’m, like, fixated on your posters. I’m just, like—I really want to start the interview, but I’m just trying to guess what each of the posters are. Who set up your room when you moved?
Teenager: Me.
Rosin: You did? Did you have—are these movie posters from your old room?
Teenager: Yeah, I brought most of my stuff I’ve seen.
I’m Hanna Rosin. This is Radio Atlantic. And I’m talking to a teenager from Texas. Or she used to be from Texas. She left the state earlier this year and moved to a more suburban-y place in California.
Teenager: I was new. I got here after winter break, so I was like the only new kid in the middle of the year.
Rosin: What’s the first thing you noticed about it? Because you think of yourself as a city kid.
Teenager: The first thing I noticed was I saw the same cars all the time. I’ll say that.
Rosin: What do you mean? Your dad said you were into cars, and I was like, “Really? What do you mean?” What’s your favorite car, by the way?
Teenager: Subaru WRX STI, 2004.
Rosin: Damn, he was not kidding.
Teenager: And I work on cars too. You should see my shelves. I have an alternator, an oil cover, and a muffler, and a bunch of tools up on my shelf.
Rosin: Okay, so, before we go back to what happened and how you landed here: Your parents said that you wanted to talk, or were willing to talk, because we asked them about that. I was wondering, did you have a reason? Why did you want to talk to us?
Teenager: Um, well, I wasn’t 100 percent sure what we were gonna really be talking about, but if it is what I think it is, it’s just about me and everything in Texas.
Rosin: “Everything in Texas”
How one state senator wrote a letter to the attorney general one day asking whether what he called “sex-change procedures” for children equaled child abuse.
And then suddenly all the grown-ups—senators, judges, teachers, parents, reporters—were talking about things like puberty blockers and gender-reassignment surgeries and who was doing the better job “protecting children.”
And now this fact about herself, that she mostly talked about with her parents, her doctor, maybe one or two people at school, had now become a political issue.
She still cannot fathom why anyone would be yelling about this in the statehouse or on the streets or wherever.
Teenager: I’m not a part of the trans community; I am trans. That’s it. I don’t have flags up in my room; I don’t have it in my Instagram bio. I’m not a crazy super-pro-Democrat. I mean of course I’m against the people who are making my life like this, but I’m not an advocate or an activist; that’s why I want to do this anonymously.
I don’t go to protests; I don’t. I’m not very involved in the trans community, and not that I have a problem with that, but that’s just not who I am.
Rosin: Hmm. So who are you then? That’s really, really, really important, what you just said, because I think, if you’re talking about this, you’re affected by politics. People might just make those assumptions, but like, that’s just not you.
Teenager: I’m just—I’m not, like, “Oh, I’m a cheerleader,” or anything, but I’m a normal, semi-popular girl.
Rosin: Mhmm. And what do you most remember about living in Austin?
Teenager: My best day in Austin probably was summer of fifth grade, and everyone in the whole neighborhood got together, and we had water-balloon fights every day all summer.
Rosin: That sounds amazing. And are you good at water-balloon fights?
Teenager: I would like to say. Mostly, I remember being good, everyone being nice and happy. And when I actually, like, formally “came out” or whatever, I was probably 11. But everyone knew by the time I was, like, in second grade.
Rosin: Because had you said things?
Teenager: Kinda like how I dressed and how I acted. I didn’t act weird, but I just wasn’t a boy. It was never something that set me apart when I was younger. I was just who I was and everyone was okay with it. Then once everyone got older and got into middle school, they developed their opinions about me and people like me. Most of Austin was nice. But of course if you’re in the middle of Texas, people are gonna let you know what they think about you.
Rosin: Mhm. What’s the first time you remember having that thought?
Teenager: Probably COVID year, in sixth grade, when everyone was online. I was probably searching for something for class, and then the news things come up, and then, you know, I click on it, and I kind of went down this rabbit hole.
Rosin: And what did you understand? Or what words jumped out at you?
Teenager: Um, “unhealthy,” I think, jumped out, and um, “unhealthy” and “unnatural.”
Rosin: Mmm, those are hard words to read, unhealthy and unnatural. What was the thought in your head after you read those?
Teenager: I laughed. I thought—oh, I didn’t laugh, but I thought it was funny. Because, at first I thought, like, Oh, it’s a hick; it’s a redneck; it’s a … I don’t care, ’cause it’s not like I’m ever gonna be in contact with these people. So it didn’t affect me. I was fine. I honestly didn’t mind it. I was like, Okay. But then on and on, I realized, like, Oh, it’s not just random Texas guys and their trailers. It’s kids, and it’s everyone. A lot of people.
Rosin: How did you come to realize that?
Teenager: Probably seventh grade. And I got to be with, instead of with fifth graders, with seventh graders. Then I realized a lot of these kids think the same as what I thought was a couple of old rednecks. But I realized that a lot of people in my life agreed with what those people thought.
Rosin: And what was your main feeling? Were you scared? Were you sad? What do you remember of how you were actually feeling during that period?
Teenager: I was annoyed. I didn’t want anything to do with them either.
Rosin: Mmhmm. So at that point, it’s still just annoying?
Teenager: I thought that, eventually, they would move on. They did not. And so I became less annoyed and more angry, but never really sad. And then I started realizing that not only was it the kids and the people being mean, but it was the government in my state that was now also against me.
Mark Davis: That is today’s slate, so let’s go right to the phones. Say hi to Governor Abbott. Good morning, sir. How are you doing?
Rosin: In July 2021, Texas Governor Greg Abbott spoke to Mark Davis, a local conservative talk-show host.
Davis asked him about a proposal to outlaw medical treatments for transgender youth.
Which, heads up, Davis invokes a false notion about surgery for minors that is common in anti-trans circles, and he does it in pretty crude language.
Abbott: I’ll be candid with you. I’ll tell you what everybody knows, and that is: The chances of that passing during the session in the House of Representatives was nil.
Davis: Why? In a conservative state with Republicans in charge, a law that states, “We’re not going to let you carve up your tenth grader ’cause he thinks he’s a girl,” how in God’s name does that not pass in Texas?
Abbott: I can’t answer that. However, what I can tell you is: I have another way of achieving the exact same thing.
Rosin: Pretty soon, it became clear what his way was.
John Krinjak, Fox 7 News: In a letter to the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services, Governor Greg Abbott claiming so-called sex-change procedures constitute child abuse and directing the agency to investigate any reported instances.
In the letter, Governor Abbott calls on teachers, doctors, and nurses to report if they think these treatments are happening.
Rosin: This was the moment that these ideas, that this teenager was “unhealthy” and “unnatural,” moved from somewhere out there in Texas to the statehouse and then landed in her own house—more specifically, her mother’s bedroom.
Mom: I did not sleep at all that night.
Rosin: Because, theoretically at least, Child Protective Services could remove a child from their home. That’s her mom by the way. We’re keeping the family’s identities private to try to protect them and their children from harassment.
In their Slack group, the parents of trans kids started to try to manage their panic by trading information. Could they trust their teachers? Did they need to prepare an emergency medical file? Should they hire a lawyer?
Mom: Children could be taken from the home or school or anywhere at any time and put in foster care during the investigation. So that’s when the real fear began.
Rosin: Though maybe it would be more accurate to say: That’s when the fear became much harder to manage. The fear had always been there, just in a different way. The kind of fear you have as a parent when your child isn’t like everyone else and you have to actively work to convince yourself that it’s okay; they’ll be safe, if the world will just agree to be nice about it.
Mom: The first day that it was very marked was a school or a classroom play. And she auditioned only for the female parts, but at that time wasn’t socially identifying as female, and it was perfectly fine. She got the most glamorous female part, got the most glamorous dress, costume, makeup for it, and was the first time I think we really, like, She really likes that costume, and—
Rosin: Can you describe the costume? I’m curious. And what year was this, by the way?
Mom: Third grade, so 8 years old, and she was Glinda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz.
So a pink tulle dress with a big, huge skirt and high heels. And she had long hair at that time.
Dad: Both of our kids had sort of long hair, and when we would go on road trips, when we’d go to restaurants, 75 percent of the time or more, the servers would think they were both girls.
Mom: That didn’t happen in Austin, but as soon as we left, whenever we’d leave Austin, it’d be like, “And for the little ladies?” And they’d be fine with it.
Rosin: [Laughs.] And just so I don’t exaggerate or say it wrong, was it really this smooth? Like there was nothing?
Mom: Totally. Before the transition: the only “boy,” invited to all the girls’ slumber parties, friends who were boys, no friction in the elementary school.
Rosin: So when is the first moment you remember that ease not being there anymore?
Mom: At age 12, when I think the early signs of puberty began, which suggested that her body would take more of a male shape, she started to show more distress and came to me and said, “I don’t want to be a boy. I want to be a girl.” And was from that moment on, and never any wavering, that she has been a girl.
Dad: Never a moment.
Mom: Change to a female name, female pronouns, everything.
Rosin: How did you think it was gonna unfold? Like, how did you—what did you think the next, like, the middle-school, high-school years were gonna be like?
Mom: She was very distressed by even the early signs of male development. So we spent a lot of time in the, What is this? Did so much research, contacted experts who were in these New York Times articles from both sides, had full consultations with them, pros and cons; got into the local endocrinology clinic, had very, very long conversations with them.
I definitely had the thoughts of, like, Can a 12-year-old make this decision? We wouldn’t let our child get a tattoo. Why would we let them do this? So I definitely went through all of that and all the things of, What are these interventions? I am gonna read all of the real primary research on what is, what do these interventions do to brain development, heart development. I definitely was open to, like, if there’s a problem with this stuff, I want to know.
Rosin: It sounds like you guys are in the sort of parental tight space. You’re like, What’s this gonna mean for my kid? What’s this gonna mean for us as a family? But you didn’t see any bigger trouble on the horizon. You weren’t thinking about that.
Mom: The Texas of it all. No. [Exasperated laughs.]
Rosin: They started “going to the endo,” as the teenager called it. Every three months, the nurse would inject a puberty blocker into her thigh. She asked her mom to video because it was a big needle and she wanted proof for her future self and everyone else of how tough she was.
At some point during her treatments, the governor’s directive went into effect, which meant that doctors and nurses were required to report any efforts to enable a child’s gender transition to Child Protective Services. It was unclear whether the governor had the authority to issue this directive, but he did.
The clinic told the family that, for the moment at least, they would keep seeing patients, implying they would not turn anyone in.
Rosin: When you said you were up all night, what were the thoughts in your head?
Mom: Yeah. The thoughts were, Can I send my child to school? Because I am sending my child into a state-run agency where all of the staff have now been instructed to report us to Child Protective Services, so does my child go to school? Or not? And decided the next morning that we had to let our daughter know if she were called to the office and asked any questions about her gender, to not answer them and to call us, to not give them any information, because they said they could take the child without informing the parents or talking to the parents first.
Rosin: There were already news reports of an eighth grader pulled out of a classroom without his parents present, of an investigator who visited a kid at home and asked, “Who’s the better cook, your mom or your dad? Do you know where your privates are? Has anyone touched them?”
Mom: We had to put together a whole docket of all the paperwork saying, trying to prove that it wouldn’t be abuse, so that if she were taken into foster care, we could get her back as soon as possible.
Rosin: Was it really like one day it was fine, the next day you hear about a directive on social media? Like, was that how it happened in your life?
Mom: Yes.
Rosin: It just came out of the—like, you’re living your life, driving your kids, doing whatever you’re doing, and then just one day this lands on you?
Mom: Yeah. And I’ll give two examples. We had an endocrinology appointment not long after the letter, and our daughter was afraid I was going to be arrested on sight. And at the dentist where a new hygienist pulled me aside and said, “Y’all aren’t safe here. We had a staff meeting this morning, and most of the staff said they didn’t think children should be allowed to be transgender, so you should find another practice.”
Teenager: At school, um, during standardized tests, they have to use my legal name
Rosin: Mmhmm.
Teenager: In the doctor’s office, they have to do the same protocols as they do with any other boy. Any, like, government or official office refers to me as someone that I’m not.
Rosin: And did that ever happen to you? Like did you ever have an encounter?
Teenager: All the time.
Rosin: Mmhmm.
Teenager: It’s not just a political situation; it’s, like, making my life a crime, right? My parents could be sent to CPS, and I could go to foster care. So that was probably the moment where it started to make me more sad than angry.
Rosin: In May, the Texas Supreme Court ruled that the governor couldn’t compel DFPS to investigate. Civil-rights groups also sued the state, which created a legal standstill.
The teenager kept getting her injections.
As summer turned to fall, there was something to grab on to. Governor Abbott, who had opened the investigations, was up for reelection against Democrat Beto O’Rourke, and the race was at least a race.
The night of the election, some neighbors had planned a block party. The kids made Beto signs; Austin’s “gentle weirdos,” as her parents called them, gathered to do their thing: play vinyls, drum, have some beers.
The results started coming in.
Teenager: I remember that one night when my dad brought everyone and everyone from the street was watching the election and then the bad guy that we didn’t want to win won, and then I was around everyone else. Nobody knew what to say. Nobody talked about it; it was just like a Saturday-night thing. Like it was a party.
It didn’t affect anyone else, other than me. With this guy getting elected, for everyone else it was just like, they were into politics, so they wanted to watch it. And they were like, “Uh, he didn’t win.” And then, you know, said whatever they thought about it, but I was like, “Why is everyone …?” I didn’t say anything. I wanted to go home, because I didn’t feel like that’s something that should be a party.
Rosin: Yeah, I totally get that. For you, some tragedy happened, and everyone’s, like, cleaning up the dishes.
Teenager: It reminded me of the Hunger Games books, where they all go to watch this terrible thing happen. Which I didn’t understand.
I think that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Probably.
Rosin: What was the straw? The election?
Teenager: Yeah. I only went to school for a couple days until I went to the hospital, so I, you know, obviously wasn’t in a safe place geographically and then also mentally. So those two combined things made me make some really bad decisions and made me close to making another really bad decision.
Rosin: Mmhmm.
Teenager: So I went to the hospital for a couple weeks and then—
Rosin: Did you take yourself? Did you ask to go to the hospital?
Teenager: I knew that I had to.
When I was, like, getting set up for the hospital, my dad was asking me, like, “What’s going on?” And I told him, “It’s ’cause of Texas,” and he was like, “Okay.”
Dad: When a minor says that they don’t feel safe or that they might hurt themselves, it triggers an involuntary commitment process. And so they took her in an ambulance. I drove behind because, you know, I couldn’t drive her there. So this was really the first moment of, like, We are losing control of our child. Now this process that we’ve been afraid of for most of the year is now under way. The wheels are turning, and we don’t really know what is going to happen now.
Mom: At the intake, the intake person said she didn’t think kids should be given the right to choose this, as we’re there taking her in.
Dad: She had understood before I did that we have to leave.
Mom: I’ve been up thinking about what we can do, and I said, “One option is we can move to a different state where you’d be safe and legal.” And she lit up and said, “That would make me very happy.”
Rosin: So they made this maybe extreme arrangement. She would leave right away. The rest of the family still had a life in Texas—work, school—so in the meantime, the parents would split their time between California and Austin, and the whole family would reunite over the summer
Rosin: When they called you and said, “We’re moving,” what was your reaction?
Teenager: I was excited. Obviously, I don’t want to move from where I’ve lived, but it’s gonna be better.
Rosin: Mmhmm.
Teenager: Yeah, I was happy.
Rosin: Uh-huh. And what about the rest of your family? How did the conversations go in the house about moving?
Teenager: My brother doesn’t, my dad doesn’t, and my mom don’t. They don’t want to move, but I do. And if it were up to me, I would probably go and live with my grandparents and let them stay here in Texas, because I don’t want to do that to them. But at the same time, I’m not—I didn’t want the fact that I happen to live in a place that is in America, the country that is the home of the free, like, if I’m just a couple thousand miles away from, you know, not having to feel like this.
Rosin: Mmhmm. Mmhmm.
Teenager: I’m not gonna put up with everything.
Rosin: How is your California school, by the way? I was curious about it.
Teenager: I think at my new school, though, the politics of this area is better. My peers are a lot worse than in Texas, because they don’t understand truly how what they say can affect other people. So they’ll say a lot more hurtful stuff and a lot more often, but it doesn’t really affect me as long as I know that the politics—like, here, I’m safe.
I don’t have to hide.
Rosin: Best-case scenario for the summer and the next year, worst-case scenario?
Teenager: Best-case scenario: My family gets adjusted, and everyone has a good time. Worst-case scenario: They don’t like it here, and everyone’s miserable, except for me.
Rosin: By summer, her whole family joined her in California. It wasn’t easy for them to move, but they could pull it off—a lot of families in Texas couldn’t.
In May, all the doctors at the Texas clinic where the teenager had gotten her shots left after the attorney general announced he would investigate the clinic.
In June, the governor signed a new bill, which was a version of the original bill he’d been trying to pass all those years.
It points at doctors, criminalizing puberty blockers and hormones and any surgeries for minors—basically any medical interventions to enable a minor’s transition.
This law goes into effect in September.
[MUSIC]
Rosin: This episode of Radio Atlantic was produced by Ethan Brooks and edited by our executive producer, Claudine Ebeid. It was mixed by Rob Smierciak and fact-checked by Sam Fentress.
If you or a loved one is having thoughts of suicide, please call National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988. Or text talk—T-A-L-K—to 741741 to reach the Crisis Text Line.
I’m Hanna Rosin, and we’ll be back with a new episode every Thursday.