14/09/2025
It’s Sunday, and as usual, I find myself reflecting on all things trans. It’s a bit strange, really — I spend my week working in trans healthcare, surrounded by trans and non-binary people, and yet we rarely talk about politics beyond a tired, shared glance and a “yeah, it’s a s**t show out there, isn’t it?” So Sundays end up being my time to catch up, to think more deeply, and to try and process everything that’s been happening.
This week has felt different, of course — the killing of Charlie Kirk has been heavy on many of our minds. But honestly, most of these thoughts, even when I share them here, tend to take shape on a Sunday. It’s when the emotional backlog settles in.
One thing I keep coming back to is just how resilient the trans community is. That word — *resilient* — gets thrown around a lot, and I don’t want to erase the very real vulnerabilities and challenges we face by using it. But there’s something undeniable in the way we keep going. I’ve never had a trans person in my care tell me they’ve decided not to transition because of the political climate. It just doesn’t come up like that. The desire to live authentically, to transition, to move closer to ourselves — it doesn’t bend to hostile headlines or political fearmongering.
We continue — not because things are easy, but in spite of how hard they are. Many of us have already survived more than most people can imagine. And the younger ones… honestly, they blow me away. Facing bullying, public ridicule, being shamed just for needing a toilet or showing up to gym class — and yet, still, they continue.
What’s more, the rate of detransition doesn’t seem to fluctuate with the rise of right-wing hate or policy rollbacks. I’m not suggesting that everything is fine — far from it. Suicidal ideation, mental health crises, homelessness, family rejection, GPs who can’t (or won’t) even make a basic referral to a GIC — the barriers are brutal and, frankly, often inhumane. And still, we’re growing. Still, many of us are thriving.
I don’t want to romanticise any of this, and I’m definitely not here to eulogise the community. But I do think it speaks to the depth of dysphoria many of us feel — and equally, to the profound sense of euphoria or peace that can come with transitioning, or even just having the space to explore our place in the wider spectrum of gender.
To those on the outside looking in — if they truly understood what we endure just to be ourselves, I think they’d be humbled. But most don’t take that time. Too many still see us through years of media distortion and fear. If they could just take those glasses off for a moment, they’d see that for many of us, this isn’t a lifestyle — it’s a necessity.
And look, I want to be careful with how I say this — I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to leave your home, your family, everything you know because you fear for your life. But I do know what it’s like to risk everything just to feel safe in your own skin. And as hostile as the climate can feel here in the UK right now, it still pales in comparison to the internal war that dysphoria can wage when it's left unmanaged. That kind of pain is hard to describe — and even harder to ignore.
I also want to say this clearly: my empathy doesn’t end at the edges of the trans community. I feel deeply for everyone who’s struggling in the world right now — refugees and immigrants fleeing unimaginable circumstances, people on the poverty line relying on food banks just to survive, those being scapegoated, ridiculed, or dehumanised simply for existing. My heart aches watching how widespread the hate has become — how normalised the cruelty is, across so many different groups of people.
And I, for one, will never stay quiet about it.
Marianne Oakes, Evolve online counselling founder.
