How Will We Know When It’s Time to Leave? What Families of Trans Youth Are Asking—and Facing

Written By Hello There

Since January 20, scarcely a day has passed without a parent of a transgender child asking me whether it's time to leave the country. My response has stayed mostly the same: everyone’s risk tolerance is different. Everyone’s financial capacity to make that kind of move is different. And I don’t believe we’re in a full state of emergency just yet.

The inevitable follow-up question is: How will we know when we are?

The truth is, I don’t know.

This morning, I learned that a family I deeply admire—a family whose advocacy has moved mountains—made the incredibly difficult decision to leave the United States. They are raising a trans child in Arizona, a state where 13 anti-trans bills have already passed this year. Most are expected to be vetoed, but a bathroom ban is headed to the ballot. After the recent 9th Circuit ruling on bathrooms—and growing concerns about the potential criminalization of affirming parents, depending on how the Skrmetti case unfolds—they no longer felt safe staying.

In their neighborhood, there have been multiple ICE raids. They’ve watched immigrant activists targeted by the administration. And while both parents are U.S. citizens as of 2018, they shared that it no longer feels like legal status guarantees safety. Then came the final blow: the presidential proclamation on April 3 declaring April National Child Abuse Prevention Month—framing gender-affirming care as abuse. (Read the proclamation) That was the moment they knew: it was time to go.

And they are not alone.

While not every family is facing the same level of urgency, the growing trend in some states is clear—and it’s reshaping how many parents think about safety, travel, and the future.

In Montana, lawmakers are advancing a bill that would make it a felony for parents or providers to access or deliver gender-affirming care to minors under 16—even if that care is legal elsewhere. While it's not yet law, it represents a chilling escalation: an attempt to criminalize affirming parents themselves.

In Texas, families have already faced these threats firsthand. In 2022, Attorney General Ken Paxton issued a legal opinion classifying gender-affirming care for minors as child abuse. Governor Abbott followed by directing the Department of Family and Protective Services (DFPS) to investigate parents supporting their trans children in receiving this care.

Even before these directives were fully tested in court, some agencies and schools began acting as if they were enforceable—creating a climate of uncertainty that led some parents to flee, pause medical care, or keep their families out of the public eye. These are not hypothetical risks. They’re real challenges families are navigating with incredible courage.

The Trujillo family wrote, “I still believe and hope that proximity can change hearts and that we can use our voices to affect change! I hope you don’t misunderstand our leaving as giving up. I’ve felt so much guilt about this decision.”

I believe them and stand by their decision wholeheartedly. This isn’t giving up. This is doing what they need to do to protect their multiply marginalized family and to keep their voice strong—so they can continue to fight for others from a place where their safety isn't under constant threat. (You can support them here)

As legal restrictions tighten and documentation becomes more scrutinized, I keep thinking about a conversation I had with my grandmother before she passed. Though she hadn’t traveled in years due to limited mobility, she asked us to renew her passport. When we asked why, she simply said:

“The people who had papers were the ones who got out.”

As the daughter of Jewish immigrants, she carried the stories of those who came before her—stories of displacement, survival, and the importance of being prepared. Her words have stayed with me. Not as a directive, but as a reminder:

Sometimes, holding the option to leave is part of feeling safe.

There’s no universal signal. No flashing red light to tell us it’s time to go. For some families, that moment has already arrived. For others, it may be approaching. And for many, staying is the only—or most right—option.

And yet, in the middle of all of this, I want to be very clear: not everyone has to leave, and everything is not doomed.

It’s easy to feel consumed by fear in moments like these. Easy to believe there’s no path forward but out. But I’ve also witnessed the extraordinary power of what happens when communities come together—when neighbors organize, when allies show up, when people refuse to back down. There are still people staying and fighting for better futures in their towns, schools, and legislatures. There are pockets of safety. There is fierce love. There is resilience.

Wherever you are in your decision-making, please know this: you are not alone. You are not overreacting. You are not failing your child. You are doing your best in a moment that demands more from parents than it ever should.

And your love? It’s life-saving.  

Resources for Families Considering Relocation or Support:

You don’t have to carry this alone.
Whether you're trying to figure out how to talk to your child, navigate new laws, or make impossible decisions—parenting a trans kid right now can feel overwhelming. Through one-on-one parent coaching, I offer a space for you to process, ask questions without judgment, and get the guidance you deserve.

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He Came to Support a Ban on Trans Healthcare—Then Had a Change of Heart