Count Me In

Over 400,000 trans people have moved since the 2024 election. I’m one of them.

Let’s go on a summer road trip!

The wide open road, new playlists and podcasts loaded up on my phone, a cute dog, and 8 days of adventure and exploration lie ahead.

Sounds fun, right? The truth is, yes, there’s some fun to be had. But the logistics and the implications are not exactly what I’d call fun.

Tomorrow I’ll start a new leg of my trip right here on Substack. Follow along with me from the road while I point my car toward bluer pastures. For safety and privacy, I won’t be telegraphing exactly where I’ll be and when, but I plan to share daily updates, tips, and notes as I move across the country.

I’ll share what I can about dog-friendly travel, bathrooms, hotels, gas stops and route choices. I will also share what it feels like to make this decision and carry it out in real-time. The emotions, the psychological toll, and some moments of relief and humor too.

If anyone wants to grab lunch or meet up along the way, message me and let’s see if we can connect.

Over 400,000 trans people have moved since the 2024 election. Texas is leading that migration, with nearly 20% of respondents in a recent Plume poll indicating that they are getting the hell out of Texas.

Count me in. Officially, I have already left Texas.

I moved to Austin, TX in 2019. That move was full of promise, high hopes, and some naivety. Having grown up in a smaller blue dot in a smaller sea of red, I thought I knew what I was getting myself into.

Three years later, I would begin the medical part of gender transition. Within weeks of taking my first T-shot, my trans joy would turn to disbelief when I was diagnosed with breast cancer after a tumor served up an unwelcome surprise during my gender-affirming top surgery.

By 2025, I had emerged from the collision of gender transition and cancer treatment completely scathed and demoralized, yet also somehow hopeful, purposeful, and resolved. I had stumbled haphazardly into advocacy and found a voice. I declared to anyone who would listen, “If everyone leaves Texas, then how will we ever fight back?” I was staying. And fighting in the ways I knew how.

That summer, Texas passed a shiny new anti-trans bathroom bill.

In 2026, around the country, state by state, laws and policies designed to humiliate, erase, and harm trans people continue to be passed.

Speaking of 2026, the Texas legislature has been pretty quiet on the anti-trans front, right? Right. Because the Texas legislature meets every other year, rather than every year. But that quiet has contributed to a new heaviness. It feels like a countdown to some sort of impending doom. It’s erasure in the form of dreadful anticipation.

That erasure has been working. I don’t typically fear for my physical safety day-to-day, but I fear for what will happen to my rights if I stay in Texas. I have been sitting here waiting for the shoe to drop when the legislature is due to meet again next year. They’ve already laid out some of their plans for 2027 and it’s ugly. I don’t know what will happen, but my guess is that Texas will do whatever they can to invalidate my ID in 2027 and continue to attack trans folks who reside in the state. Being forced to carry an inaccurate ID? That’s my red line. The deal breaker.

But let’s back up to the end of 2025 real quick. After facing a couple of cancer-recurrence scares (no recurrence though!) I was exhausted.

Everything felt hard. The things I leaned on heavily to recover from cancer had started disappearing. My boxing gym had closed and I was struggling to find a new home that felt safe, inclusive, and welcoming. I tried to join a master’s swim team so I could train and fall back in love with a sport that gave me purpose and joy when I was younger. I wanted to use my new, trans, cancer body. But the swim teams I contacted weren’t sure if I was allowed to join. Because I was trans.

As I took stock of everything, I was alarmed at just how small my world had become. I couldn’t find a deep breath. I had just fought so hard to tear down the walls cancer built around me. Yet there they were again. Closing in on me.

I realized that if I wanted to keep advocating, if I wanted to have a quality of life steeped in community, movement, freedom, happiness, and dignity, it wasn’t going to happen in Texas. I agonized over the idea of leaving. Was I weak? Was I giving up? I got through cancer, I could get through this too.

But it wasn’t about proving strength or sticking it out. I was just done suffering. I have suffered enough and I don’t owe suffering to anyone to prove my worth… in advocacy or in general. In fact, if I was going to advocate at all, then I was going to have to take care of myself or there would be nothing left of me.

So, I decided to leave.

I understand how much privilege exists for me to decide to leave. Many people whose safety is at far greater risk do not have the luxury that I have. If you’re reading this, find a mutual aid fund and throw some cash toward it so the folks who need assistance can find safety. If you aren’t sure where to look, let me know.

Once I made up my mind to leave, things went fast. Too fast. I sold my home more quickly than I imagined. In a style true to myself, I also found out that I needed to have my fourth major surgery in four years right in the middle of when I was planning to leave Texas. So, I put a pin in it for a couple of months. Sort of… I moved out of my home and found a temporary place to stay while I recovered from surgery. Once my doctor cleared me to lift more than 20 lbs, I packed up the car, the dog, and hit the road.

I’ve completed the first leg of my version of trans migration. I left Texas and came back to Indiana for a few weeks to stay with family.

Tomorrow, the final leg starts and I’d love it if you’d join me along the way. I’m ready to find a deep breath at the end of a long, strange trip. To get to know new surroundings and hopefully find some community and a way to live my life in safety. In peace… in mind and body.

• If you’re considering a similar move: let me know. Let’s talk.

• If you’ve already made a similar move: be sure to count yourself in my friend Leo’s Trans Collective Migration Map.

• Please pass this along to folks you think might benefit from following along.

Send your podcast, playlist, and audiobook recs my way. Send me some encouragement. Share some ideas or tips you’ve heard from others. This whole thing sucks, but I’m determined to find some good in it, so help me find some joy along the way.

Don’t forget, trans joy is resistance.