The Florida Senate has already passed an extreme ban on gender-affirming care for minors<\/a>, criminalized bathroom use for trans people<\/a>, and restricted drag performances<\/a>. Trans people in Florida are already feeling the effects, are planning to leave, or have already left the state \u2014 especially families with trans minors<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The decision to move away isn\u2019t available to everyone, as some trans folks who would like to leave the state are unable to due to familial, financial, or legal reasons. For those who do flee, coping with this decision is much more than just logistical. It\u2019s also deeply emotional, with many feeling a mix of grief, guilt, regret, and relief.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n TransLash spoke to six trans Floridians, some who have already left, and some who are preparing to leave, about the emotional impact of escaping a place that is dangerous \u2014 but is also your home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Oliver (he\/him) is a 22-year-old transmasc Miami resident who left Florida for New York City. In Florida, he worked as a teacher and made the decision to leave because he \u201ccould not build a life down there [in Florida] as a transgender educator.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n For Oliver, the decision to leave made sense from a logistical standpoint: \u201cAs a transgender individual, Florida is scary enough (and that was before<\/em> I left), but being a transgender worker in the very field in which my community is being attacked is terrifying. It was also, logistically speaking, not the right decision for me to start building a pension and saving for retirement in a career that I could potentially be fired from in the coming years due to my identity. From a financial standpoint \u2014 passion and love aside \u2014 one of the only things that makes teaching worth it is the stability of the career. Florida’s teacher salary is among the lowest in the country, and without job stability due to me being trans, it wasn’t a viable option for me. I moved a few months ago. Had I stayed in Florida, my access to healthcare would probably have been compromised as well.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Emotionally, Oliver says it\u2019s heartbreaking that for some people, their home always gets to feel safe. \u201cBut for me, it’s different. I always say that I don’t hate Florida, Florida hates me,\u201d he says. \u201cI wasn’t forced out in the sense that I was forced to move to another state or I would be killed, but I was forced out in the sense that I would lose my humanity and dreams for every day I stayed there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a teacher, Oliver says he feels guilty leaving his queer students behind, in a state where \u201ctheir right to a safe learning space is being challenged every day. I feel like a hypocrite for telling them that everything will be okay if they just keep fighting, but I couldn’t even do it myself. My heart breaks every time another law passes that could endanger a trans kid’s life, or threaten the wellbeing of a queer child. I also worry about my queer friends who can’t afford to just up and leave the entire state they grew up in. I just have to keep reminding myself that I don’t owe anyone a fight. I’m tired of fighting. I just want to be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Though he was initially worried about moving away from family and friends, Oliver says his mental health is so much better in New York: \u201cNow that I’m here permanently, I can breathe easier. I can go out and see people like me thriving<\/em>. I feel freer in every sense \u2014 freer to advocate for myself and my community, to meet people, to explore, to be open about who I am and what I believe in, to teach effectively and passionately, to love and be loved publicly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Oliver said he never thought he, a child of immigrants who came to the US for freedom, would have to move to ensure that freedom. \u201cAs hard as it was, the move made my relationship with my family so much stronger. Moving out of Florida was the best decision I’ve ever made. Even though it felt literally impossible, I did it, and it was so worth it,\u201d says Oliver.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hollen (they\/he) has lived in Florida for nearly 20 years, and spent the last decade in Jacksonville. Now, the 29-year-old trans-Floridian is leaving along with their family: their fiance and co-parent, both of whom are transfemme, their co-parent\u2019s partner, who is two-spirit, and Hollen\u2019s child. Together, they are planning to go to Portland, Oregon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe all have different factors to consider for our lives but Oregon seems to cover all of our needs with its protections in place for trans people and its healthcare, plus we have some friends out there who left Jacksonville about a year ago, so I know it\u2019s possible and it wouldn\u2019t feel like starting over completely,\u201d says Hollen. <\/p>\n\n\n\n There are a few factors that determined Hollen\u2019s need to leave: access to gender-affirming care, co-parenting a child as two trans adults, and bathroom bans. Most pressing, is the care of Hollen\u2019s child: <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy co-parent and I have been dealing with the legal system while trying to get divorced. We\u2019ve been separated for a long time, but it\u2019s not a pleasant experience, in general, to get a divorce and go in front of a judge and all. With the current legislation in place \u2018protecting\u2019 children from becoming transgender, we have been afraid of anything backfiring for us and feel we are at risk of having our identities play into how \u2018safe\u2019 a child is in our care because we are trans. We\u2019ve used a few different sets of pronouns for our child through the years at their request. They came out as non-binary at age three and we don\u2019t want to live somewhere where that is cause for concern. We are terrified of losing our child. While it probably won\u2019t happen, it legally could.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Already, Hollen has made changes to protect their child such as homeschooling them to avoid exposure to \u201cthe ridiculous educational standards that DeSantis is enacting, particularly with the new legislation in place that directly affects trans youth in schools by not validating their names and pronouns, [or] bathroom bans<\/a>,\u201d says Hollen. \u201cWe want our child to be comfortable in their identity, to know about things like diversity, and the evils this country has put people through instead of ignoring anything that doesn\u2019t correspond with a very narrow set of beliefs supporting white nationalism.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Hollen grew up in Florida, and he says leaving here comes with so much sadness, however necessary the move is: <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy independence and life habits were formed here. I learned to drive here, to maintain a house here, to meet people and make friends in this culture. It is sad to me, the idea of leaving. Every time I walk out my door and see swarms of lizards scatter in every direction with my footsteps, I get choked up. When I see white herons flying overhead, or think about the crystal clear springs I grew up around, or go to the beach for a day with my friends and family, I feel all hollowed out and echo-ey inside. Florida is beautiful, and much of my life has been here, and the idea of moving to somewhere I have so little experience with is terrifying. I talk a lot with friends about how awful Florida is, but the reality is that it\u2019s familiar, and it is my home, and I am sad that I\u2019m leaving due to factors beyond my control.\u201d <\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n The hardest part, though, is leaving family. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy family is here,\u201d says Hollen. \u201cMy niece and my child are the same age and are great friends. To leave my niece behind when she can\u2019t fully grasp what\u2019s happening or why this is happening is so heart-wrenching. She idolizes me, and I want someone in her life to be representative that you can be who you want to be, no matter what that looks like. I don\u2019t want to take away that aspect of her experience. I don\u2019t want her to feel like she\u2019s being abandoned. I just recently opened up to my mom about leaving so soon and she\u2019s grief-stricken at the idea of never being able to see my child again, not being able to be present in our lives, and not knowing what life holds for me so far away.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Hollen has a strong community here of transmasc friends, coworkers, and family. The reality of leaving these pillars brings Hollen \u201canguish beyond words \u2014 turmoil.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n But at the same time, there are happier aspects of the move. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI do feel relief! I feel joy. I feel excited,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019m excited to live with my girlfriend and build a new life and routine and home, to rely on each other in new ways and to get to have more depth in our relationship. I\u2019m excited for my child to be able to have more opportunities for friendship and be around more people who are going to understand them, to have more educational opportunities and a welcoming environment. I\u2019m a little jealous that they\u2019re being set up to be the coolest person ever, and glad that we can give them that, in addition to giving them safety and security.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Cyrus (he\/they) and Grayson (he\/they) are both trans men living together in Orlando. The couple met in cosmetology school in the area \u2014 Cyrus, 19, was studying to be a hairdresser and Grayson, 21, a nail technician \u2014 and the two moved in together. As soon as Cyrus graduates this Fall, they plan to move together to Philadelphia, to live with Grayson\u2019s sister. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Both feel they have to leave Florida, as Grayson\u2019s hormone provider is no longer offering testosterone prescriptions. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy biggest concern right now is having access to our hormones because, obviously, that is important. But also I have PCOS [polycystic ovary syndrome], which is a hormone imbalance. So my testosterone really helps to level out my stuff [and get me] where I need to be,\u201d says Grayson. \u201cWe’re sharing our hormones right now, which is not legal or good. I have a few friends who are giving us their spare hormones. That is literally like the only thing that will help us get through the year. The kind of running joke right now is that the community is really just passing around the same $10. [But] what we really need right now is support from everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n \u201cI’ve been fighting with my insurance to have my top surgery covered for probably two years now. I’ve had a lot of consultations, probably five, and all of them have been individually traumatic,\u201d says Cyrus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Safe access to hormones and gender affirming care is a main motivator to both Cyrus and Grayson. But leaving also comes with risks: Cyrus, 19, received housing support through Florida\u2019s foster care system and stands to lose his benefits when they move. <\/p>\n\n\n\n During their time in Orlando, the couple has found joy living in \u201cone of the gayest parts of Florida\u201d as Cyrus puts it, building up not only a community, but also financial footholds. When we spoke, Grayson had just started his first day of work as a nail technician. He worries about starting over again and finding a new client base when they leave town. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI think it’s important for anybody to leave their hometown, but it’s terrible that I’m being forced into this,\u201d says Grayson. \u201cIt’s incredibly sad. Talking to my other trans friends, I feel like it’s just a community-wide sigh, this feeling of like, \u2018fuck, this is what is happening right now. This is the place we\u2019re at.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n For Cyrus, who dealt with housing instability before moving to Orlando, he worries that moving will also impact his education. \u201cI’ve created myself a home and I cannot believe I’m leaving so soon. I had so many more plans and it’s so unfortunate I’m losing my benefits. I planned to stay in school as long as I can afford it. I wanted my bachelor’s in business. And now I really don’t know when I’ll be able to go back to school. If I go back to school [at all],\u201d they say. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Along with feeling through their major losses, both are excited for a life in Philly, and with family. They plan for a two-bedroom, where Grayson says, \u201cOur friends can come and stay, and they can figure out their shit. If they wanna go to Colorado or they wanna go to New York we can be a safe space. And it’s something that we both severely value.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n B (they\/she) and their spouse Haris (he\/him) have both spent much of their lives in Central Florida. After meeting in Lakeland, Florida in 2014, B and Haris got married in 2017. They moved to Maryland but eventually came back down to Florida to reconnect with their community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n B and Haris made the decision to return to Maryland, with Haris going up first and B joining a few months later. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Haris, a 30-year-old trans man, says \u201cThe decision to leave Florida was simple to me. I feel forced out in more ways than just anti-queer legislation. I felt forced out by rent skyrocketing. I felt forced out by jobs that told me I was family, but disposed of me when I was in need. I felt forced out by so much fake allyship who would rather give you crumbs than take two damn minutes to make a PB&J when you\u2019re in need.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Haris began his transition in Maryland, but says he had a much harder time accessing care in Florida. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI never had any issues with [in Maryland] with insurance covering testosterone, and top surgery would\u2019ve been covered but I moved too soon. There was a program that helped me change my name and gave me all the tools to change my gender marker with ease, and it was all free and covered either by government assistance or insurance,\u201d says Haris. \u201cWhen I got back to Florida, I immediately experienced difficulty in finding a healthcare provider who could both prescribe testosterone and be my primary care doctor. I ended up without a primary care doctor because my insurance got worse and visits became more expensive even though I was making less money. The most recent situation encountered was that I had a hysterectomy consultation scheduled that got canceled immediately after Desantis signed another bullshit law.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n For B, a 29-year-old queer and nonbinary person, watching their sense of safety and community be jeopardized by the government \u201cfeels utterly gut-wrenching.\u201d They\u2019d been struggling to reestablish themselves in Florida during the pandemic, but it was getting more and more difficult every year. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHaris isn\u2019t my only trans partner. The fear and reality of him and them not only losing access to his medication \u2014 but all of us getting targeted for our genderqueerness \u2014 has made the idea of establishing roots here feel utterly impossible,\u201d says B.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Haris says it\u2019s been a huge relief to leave Florida, and he already has access to a primary care doctor and prescribed testosterone. \u201cI feel calm and at rest with myself,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019ve been able to start the conversation about getting grant funding for affordable housing for queer Florida refugees. I feel like I have some purpose here and that I can make a difference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n For B, it\u2019s a bit more complicated. There is some shame, she says, for leaving and a lot of grief: <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c[There is a] weight of leaving. Of feeling like most of the choice got taken from us. Feeling like staying meant putting our lives and families’ life at continuous risk. Feeling like leaving is a disservice to the community we want to help fight for and protect. Feeling guilt that protecting our safety felt more important. It all holds a lot of weight. I would love to be able to stay and feel like I can fight and help turn back what has been created. I also want to live. I also want to feel safe. It could be selfish, or it could be dramatic, but I spent a lot of my life not thinking my existence was important and I care about shifting that now. I am grieving the life we could have had here, the roots we could have planted deeper, and how they could have potentially flourished.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Sara Youngblood Gregory (she\/they) is a non-binary lesbian journalist and writer. She is the author of THE POLYAMORY WORKBOOK<\/a><\/em> and a former staff writer for POPSUGAR. She covers sex, queerness, disability, culture, and wellness. Her work has been featured in Vice, Teen Vogue, HuffPost, Bustle, DAME, Cosmo, Jezebel, and many others.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nOliver<\/strong> <\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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