The assault of a transgender woman in Renton, Washington, shook me to my core this morning. It was not only a brutal act of violence, but it was also a reflection of something I have been watching grow louder in recent months. Anti-trans rhetoric has been flooding media outlets and political stages, and since the murder of Charlie Kirk, it has become even more relentless. The talking heads have used tragedy as an excuse to target us, to blame us, and to paint us as villains in a story we never asked to be part of.
I am a transgender woman who has spent the last few weeks in constant conversation with others in my community. No fewer than ten trans women have reached out to me privately, sometimes in fear, sometimes in tears, sometimes unsure what steps to take. I have answered each of them in different ways, because no two lives are the same and no single path works for everyone. Still, I have been writing this article in my head, waiting for the moment to speak out publicly. When I saw the news from Washington, I knew the time had come.
I want to say this clearly. I have been doxxed. I have had my life threatened. And yet I am still here. I refuse to be silent. I refuse to let simple-minded people isolate me or make me shrink away from the world. This article is for every transgender person who is afraid right now, for every one of you who wonders what to do when it feels like you are living under siege.
The Power of Rhetoric and the Risk of Violence
The words of politicians and media personalities are not harmless. They are not casual remarks tossed into the wind. Words carry weight, and in our current climate, they are shaping a narrative that places transgender people at the center of fear campaigns. When leaders call us predators or accuse us of harming children, they give permission for everyday people to treat us as threats.
This is why violence feels so close. The teens who beat Nikki Armstrong in Renton did not act in a vacuum. They grew up hearing messages that devalue our lives. They learned from a culture where anti-trans slurs are tolerated on playgrounds, in classrooms, and even in legislatures. Words became weapons, and those weapons left a woman hospitalized.
What Fear Looks Like Today
Many of us are living with fear that is hard to explain to those outside our community. It is not a passing worry. It is woven into the decisions we make every day. Fear is the moment before entering a restroom, the hesitation to attend a community event, and the choice to stay home rather than walk into a store after dark.
Fear has also driven many of us into private conversations. The women who reached out to me were asking how to live. Some wondered if it was time to leave their homes, their towns, or even their country. Others wanted to know how to stay safe online when harassment campaigns are a daily reality. A few simply wanted reassurance that they were not imagining the danger. Each conversation reminded me that our struggles are unique, but our fears are connected.
Safety in Public and Private Life
The advice I have shared with others has always been tailored to their lives, but one truth applies to us all: our safety matters. For some, that has meant taking self-defense classes or carrying protective tools. For others, it has meant traveling in groups, changing routines, or being mindful of which spaces feel welcoming. These decisions are not about weakness. They are about survival.
Online safety has become just as urgent. I know what it feels like to be doxxed, to have strangers share your private information with the intent to harm you. The threat is not abstract, and it can feel suffocating. Protecting personal details, limiting exposure on platforms where hate flourishes, and documenting threats are all strategies I have seen people use to keep themselves safe. These steps do not erase the fear, but they reclaim some control in spaces where control feels stolen.
The Anchor of Community
I cannot overstate the importance of community. Isolation is what hate relies on, but connection is what keeps us alive. For me, community has been found in chosen family, in trusted friends, and in fellow trans people who understand the weight of this moment without me needing to explain.
Every message of support matters. Every act of kindness from a neighbor or coworker is a reminder that not everyone is aligned with hate. And every support group, whether online or in person, reminds us that none of us are walking this path alone. If you are scared, reach for those around you. Even a single supportive person can make the difference between despair and hope.
The Question of Relocation
A topic that comes up often is relocation. Some of the women I spoke with asked whether they should move to states with stronger protections or even leave the country altogether. This is one of the hardest decisions we face, and there is no right or wrong answer.
For some, moving is necessary to feel safe. For others, leaving behind family, community, and roots feels impossible. I reminded each of them that survival is the priority, whether that means staying and fighting or seeking refuge elsewhere. What unites us is not the choice itself but the conviction that our lives are worth protecting.
The Burden on Mental Health
Living under constant threat is exhausting. It wears at the mind and the body. Anxiety, sleepless nights, and moments of despair are not weaknesses. They are human responses to living in a hostile world.
I have seen friends turn to therapy, peer groups, and creative outlets to cope. I have seen others limit their intake of news to preserve their peace of mind. And I have seen people reclaim joy in the smallest ways—through photography, music, walks in nature, or laughter with a trusted friend. These moments do not erase the danger, but they remind us why we continue to endure it.
When Fear Feels Overwhelming
One of the women who reached out to me recently did not come right out and say the word “suicide,” but her words carried the weight of it. She spoke about being tired, about not knowing if she had the strength to keep going, and about wondering if her absence would even matter. I could feel the pain behind what she was really asking: is it worth it to stay?
I told her what I want to tell anyone who has ever felt that way: yes, it is worth it. Suicide is not the answer. The people who want us erased would celebrate our silence, but every day we stay is an act of resistance against their hate. Your life matters, even on the days when the pain makes that impossible to believe.
If you have ever had thoughts like hers, please know that you are not broken. You are carrying more than anyone should ever have to bear, but that does not make you weak. Reaching out for help, whether to a trusted friend, a counselor, or a crisis hotline, can be the bridge between despair and hope. There are people who will listen, people who will remind you of your worth when you cannot see it yourself.
Resources you can reach right now:
- Trans Lifeline (U.S. and Canada): 877-565-8860 – Peer support run by and for trans people.
- The Trevor Project (U.S.): 1-866-488-7386 or text START to 678-678 – 24/7 support for LGBTQ+ youth.
- 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (U.S.): Dial 988 – Available anytime for anyone in crisis.
Please hold on. The world is better with you in it, and your story is not finished.
Refusing to Disappear
The people who spread hate want us to vanish. They want us to retreat into silence. I refuse. And I hope you refuse as well, in whatever way you can. Refusing does not always mean shouting in the streets. Sometimes it means simply existing openly in your daily life, holding hands with your partner, correcting someone who misgenders you, or sharing your story with another trans person who needs to hear it.
When I was threatened online, the easiest option would have been to withdraw. Instead, I stayed visible. I continued to write, to share, and to speak. Not because it was easy, but because silence felt like surrender. Hate thrives when it convinces us that we are alone. By being visible, even in small ways, we remind the world that we are still here.
Holding on to Hope
Hope is difficult in moments like this, but it is not foolish. Progress is not linear, and backlash is often strongest when change is already underway. Every time a trans person survives an attack, every time a neighbor steps in to help, and every time a young person finds the courage to come out, hope grows a little stronger.
Hope is what keeps us moving, even when the weight of fear is heavy. It reminds us that we are not just fighting for survival but for futures where transgender people can live without fear at all.
The Bottom Line
If you are afraid right now, know that your fear is real. You are not overreacting. You are not alone. Others share your fear, and many of us are walking this same uncertain road.
Do what you need to do to stay safe, whether that means speaking loudly or moving quietly. Both are acts of strength. Lean on your community. Protect your mental health. Hold on to joy wherever you can find it. And remember that you are valuable, your life is worth protecting, and your story is not over.
I refuse to let hate define me. I refuse to let simple-minded people dictate how I live. And I refuse to allow fear to erase me from the world. My hope is that you will refuse as well. Together, in all our different ways, we will survive this moment. Fear is real, but so is resilience.
