I read the news every day. Every single day. I wish I didn’t.
If you’re transgender or someone who loves someone who is, you probably understand the weight of that. Some mornings, it’s like taking a blow to the chest before your coffee has even kicked in. Another ruling. Another ban. Another brutal headline twisting someone’s identity into a political talking point. It’s exhausting.
And yet, here you are. Still here. Still breathing. Still living. If no one’s told you lately, that matters.
There’s a certain audacity in living your life as a transgender person right now. Not even loudly or politically, just living. Just existing. This includes loving who you love, working your job, taking your meds, walking your dog, applying for grad school, folding your laundry, playing video games, raising kids, riding your bike, trying out new lipstick, and going to brunch. All of it. It’s all of the beautifully ordinary and completely revolutionary stuff that truly defines you. I want to talk about that today.
Because while I keep up with the news, both because I write about it and because I need to know what’s coming, I know that for many in our community, turning away from it isn’t denial. It’s survival. And that’s okay.
The Noise Outside
There is a deliberate cruelty in how trans people are discussed in global media right now. It’s not just what’s said, but how often and how loudly. In some countries, we’re used as pawns to distract from failing economies or unpopular leaders. In others, we’re the scapegoats for crumbling moral orders. In the U.S., the U.K., parts of Eastern Europe, and beyond, trans people have become political bait, our identities poked and prodded like abstract concepts instead of the living, breathing, brilliant realities we are.
But here’s the truth that those people don’t want anyone to realize: Most trans people are not activists. We’re not trying to start a revolution. We’re not demanding to be the center of attention. We just want to live.
We want to go to school, to work, to the grocery store, and to the beach. We want to fall in love, have boring Tuesdays, binge bad TV, and take naps on Sunday afternoons.
But when the world starts shouting about your existence, when it tries to legislate your pronouns or your presence in a public restroom, even trying to live quietly can start to feel like a fight. So what do we do? We live anyway.
You Don’t Owe the World Your Pain
This is a hard one. Especially if you’re someone who feels the weight of injustice deeply. You might feel guilty for not reading every story or sharing every petition. You might think you’re failing the community if you tune it all out.
But here’s the radical truth: you are not a 24/7 protest. You are a person.
There is no moral obligation to live in a state of constant awareness or distress just because the world is unjust. Rest is resistance. Joy is rebellion. Choosing not to flood your nervous system with bad news every day? That’s not apathy. That’s a boundary.
And you’re allowed to have boundaries. Even from the news. Even from “your own” cause. Because staying alive is the cause.
Real Life Still Happens Here
You still get to have dreams. Let me repeat that. You. Still. Get. To. Have. Dreams.
Even in this climate. Even in this body. Even in this moment. Even if you’re scared. Even if you’re tired. Even if the last thing you read made you want to crawl under the covers and not come out for a month.
You still get to want things. You still get to fall in love. You still get to be excited about your garden or your new job or your voice lessons. You still get to post silly selfies or try winged eyeliner for the first time. You still get to say, “I want more from life,” and chase it.
You are not a walking trauma story. You are a whole person. And real life, messy, mundane, miraculous real life, is still happening right here, inside you.
Not Everyone Has the Luxury to Tune It Out
Let’s not pretend otherwise. Some of us can disengage from the news. Others cannot. If your job, your healthcare, your immigration status, your safety, or your child’s well-being is tied to legislative decisions, the chaos can’t just be “muted.”
If that’s you, I see you. I see the weight you’re carrying. And I want to say this: You are not alone.
There are people, legal teams, advocacy groups, local organizers, and online communities who are fighting with you and for you. There are transgender lawyers, teachers, journalists, and parents who get it. Even if the news doesn’t cover our wins, they exist. Even if the laws are trying to erase us, we exist. We always will.
And even in the eye of the storm, you deserve slowness. Laughter. Love. You deserve moments—the kind that remind you why we fight in the first place. You’re not a burden. You’re the reason we keep going.
Trans Joy Isn’t a Distraction-It’s a Weapon
You’ve probably seen the phrase “trans joy” floating around on social media. Some folks think it’s just about smiling through the pain. It’s not. Trans joy is a battle cry.
It’s choosing to find wonder in a world that tells you to disappear. It’s loving your reflection one day when you thought that would never be possible. It’s watching someone call you by your name and feeling it in your bones. It’s laughing with friends who see you, know you, and affirm you. It’s surviving long enough to thrive. It’s becoming the person you’ve always known you are.
Joy is not a luxury-it’s a form of resistance. So be silly. Be bold. Be soft. Be radiant. Take selfies. Buy the damn glitter. Dance. Paint. Eat cake for breakfast. Make art that no one else understands. Wear what makes you feel alive. Hold hands in public if you’re safe. Let yourself feel loved. Let yourself love back.
They can’t legislate your joy out of existence.
You Don’t Have to Explain Yourself
Not to strangers. Not to family. Not to coworkers. Not even to other trans people. You don’t have to share your trauma to be valid. You don’t have to have a perfect transition story. You don’t need to come out in a way that’s public or flashy or even “brave.” You don’t owe anyone your gender, your past, or your pain.
The people who matter will meet you where you are. The rest? Let them talk.
Because here’s the truth: the more time you spend explaining yourself to people who don’t want to understand, the less time you have to build the life you deserve. So choose your peace. Protect your peace. Defend it like it’s sacred, because it is.
Finding Peace in a Loud, Ugly World
It’s hard to feel peaceful when the world is on fire. And we’re not pretending otherwise. But inner peace doesn’t always mean serenity or silence. Sometimes it just means knowing who you are, even when others try to define you.
Sometimes it means journaling when your chest is tight. Sometimes it means hugging a friend when you want to disappear. Sometimes it means logging off. Sometimes it means crying in the shower and getting up anyway. Sometimes it means saying “no” to a conversation. Sometimes it means saying “yes” to yourself.
For me, peace comes in little rituals. A hot cup of coffee. Soft music. Lighting a candle. Walking around outside taking photos. Sitting in the sun. Stretching my body. Texting my best friend. Saying “I’m great!,” even if I wasn’t yesterday.
There is no perfect formula. There is only trying. And that trying, that living, is everything.
You’re Not Alone, Even When It Feels Like It
You may feel like you’re the only one navigating this storm. But you are not. There’s someone in your city, your state, your country, someone right now, who knows exactly what it feels like to just want to exist in peace. Who wants to go one day without being called a slur, a threat, or a debate? Someone who’s also carrying quiet strength. Someone who’s also waking up and saying, “I’ll try again today.”
Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s someone reading this on the other side of the world. But we’re all here. Together. Quietly. Fiercely. Living anyway. We are not going anywhere.
The Bottom Line
If you’re reading this and you’re exhausted, scared, or overwhelmed, take a breath. You are doing more than enough. Your story is not over. Your life is not a tragedy. You are neither too much, too little, nor too broken.
You are loved. You are real. You are sacred. And regardless of what chaos unfolds outside the door, you still get to be here. You still get to be you.
I, unfortunately like you, do not get to avoid the news. As a DEI researcher and trans-writer I have to keep my eye on the news. Of course it is very difficult to sometimes even breathe from the dystopian levels of hate that seem directed at us just for daring to exist. The worst part for me, is also my point of entry. The worst part is the mountainous levels of indifference. Hate is worth nothing, not even to fight, because it is blind. But indifference, that we can leverage. Trans-positive attitudes, like you said, living and existing and being despite it all, telling our stories, not of repression, but of joy and hope and simply being ourselves in the world. That is what turns the indifferent to care. Thank you for your article. It is a tough go right now, but we are a resilient bunch!