As a 55-year-old transgender woman, I’ve had a front-row seat to the evolving lexicon and cultural shifts within our community. Over the decades, I’ve seen language emerge, morph, and occasionally twist into something harmful. One unsettling trend in recent weeks is the casual—and sometimes not-so-casual—use of the term “normal trans.” It’s a phrase whispered in certain corners of our community, deployed by those who consider themselves “true” transsexuals while dismissively casting “transgender” as some fringe element. According to this narrative, anyone who doesn’t fit a particular mold—often defined narrowly along outdated lines of identity, presentation, or medical history—is not only “not normal,” but somehow an illegitimate member of the family.
It’s a tactic that tries to draw a line in the sand, segregating the so-called “normal trans” folks from those who, in their eyes, should be shunned or expelled. Those who dare to speak openly online, who have a unique view of their gender, or who aren’t following a prescribed path might find themselves labeled as “abnormal” or “fringe.” But what does that even mean in a community defined by diversity, resilience, and the pursuit of authenticity?
Let’s be real: we’re already a small minority, and scapegoating those who are more visible or vocal—just because they don’t fit someone’s narrow definition of “normal”—is not just counterproductive, it’s downright dangerous. Such a stance only serves to fragment us further and hand our detractors an easy victory. Anti-trans groups rely on divide-and-conquer strategies. They cherry-pick the loudest voices, the most misunderstood statements, or the rare cases of wrongdoing, and then paint the entire community with that same brush. If we start doing their work for them by labeling parts of our own community as “not normal,” aren’t we just handing them more ammunition?
A Misguided Concept of “Normal”
What does “normal” mean, anyway? If you toss that term into the mixer of human identity, it’s about as meaningful as calling a particular rainbow “the normal rainbow.” The entire concept of “normal” is subjective. Even outside the trans community, normalcy is a slippery slope. Norms vary by culture, geography, generation, and personal perspective. By nature, trans people challenge the status quo—whether that’s in how we live, love, or define ourselves. That’s what makes us a target, but it’s also what makes us powerful. We’ve carved out space in a world that often tries to deny our existence. We are living proof that identities and bodies don’t have to fit a rigid script.
When certain individuals try to co-opt terms like “normal trans,” it suggests there’s a single right way to be transgender—a path that’s linear, maybe strictly medicalized, or strictly about binary transition. It’s the old narrative that “transsexual” must mean a very particular set of steps: a “full transition” (often narrowly defined), passing seamlessly, and never rocking the boat. Meanwhile, “transgender” becomes the catchall for those perceived to be “out there” on the fringes—people who might not pursue certain medical interventions, who might be nonbinary, who might challenge traditional gender roles, or who might be more outspoken about social justice issues.
This kind of linguistic gatekeeping is not new. Terms like “truscum” or “transmed” have popped up to label those who insist on strict medical criteria for trans identity. The idea is that if you don’t meet their benchmark of who is “real,” you’re not legitimate. It’s an elitist stance that puts vulnerable members of our community at even greater risk of isolation. Gatekeeping in any marginalized community is a surefire way to weaken solidarity, and when we weaken solidarity, we weaken our collective power.
The Danger of Internal Fractures
The trans community, let’s face it, is already under siege. Anti-trans legislation has been picking up steam across the globe, from bans on gender-affirming healthcare for youth, to attempts at legally erasing trans identities from official documents. Meanwhile, anti-trans advocacy groups are sharpening their knives, eager to exploit any sign of internal conflict. They highlight moments when a trans individual says or does something controversial or harmful, then slap that face on every single one of us. They want to show the world that we’re fractured, dangerous, and not worthy of rights or respect. Why would we hand them the keys to our downfall by amplifying those fractures internally?
Some “leaders” within our community (no names, no free press) are pushing this “normal trans” narrative. They position themselves as gatekeepers, the arbiters of authenticity, defining who’s in and who’s out based on their own comfort zones. But let’s be clear: real leadership in a minority community isn’t about shrinking the tent. It’s not about shooing people away for not meeting some impossible standard of “respectability.” Leadership is about guiding us to a stronger, more unified front. It’s about harnessing our diversity as an asset, not a liability.
If we break it down: having leaders who say “let’s get rid of these outspoken online folks” is a bit like a sports team cutting players just because they have their own style of play. Sure, maybe some players are flashy or unorthodox, but guess what—sometimes that’s exactly what you need to break through the opponent’s defensive line. And our opponents are well-organized and well-funded anti-trans organizations that are trying to find weak spots in our formation.
We Need Visibility, Not Erasure
It’s no secret that public visibility matters. The more people see us living our lives—going to school, raising families, working in every field imaginable—the harder it is to paint us as scary caricatures. Our visibility is a potent tool in securing our rights. When transgender folks are seen leading fulfilling, multidimensional lives, it’s a lot harder for legislators to argue that we’re a threat. Visibility breaks down stereotypes and encourages empathy. It shows allies what’s at stake and helps them understand the nuances that blanket labels never capture.
By insisting on a narrow band of “normal,” we reduce the vast and vibrant complexity of trans existence to a single narrative. That’s not just boring—it’s counterproductive. It doesn’t reflect the reality that many of us inhabit. We are scientists, artists, construction workers, doctors, farmers, parents, students, gamers, geeks, and yes, even rabble-rousers. We are more than one dimension, and our power lies in that kaleidoscope of stories.
What’s more, the concept of normal as a shield against scrutiny or bigotry doesn’t hold up. Anti-trans groups aren’t going to leave us alone because we present ourselves as “normal.” They don’t want trans people to exist in any form. They’ll always move the goalposts of respectability. If we let them dictate our community standards by trying to appear palatable or “normal,” we’ve already lost. They will not be appeased by concessions or internal purges. They see all of us—nonbinary influencers, stealth trans professionals, outspoken activists, quiet neighbors—as part of the same “ideology” they want to eradicate. Unity becomes crucial because when we stand together, it’s harder for them to pick us off one by one.
Rejecting the Idea of “Good” and “Bad” Trans People
We must reject the binary notion of “good trans people” and “bad trans people.” Every community has its troublemakers, its misguided members, and even its criminals. That’s human nature. When anti-trans groups find an example of a trans person who did something awful, they weaponize that instance to justify discrimination against all of us. Yet, we wouldn’t say that one corrupt politician invalidates the entire concept of democratic governance. Nor would we say one unethical doctor implies all medical professionals are frauds.
Holding individuals accountable for their behavior is important—no one gets a free pass because of their identity—but accountability is different from labeling entire subgroups as “not normal” or “undesirable.” The goal should be to address harmful actions as they arise, not to pretend that excluding certain people will somehow clean up our image. After all, who decides which group gets excluded next? Once you open the door to internal purity tests, it’s a slippery slope to constant infighting and ever-shrinking ranks.
Leadership That Strengthens, Not Weakens
Leadership in the trans community should focus on strengthening our cause. Real leaders advocate for policies and legislation that protect our human rights. They work alongside allies—families, friends, coworkers, and community groups who stand with us—to ensure that we have access to gender-affirming healthcare, employment nondiscrimination protections, safe housing, and freedom from violence. Leadership isn’t about gatekeeping or policing identity. It’s about uplifting the voices of those most at risk, ensuring that our collective fight addresses the varied and intersecting challenges we face.
This leadership should also educate. It should help allies and the broader public understand the wide spectrum of trans identities and experiences. It should celebrate the fact that not everyone transitions the same way, not everyone chooses medical interventions, and not everyone wants to be “stealth” or “low-key.” We are a community defined by our diversity, and that diversity is a wellspring of resilience, creativity, and strength.
Moreover, strong leadership must embrace intersectionality. Black trans women, for example, face a disproportionate amount of violence and discrimination. Trans people with disabilities, nonbinary people, older trans adults, trans immigrants—each subgroup experiences unique challenges. By acknowledging that we’re not a monolith, by refusing to dismiss anyone as “abnormal,” we shape an inclusive and powerful coalition. That’s the kind of solidarity that leads to real change—both in legal protections and in cultural acceptance.
Feeding the Opposition vs. Undermining Their Narrative
The kind of rhetoric that labels some trans folks as “normal” and others as expendable plays directly into the hands of anti-trans opponents. They’re eager to highlight community conflicts, to say, “Look, even trans people don’t agree with each other. They’re in disarray. They can’t be trusted.” Don’t hand them that victory.
Instead, show that while we don’t always agree on every issue (what community does?), we share a fundamental commitment to each other’s right to live safely and authentically. Demonstrate that we value freedom and individuality within the bounds of mutual respect, and we stand united against external attempts to define who we are. When we recognize and celebrate the full range of experiences under the trans umbrella, we present a formidable, unified front. Not a rigid uniformity, but a mosaic that’s undeniably human.
Legislation, Policy, and Public Opinion
We need leaders who will stand toe-to-toe with lawmakers, helping allies craft legislation that counters discrimination and protects our basic human rights. These leaders must be willing to stand in front of cameras and speak with clarity, honesty, and confidence—without feeling pressured to disown less conforming members of the community. Because when we say, “Oh, those people are not normal, they’re not with us,” we’re reinforcing the narrative that some trans identities are more deserving than others. That’s a losing proposition.
Proactive advocacy is required. We must engage in dialogues with institutions, medical boards, schools, and workplaces. We must push for policies that not only allow us to exist but encourage our well-being—think mental health support, accessible legal name and gender changes, safe restrooms, and robust anti-bullying measures. Such advocacy is more credible and more sustainable when it’s backed by a community that embraces complexity rather than shying away from it.
Building Internal Understanding and Compassion
It’s also important to cultivate empathy within the community. Where do these exclusionary attitudes come from? Sometimes it’s fear: fear that being associated with more outspoken, less traditionally “passable,” or more politically radical members will bring unwanted scrutiny. Sometimes it’s internalized transphobia: a painful desire to fit into cisnormative society so thoroughly that any departure from that norm feels threatening.
Recognizing this, we can approach those who wield terms like “normal trans” not with a scorched-earth policy, but with an attempt to understand and educate. What are they afraid of? How can we reassure them that solidarity doesn’t mean throwing caution to the wind? Sometimes, honest conversations can bridge the gap. Some folks might not have had enough exposure to the breadth of trans experiences. Others might be clinging to outdated medical or psychological narratives. Education, dialogue, and community forums can help soften hardline stances.
Reclaiming Our Narrative
We must also think carefully about how we tell our stories. Media representation is often limited, focusing heavily on transition narratives or sensationalizing the most dramatic aspects of trans lives. If we rely too much on a singular “normal” narrative—say, that every trans person knew from birth, transitioned by a certain age, got certain surgeries, and now lives quietly in cis-passing bliss—we contribute to a dangerously narrow public image. That leaves many trans folks feeling unseen and misunderstood. Plus, when anti-trans forces find someone who doesn’t fit that narrative, it becomes “evidence” that trans identities are made up, confused, or worse.
Instead, we should celebrate multiple trans narratives. We can highlight the stories of folks who transition later in life, who never medically transition, who identify as nonbinary, who are loud activists, who are quiet but present in their communities. We have to let the world see the complexity—that’s what normal looks like, if “normal” means reflecting the vast range of human experience.
When we encounter these damaging notions of “normal trans” online, it’s tempting to respond with outrage and shaming. But remember: sometimes people within our own community are victims of the same cultural pressures that hurt us. They might believe they’re protecting themselves by distancing from those who are “too visible” or “too radical.” Calling them in—explaining that solidarity, not exclusion, strengthens our position—might be more productive than calling them out.
It’s about breaking down walls, not putting them up. We can stress that true safety comes from community power, not from pretending that only a select few belong. We’ve come too far to start excluding each other now.
The Bottom Line
If we’re going to stand up to anti-trans forces that aim to erase us entirely, we need every member of our community onboard. We need our differences, our disagreements, our debates—even the ones that make us uncomfortable—to remain in the open, managed with compassion, respect, and a focus on a common goal. We’re all in this together, a patchwork quilt stitched from countless identities, stories, and dreams. Let’s keep that quilt intact.
We should encourage more forums for intra-community dialogue. We can have spaces—be they online or in person—where people who feel anxious about public scrutiny can express their fears, and where those who are more outspoken can explain why visibility matters. We can host workshops, panel discussions, and community-building sessions that highlight our wide range of experiences as a source of strength rather than a weakness.
The idea of “normal trans” is a dead-end street. It pretends to make the community safer by aligning with a perceived standard, but in truth, it leads to a cul-de-sac of exclusion and vulnerability. By pushing aside anyone who doesn’t fit a narrow definition, we lose not only the richness of our community’s tapestry but also precious allies within our own ranks.
We must be wary of any voice—be it a supposed leader or an anonymous social media handle—that suggests we can secure our future by disowning part of our family. Unity doesn’t mean uniformity; it means understanding that our differences make us vibrant, adaptable, and resilient. The anti-trans forces out there don’t need our help—let’s not give it to them by parroting their divisive logic.
Instead, let’s choose an expansive vision of what it means to be trans, one that refuses to pin us down to a single narrative. Let’s uplift leaders who recognize that strength comes from embracing complexity, and that human rights advocacy benefits from a chorus of voices, not a single, strident note. Let’s be the kind of community where being yourself—whatever that looks like—is a source of pride, not controversy. We have the power to define ourselves, and that definition should be as multifaceted and dynamic as the people who make up this ever-evolving, ever-beautiful trans community.
