Too often, stories about trans and nonbinary people focus only on grief and trauma. But trans people and nonbinary people deserve narratives that reflect the full scope of humanity. That’s why we partnered with SMYAL, an organization that empowers LGBTQ+ youth, to highlight local trans and nonbinary kids and their families.
These portraits of 4 families, captured by queer photographer Devon Rowland — many taken at as you are. in DC — highlight what it means to have the freedom to be: to be loved, to be safe, and to be trusted to tell your own story.
The Supreme Court is now weighing U.S. v. Skrmetti — a landmark case that will decide whether trans people are protected under the Constitution like everyone else. At its core, this case is about whether families and their doctors — not politicians — get to make private medical decisions. If the Court rules against trans people, it could open the door to government-sanctioned discrimination.
In response to this case, the ACLU launched Freedom To Be — a campaign created to center something that’s been missing from the national conversation about trans and nonbinary lives: joy. Because "we the people" means all the people.
Transgender and nonbinary people have always been here, and are not going anywhere — no matter what President Trump says.
On a Thursday afternoon at as you are in D.C., Lauren* (she/her) sat with her parents, Evelyn* and Will*, hugging a teddy bear named Chinbo — passed down from her mom. Lauren’s a bright, curious kid who lights up when she talks about math, her favorite subject. A lover of books, she’s already read her way through dozens; her bookshelf houses more than 250. When she’s not reading, she’s building imaginative worlds in Minecraft or playing with the family’s two cats.
But this afternoon was about capturing something deeper — quiet moments of love, joy, and everyday life. The photo session was playful, filled with laughter, tickles, and the kind of affection that tells you everything you need to know about how deeply this family is connected.
A few months ago, Evelyn (she/her) and Will (he/him) made the painful decision to leave Florida and move to the D.C. area so their trans daughter could live somewhere safer and more affirming.
“This is about as safe as you can get while still being in the U.S.,” they said.
They left behind their blue home and everything familiar — moving sight unseen — so Lauren could attend a school where trans kids aren’t just accepted, but are seen and embraced for who they are. Her Montessori school even has trans and nonbinary staff.
“It’s a relief,” her parents said. “We don’t have to worry every day about what local lawmakers will do next.”
Her parents want her to know they are fighting for her. They rallied in front of the Supreme Court during a hearing in United States v. Skrmetti, a case that could decide whether lawmakers can ban gender-affirming care. Lauren has told her parents, “I’m really proud of you.”
This is exactly what the Freedom To Be campaign is about. It’s about building lives rooted in love and joy — in defiance of fear and ignorance. And it’s about protecting the freedom for kids like Lauren to just be kids.
“Being trans isn’t all Lauren is,” her parents said. “She’s a kid. She’s funny and smart and full of ideas. And she’s thriving — because we’re not forcing her to be someone she’s not. If people really cared about kids, they’d let them be who they are. Let us be her parents.”
Cameron Padilla* (she/her) is a brilliant, creative, funny, and always-in-motion teenager. She’s emotionally sharp and deeply curious, and she has a strong sense of what’s right — and the courage to stand up for it. That’s especially true when it comes to someone she loves: her dad, who is trans.
When she talks about him, she lights up. “He’s so chill,” she says. “Goes with the flow. He’s just this big softie who loves pistachio and cherry ice cream — in the winter, no less.” He introduced her to everything from Smashing Pumpkins and Björk to Doechii, and made sure she felt at home in art galleries and open-minded spaces.
But right now, Cameron is frustrated. “It feels like the world is always trying to get between us — like there’s something wrong with how we are just because he’s trans or queer,” she said. “People act like you’re supposed to hide it.”
Cameron remembers moments at the airport when strangers would misgender her dad. “They’d say, ‘Hi mom,’ and I’d just say back, ‘That’s my dad. He’s a great parent.’”
She’s talked to other kids with trans parents and discovered that many feel the pressure to hide.
“They are hiding not because they’re embarrassed, but a lot of us are scared because of what others might do to us if we’re too visible.” Her advice is honest: “Don’t hide it — but be careful. Be proud of your family, but also know that, right now, it’s risky to tell the whole world everything.” She doesn’t let the fear dim her love. “We’re strong. We know who we are on the inside. And no one else gets to define that.”
Cameron wants people to see her dad the way she does: “He’s quiet, he’s funny. He’s just a quirky dude. Being trans is just one thing about him. It affects some stuff, sure, but it’s not the main thing. He’s just my dad.”
Nina (they/them) was three or four when they first asked their parents to cut off their long hair. At first, their parents hesitated — they wanted to be sure Nina understood it wouldn’t grow back overnight. But when the haircut finally happened, it was no big deal. It was just Nina being Nina. Nina is a quiet, curious kid who loves animals and dreams of becoming a zookeeper. Their favorite subject is English, and they’re always reading. Their older sibling, Rory (she/they), is more extroverted — the self-described drama kid of the family — and a natural athlete, especially as a baseball pitcher and soccer goalie. The two of them are close in the way siblings are: they stick together, but also get on each other’s nerves.
Rory has faced bullying at school and knows what it’s like to feel like a target. “But that’s life,” she says. “You’ve gotta move through it.”
They talk openly about the fear that comes with being a trans kid right now — like the time she saw a protest sign that read, “Ban Trans Kids.” She tried to shield Nina from it. “You do whatever you can to make the world safer for them,” she said. “But it can be scary.”
Even so, Rory sees hope. “More and more trans people are coming out. Even if it takes time, I think folks will see there’s a whole community here, and we’re not going anywhere.”
She’s proud of who she is. “When I came out, I didn’t expect it to be controversial. But I’m glad I did it when I did. If being out changes hearts and minds, then I’ll do it.”
For their parents, this moment in politics feels exhausting. “We know our kids best,” said their mother Audrey (she/her). “We make sure they’re supported. And what keeps me up at night is the idea that this country won’t let them live full, joyful lives. We’re just a normal family. Our kids are special, but they’re just kids.”
Their father Will (he/him) remembers marching in the Capital Pride Parade, Rory beside him holding a sign that read “I am trans” in front of 15,000 people. “It was a beautiful experience,” he said. He wants people to believe kids “when they tell you who they are. Be cool. Follow the child.”
As Nina put it, “Trump can’t make me be someone else. I’m me — and I’m not changing.”
Tie* (they/them) knew who they were early. Loose curls didn’t feel right, and Tie needed their hair pulled back tight. “It’s not me if my hair is down,” they once told their mom. Their cousin Autumn* (she/her) liked them the way they were, they would say. Why couldn’t others? When Tie got their first haircut just before turning four, the joy on their face said it all. Their mom remembers it vividly — the glow, the confidence, the relief.
Over time, Tie moved through deciding on what suited them — sometimes feeling like a boy, sometimes like a girl, and often just “Tie.” Pins with pronouns worked briefly. One day, when they were five, Tie wore all the pins at once — “You can call me whatever you want,” they said.
Eventually, they landed on nonbinary, using they/them pronouns (though sometimes he/him still feels right too.) Their mom supported them every step, even when it was confusing. But their mom kept trying. Books, conversations, trial and error. There was grief, too — not about who Tie is, but about letting go of who she imagined they’d be. It’s love in motion, as it is with all families.
Even with support, growing up nonbinary hasn’t been easy. Tie has faced real bullying — especially about bathrooms. They were scared to use either bathroom, often holding it all day or skipping fluids altogether to avoid having to go. But even in a liberal, diverse community, Tie wasn’t immune to cruelty. Kids made plans to “check” which bathroom Tie used.
At one point, near the end of first grade, Tie came home crying. “I don’t think I can be a they/them anymore. It’s just too hard.” Their mom did what any loving parent would: reassured them that being themselves was non-negotiable — and brave.
Tie’s mom went to the school media center and checked out “Sylvia and Marsha Start a Revolution!” a children’s book about Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. She told Tie, “These women were brave. They changed the world. You’re brave too.” That summer, Tie wore a homemade “nonbinary” shirt to Pride and passed out black, purple, yellow, and white sugar cookies. They started to own their story.
Tie is a thoughtful, deeply creative kid who loves coding and dreams of designing video games. They cry at happy endings and have a sharp sense of humor that keeps their mom laughing. Their Saturday nights are low-key: cartoons, takeout, or maybe a hot dog from Costco. They’d rather be curled up inside than running around outside.
“I like that my mom lets me be me,” they said. “And she gives me food.”
What Tie’s mom wants is a world where people don’t make assumptions about who they should be. “Let them grow up,” she said. “Let them play, make mistakes, feel joy. The rest of life will come.”
*pseudonym
