Tag: gender identity Page 1 of 2

Trans Prisoners and Forced Detransition

On March 12, 2026

A transgender woman incarcerated in a federal prison sits alone in her cell, reflecting the growing controversy over policies that could force transgender inmates off hormone therapy under Executive Order 14168. (Image generated by ChatGPT using DALL·E, 2026.)

Executive Order 14168, issued on January 20, 2025 and titled Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government, has reshaped how transgender people are treated by federal institutions. While much public discussion has centered on gender markers or legal recognition of transgender identity, one of the most immediate and dangerous consequences of the order has emerged inside the federal prison system. In particular, policy changes following the order have led to attempts by federal prison authorities to discontinue hormone therapy and other gender-affirming medical treatments for incarcerated transgender people. For many transgender inmates, this policy shift represents not only a denial of identity but also a serious threat to physical and psychological health. At the same time, the logic behind these policies raises broader concerns about how transgender people may be treated by federal institutions beyond the prison system.

The executive order directs federal agencies to recognize only two sexes—male and female—defined as immutable and determined at conception (The White House, 2025). This directive eliminates gender identity as a category recognized in federal administration. When applied to the federal prison system, the policy affects how prisoners are classified, housed, and treated medically. Most critically, it has been used to justify attempts to eliminate or restrict gender-affirming healthcare for incarcerated transgender people.

Gender-affirming hormone therapy is widely recognized by major medical organizations as a necessary treatment for individuals diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Medical consensus holds that hormone therapy can significantly reduce psychological distress, depression, and suicide risk among transgender patients. Within prison environments—where individuals already face isolation, stress, and restricted autonomy—continuity of medical care is considered especially important. Nevertheless, following the issuance of Executive Order 14168, federal prison officials moved to halt or restrict such treatment.

Reporting by the Associated Press indicates that the policy shift prompted the Federal Bureau of Prisons to attempt to terminate or suspend hormone therapy for transgender inmates in federal custody (Riccardi & Kunzelman, 2025). The decision sparked immediate legal challenges from incarcerated transgender individuals who argued that the abrupt withdrawal of medically prescribed treatment would cause severe harm. In multiple cases, courts were asked to intervene to prevent the termination of hormone therapy.

In June 2025, a federal judge ruled that the Bureau of Prisons must continue providing hormone therapy to transgender inmates while litigation proceeds. Reuters journalist Nate Raymond reported that the court found the government had failed to justify abruptly ending treatment that physicians had previously deemed medically necessary (Raymond, 2025). The ruling emphasized that forcing transgender prisoners to discontinue hormone therapy could produce serious psychological consequences and potentially violate constitutional protections against cruel and unusual punishment.

Despite these court rulings, recent reporting suggests that federal prison policies continue to move toward restricting gender-affirming care. In March 2026, Samantha Riedel reported in Them that federal prison authorities had begun implementing policies requiring transgender inmates receiving hormone therapy to gradually discontinue those medications (Riedel, 2026). According to medical experts cited in the report, forced withdrawal from hormone therapy can lead to severe depression, anxiety, and increased risk of self-harm. For individuals who have relied on hormone therapy for years as part of a medically supervised transition, being forced off treatment can trigger profound physical and psychological distress.

These medical risks are particularly concerning in correctional environments. Prison systems already struggle with high rates of mental health crises, and incarcerated individuals frequently have limited access to specialized medical care. When transgender inmates are forced off hormone therapy, the resulting psychological distress can be intensified by the conditions of confinement, including isolation, stigma, and lack of support networks. The loss of hormone therapy can also have visible physical effects that may expose transgender prisoners to additional harassment or violence from other inmates.

Although these developments are occurring within federal prisons, the implications extend beyond incarcerated populations. Policies implemented within prisons often reflect broader ideological frameworks that can shape how government agencies treat marginalized groups more generally. When federal policy defines sex as immutable and rejects the legitimacy of gender identity, that definition may influence how transgender people are treated across a wide range of institutions, including healthcare systems, identification programs, and federal employment policies.

The attempt to eliminate hormone therapy for transgender prisoners demonstrates how quickly policy can shift from symbolic definitions to control over medical care and bodily autonomy. If federal institutions can deny gender-affirming treatment to incarcerated individuals based on a policy redefining sex, similar arguments could potentially be used to justify restrictions in other contexts. While prisoners occupy a uniquely vulnerable position under government authority, policies affecting them can serve as testing grounds for broader administrative approaches.

History offers numerous examples in which policies applied first to prisoners or other marginalized groups later expand into wider legal frameworks. In the case of Executive Order 14168, the removal of gender identity from federal policy raises concerns that transgender people may face increasing barriers to medical care and legal recognition across multiple institutions. For transgender Americans, the developments within federal prisons therefore represent more than a correctional policy dispute; they signal how federal authority may increasingly regulate transgender bodies and identities.

The ongoing legal challenges surrounding hormone therapy in federal prisons will play a significant role in determining the future of transgender healthcare within federal institutions. Courts must decide whether the abrupt withdrawal of medically necessary treatment constitutes deliberate indifference to serious medical needs, which could violate the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment. The outcome of these cases will shape not only the lives of transgender prisoners but also the broader legal landscape governing transgender rights in the United States.

Executive Order 14168 has therefore created a situation in which the treatment of transgender inmates has become a focal point in a larger struggle over recognition, medical care, and bodily autonomy. The attempt to force transgender prisoners off hormone therapy illustrates how administrative policy decisions can translate into immediate and profound consequences for vulnerable individuals. At the same time, it raises deeper questions about how far such policies might extend and what they could mean for transgender people beyond prison walls.

References

Raymond, N. (2025, June 3). U.S. judge says federal prisons must continue hormone therapy for transgender inmates. Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/legal/us-judge-orders-prisons-continue-hormone-therapy-transgender-inmates

Riccardi, N., & Kunzelman, M. (2025, January 23). What to know about President Donald Trump’s order targeting transgender rights. Associated Press. https://apnews.com/article/trump-transgender-passports-prisons-eggs-sperm-da1d1d280658a8c85c57cfec2f30cefb

Riedel, S. (2026, March 10). Federal prisons are beginning to force trans inmates off hormone therapy. Them. https://www.them.us/story/federal-prisons-are-beginning-to-force-trans-inmates-off-hormone-therapy

The White House. (2025). Executive Order 14168: Defending women from gender ideology extremism and restoring biological truth to the federal government. https://public-inspection.federalregister.gov/2025-02090.pdf

Identity, Biology, and the End of “MTF”

By Katherine Walter

On March 3, 2026

In reflection

Language has always felt personal to me, especially when it comes to how I describe my own life. Words like “transgender woman,” “transgender female,” and “MTF” are often treated as interchangeable, but they do not feel interchangeable from the inside. Each one carries a slightly different emphasis, and over time I have become more intentional about which I use and why.

I call myself a transgender woman because that is the role I occupy in society. It reflects how I move through the world, how I am perceived, and how I understand my place in social space. The word woman matters to me. It names my gender, not my medical history. “Transgender” simply describes the path I took to live authentically. When I say I am a transgender woman, I am asserting that I am a woman—fully—and that my past does not disqualify me from that category.

At the same time, I recognize that “transgender female” can be an accurate description of my embodied reality. I rarely use it, because it sounds clinical. It feels like language pulled from a medical chart rather than from lived experience. Still, accuracy matters to me. My hormone levels are typical of a cisgender female. I do not produce testosterone. I no longer have testicles. While I do not have a vagina, my endocrine profile and much of my physiology align with female norms. In a biological sense, something real and measurable has shifted. My transition was not only social; it was physiological.

That is why I no longer relate to the term “MTF,” or male-to-female. It suggests movement. It suggests that I am in transit, or that I carry maleness forward into the present as an active descriptor. I do not experience myself that way. “Male” was an assignment imposed on me at birth, not an identity I inhabited in any meaningful sense. My transition is not an ongoing crossing from one category into another. It was a process with a direction, yes—but it is not my current state of being. I do not feel like I am male-to-female. I feel like I am female, and socially, a woman.

For me, the distinction between gender and sex is not abstract. “Woman” describes my gender role, my social identity, and my place in cultural structures. “Female” describes aspects of my body as it exists now, after years of medical transition. I rarely lead with the latter because I do not want to reduce myself to anatomy or hormone panels. I am not a medical case study. I am a person. Still, I will not deny that my biology has changed in profound ways. To pretend otherwise would feel dishonest.

What matters most is that I am not in a perpetual state of becoming. I am not suspended between categories. I have lived in this body, in this identity, for years. My transition feels complete to me. The language I choose reflects that sense of arrival.

So I call myself a transgender woman because it captures my lived reality in society. I acknowledge that “transgender female” can describe my physiology, even if I rarely use it in everyday conversation. And I leave “MTF” in the past, where it belongs—as a description of a journey that has already reached its destination.

What I Believe About Relationships

By Katherine Walter

On June 28, 2025

In relationships

Image: ChatGPT

Relationships are among the most intimate and transformative parts of life—but for me, they don’t follow the traditional script. I’ve spent a long time unlearning what the world tells us relationships are “supposed” to be and discovering what they can be instead. I want to share what I believe about love, connection, sex, and partnership—not because I have all the answers, but because my truth might help others feel less alone in their own journey.

I am aromantic. I don’t experience romantic attraction the way most people do. I don’t crave romantic courtship, fairy-tale declarations, or being someone’s “everything.” That’s never been how my heart moves. For a long time, I felt out of sync with a world that insists on romance as the highest form of human connection. But in time, I came to understand that my way of relating isn’t less—it’s just different. I still love. I still build deep, meaningful connections. I still crave touch, intimacy, laughter, and mutual growth. But I don’t desire romance, and I don’t build my life around it.

I also identify as polyamorous. I believe that love, affection, and connection are abundant and not meant to be confined to one person at a time. I reject the idea that exclusivity is the only—or the highest—form of commitment. I find beauty in the ways people can show up for each other in different capacities. Each relationship is its own living thing, with its own needs, rhythms, and dynamics. I don’t want to own or be owned. I want connection that is chosen, not claimed.

My sexual orientation is best described as heteroflexible. I tend to be drawn to masculine energy, but attraction is fluid and often defies tidy labels. What matters most to me is authenticity—how someone exists in their body and their spirit, how they treat others, how they engage with joy, and how they handle complexity. Gender and sexuality, for me, are far more expansive than the categories we’re taught to stay within.

As a transgender woman, I bring my full self into every relationship. My womanhood is not conditional, and I refuse to enter into any dynamic where I am expected to explain or defend my identity. My transness has shaped me. It has taught me resilience, self-determination, and the sacred power of transformation. I offer all of that—openly and vulnerably—to the people I care about.

I also embrace a fully sex-positive philosophy. I believe sex is sacred, playful, healing, and liberating. I do not see sexuality as something to be ashamed of or hidden away. Whether I’m expressing desire through kink, physical intimacy, fantasy, or open conversation, I treat it as something that should be approached with joy, creativity, and care. Being aromantic doesn’t mean being asexual—though both identities are valid. For me, it means I can enjoy sexual and emotional intimacy without it needing to be filtered through a romantic lens.

What I want from relationships is truth. I want honesty without cruelty, intimacy without entitlement, and care without pretense. I don’t need people to fit into categories like “partner,” “lover,” or “friend.” I need them to show up as their full selves, and to let me do the same. I want to build chosen family. I want conversations that last for hours, shared silence that feels like home, mutual support in the chaos, and connection that expands rather than restricts.

I believe that love is not a single, fixed thing. It’s a spectrum, a mosaic, a process. It doesn’t always follow a script. It doesn’t have to end in a wedding or a shared mortgage to be real. It doesn’t have to be romantic to be profound. And it certainly doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s version of love.

Being aromantic means that I love differently. Not less. Not worse. Just differently. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we need more room in this world for different ways of loving. I want people to know that there are many valid ways to connect—and that living outside the traditional narrative can be not just fulfilling, but joyful, liberating, and deeply human.

So this is me, being honest about what I believe: in love without possession, sex without shame, intimacy without obligation, and relationships that are defined not by convention, but by care. If you’ve ever felt like the world’s idea of love doesn’t fit you—know that you are not broken. You are simply someone who deserves to love, and be loved, on your own terms.

Unapologetically Sexual

By Katherine Walter

On May 30, 2025

In LGBTQ+ rights, sexuality

I was let go from my student teaching position because of some tweets. In these posts, I said, among other things, “I like to suck dick.” It wasn’t part of a curriculum. It wasn’t aimed at students. It was a personal expression—raw, queer, unapologetic. And for that, I was deemed “unfit.”

But I am not ashamed. Because when I say something as simple and carnal as “I like to suck dick,” I’m not being obscene—I’m declaring war on the suffocating norms that define who gets to express desire and how.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t just about sex. It’s about power.

The phrase “I like sex” is broadly acceptable when said by a cis, straight man. Even when women say it, it must be delivered with just the right balance of flirtation and modesty, wrapped in acceptable femininity. But when a transgender woman like me speaks directly and honestly about her sexuality—without euphemism, without apology—it’s treated as taboo. It becomes scandalous, political, dangerous.

And that’s exactly why I say it.

Heteronormativity doesn’t just regulate bodies—it polices desire. It dictates what kind of sex is real, what kind of sex is dirty, and which voices are allowed to claim desire at all. Trans women are often reduced to caricatures: hypersexual porn tropes or sexless tokens of pity. To say, plainly and proudly, that I love sucking dick is to reject all of that. It’s to assert my autonomy, my pleasure, and my humanity.

Yes, I am a transgender woman. Yes, I am sexual. And yes, I will speak about it.

My words weren’t unprofessional. They were inconvenient—to a system that still finds trans joy threatening and trans pleasure unspeakable. I lost a role in education for telling the truth about myself. But I gained something else: clarity. I know now that empowerment doesn’t come from fitting in. It comes from taking up space. From naming what you’re told to hide. From loving your body and your voice enough to say what they told you you shouldn’t even feel.

So I will continue to speak freely. Not because I want to provoke—but because I refuse to be erased. I want other trans women to know that they can be intelligent, nurturing, sexual, kinky, loud, soft, and bold—all at once. I want us all to know that our worth doesn’t shrink because someone else is uncomfortable with our truths.

When I say “I like to suck dick,” I’m not just being honest.

I’m being powerful.

And in a world built to silence women like me, that is revolutionary.