‘Queerness is everywhere’

Transgender and nonbinary Americans let us into their lives

By Tristen Rouse, Elizabeth Wolfe and Rebecca Wright, CNN
Published November 16, 2024

Long hours studying and working, silent moments of grief and insecurity, and precious time with friends, partners and children.

These are the scenes captured by nine transgender and nonbinary people across the US in the weeks leading up to the election. CNN sent them disposable cameras to document the precious moments that define their lives, even amid a conservative push to limit the ways trans people can show up in the doctor’s office, at school and on the playing field.

Participants told CNN their photos show that being trans is just a small but invaluable part of how they move through the world.

“I want people to look at my life and really see a comprehensive picture of who I am beyond one aspect,” said 20-year-old Nathan Gilbert. “I'm more than just a trans person. I'm a son. I'm a grandson. I'm a nephew. I'm a friend.”

But the reelection of Donald Trump has left many of them feeling a sense of unease — and sometimes outright fear — that his administration will accelerate the yearslong conservative campaign for states to block gender-affirming care, which is headed to the Supreme Court next month. The GOP made gender a building block of its 2024 platform, and Trump has vowed to enact a slew of federal restrictions on trans youth and adults — piling on the wave of anti-trans laws that are already being passed and proposed at the state level.

Even so, some people, like 19-year-old Ruby Stabreit believe the trans community has the strength to withstand what may come their way.

“I’ll be OK. Not fine, but OK. Now is the time to brace for impact, not despair,” he said. “I’m one of the strongest men I know. We will survive this just fine.”

Nevaeh Jackson-Winters, 18

Madison, Wisconsin

Nevaeh Jackson-Winters lies in the grass alongside a friend. Jackson-Winters credits their friends with helping them learn how to express their gender identity.

First-year college student Nevaeh Jackson-Winters has spoken alongside some of the nation’s strongest political voices and projected a message of strength for queer youth.

The 18-year-old proudly delivered speeches at a Harris-Walz campaign rally last month led by former President Barack Obama and vice presidential candidate Tim Walz, as well as a Pride flag-raising ceremony with Gov. Tony Evers in May.

Jackson-Winters poses with a giant butterfly cutout at the Olbrich Botanical Gardens in Madison, Wisconsin.

These gardens are where “I really started out doing photography and gained a love for nature photography,” Jackson-Winters said.

A miniature Pride flag is nestled in Jackson-Winters’ car. They were initially hesitant to put the flag somewhere that it might be seen. “But then I was like, ‘It's my car, and I can do whatever I want, and I'm not going to be scared of people who don't like the LGBTQ community.’”

“I've gotten to a point where I truly love myself and who I am, so I was very happy to speak and show representation because I feel that I don't see a lot of Black, nonbinary people,” Jackson-Winters said.

Their foster family has been an incredible source of support, particularly their foster mom. “I'm very happy that she's open to learning and saying that she's proud of me, even if she doesn't understand it,” they said.

“I just want to be comfortable in myself. I want to keep loving myself. I want to keep getting these opportunities, you know? I just want to be around people who love me. That's all.”

Taylor Alxndr, 31

Atlanta, Georgia

A strip of pictures from a photo booth shows Taylor Alxndr and their husband, Lawrence, a fellow drag artist.

When Taylor Alxndr moved to Atlanta more than a decade ago, they were drawn to drag because it “felt like a combination of everything I was good at,” they said. But they also gravitated toward its rich history of political resistance.

“Drag has always meant joy, but it's also meant fighting back, even when struggles get hard. Knowing that drag has a political foundation has always meant so much to me,” Alxndr said. “I think the dance party is political. I think that the bar show is political. I think that every aspect and area in which drag exists can be a political space.”

Jason Traylor dances atop a ping pong table during “Sunday Service” at Sister Louisa’s Church of the Living Room and Ping Pong Emporium, where Alxndr works.

Drag artists Drew Friday and Orchid pose for a picture during a Pride drag show sponsored by Atlanta’s public transportation system.

Drag artists Molly Alxndr and Dotte Com are seen during a drag show run by Taylor Alxndr.

Alxndr has since become a fixture of Atlanta’s drag scene and cofounded Southern Fried Queer Pride, a nonprofit that creates community events for queer people of color in the South.

Their drag house, the House of Alxndr, has blossomed into a family of nine drag artists, including their husband, Lawrence, who performs under the name Mr. Elle Aye.

Southern Fried Queer Pride and other local organizations are already mobilizing ahead of Trump’s inauguration, hoping to help transgender Southerners get access to hormone replacement therapy, name and gender changes before January.

Members of Atlanta’s “Pansy Patrol” use giant flower cutouts to block the view of anti-LGBTQ protesters during the city’s Pride festival.

“These last eight years from both administrations and all the powers that be have just really exhausted trans people,” Alxndr said, noting that even under President Joe Biden, conservative lawmakers have pushed a wave of anti-trans laws. "Looking to the next four years, it just feels even more exhausting. Like, ‘What's next? What's the next hurdle that we have to go through?’”

Alxndr hopes when people see their pictures, they see people who “are deserving of dignity and respect and joy and autonomy, and that them having those things doesn't detract from any kind of amount of rights that you have as an individual.”

Ruby Stabreit, 19

Columbus, Ohio

Ruby Stabreit holds open a notebook containing a self-portrait. “I think that's the first time I've actually drawn myself in a while,” he said. “Common trans artist thing. We don't like doing self-portraits pre-transition because it makes us feel bad."

Among the clutter of textbooks and vibrantly colored artwork on Stabreit’s desk is a rare self-portrait, the first he has drawn of himself in a long time.

“I'm at a part of my transition where I can actually draw myself accurately, not exaggerating myself or obscuring myself in any way ... and be really happy with it, which is a completely new experience,” Stabreit said.

The gym has become a second home for him as he prepares for a major change. He has been focusing on building chest muscle for his upcoming top surgery — a procedure he's been planning for about four years that he knows would improve his quality of life.

Stabreit says he spends a lot of time working out, which helps with his gender dysphoria.

Stabreit flexes in a mirror. "I love my arms. I love them very much,” Stabreit said.

Stabreit got his legal gender marker changed in September and will be trying to get an updated birth certificate soon.

“It's surprising how monotonous it gets,” Stabreit said of his weekly testosterone injections. “Anything becomes mundane when you do it enough times.”

Stabreit said he rushed to legally change his gender markers — indications of a person’s gender on documents, such as passports and birth certificates — in September after seeing a flood of anti-trans campaign ads on TVs at his gym.

“It's hard to power through your last set at the gym when all you can hear in the back of your ears, through your headphones” is a campaign ad, Stabreit said, “saying that you shouldn't exist in public life. You don't deserve to be here.”

Stabreit does homework. He is a fire science student and hopes to become a wildland firefighter.

In the wake of Trump’s victory, Stabreit has been helping other trans people legally change their names and gender markers before January. As an aspiring wildland firefighter, his instinct is to go toward the problem, not away from it.

“There’s a reason I’m working in firefighting and emergency services. When everyone else feels an intense amount of despair or distress, I kick into high gear,” he said.

Kellen Sapp, 21

Norman, Oklahoma

Kellen Sapp visits her grandmother Sandra Skinner. “She’s who I want to be in many ways,” Sapp said.

Kellen Sapp, a theatre lighting design student, spends her days toying with beams of light in the performance spaces of the University of Oklahoma.

“I love that it's intangible and that it can change instantly. I like the way that it sculpts physical space without really existing,” Sapp said.

The theatre program has provided her with a wonderful network of trans and queer friends. But she has also found her family away from home at the First Christian Church of Norman, a Disciples of Christ congregation. Her mother is a minister of the same denomination in her hometown in Missouri.

Sapp sings in her church choir and also plays in its bell choir. “If we are fearfully and wonderfully made in God's image, then surely my transness must be part of that,” Sapp said.

“I have been really lucky to grow up in churches that were and are incredibly accepting and affirming of my gender,” Sapp said. “The messages that I've received my whole life are that God's love is unconditional, and so that includes every part of me.”

Though she is disturbed by anti-trans laws being passed and proposed in Oklahoma, she is grateful to have “incredibly accepting” parents, she said. Sapp became emotional when describing her close bond with her grandmother, Sandra, who she described as “one of the most caring people I know.”

Sapp shaves her face and applies makeup. “I hate it. I hate that I have to do it every day. But my facial hair and body hair are my biggest insecurity as a trans woman,” Sapp said. She said this picture made her feel vulnerable. “I showed off the thing I hate the most about myself.”

Sapp works with her hands and loves that she has long, strong nails. “Painting my nails is a big part of (my) self-expression,” she said. “This is a part of me that exists that has been tied to femininity.”

Sapp got her ears pierced for her birthday in 2023 and stores her collection of earrings in this jewelry organizer. She collects funky earrings — like crocheted trans Pride flags and butterflies.

Those bonds have become even more important in the wake of Trump’s election, which has left Sapp with “terrifying” doubts over what his administration may do to block trans health care, she said. She also fears the rise in anti-trans rhetoric among some conservatives may put trans people’s safety at risk.

“It’s kind of hard right now to claim my love for Oklahoma, Missouri, or this country,” she said.

“Being trans is a thing that I love about my life, but it's not in any way the biggest thing going on, even though I think about it all the time. Most of the day, I'm just a girl from Oklahoma doing theater because she loves it.”

Joey D., 18

Wisconsin

Joey D. gets ready to read a book and write in his journal on a summer day.

In the wake of Trump’s reelection, Joey D. said he is “feeling really scared” and expressed concerns the incoming administration could move to block transgender people from accessing the kind of medical care he has benefited from.

Joey, who asked that his last name be omitted for fear of his safety, has already received gender-affirming top surgery and hormone replacement therapy – treatments he underwent as a teenager with the support of his parents and doctors.

Joey’s crocheting yarn, guitar and other belongings he packed up before heading to college in the fall. “All my stuff that’s important to me is in that picture,” he said.

During a day trip to Wisconsin’s Devil’s Lake, Joey was on the lookout for signs related to the presidential election. “I didn't really want to vote for Kamala because of Palestine,” he said. “But because I live in Wisconsin, I did.”

Joey took the day trip to Devil’s Lake with friends before leaving for college. “Interpersonal conflict seems so distant and unimportant when you're standing 1,000 feet above the lake and you're looking at this big rock,” he said.

“That was really impactful to be able to do that. So then when I got to college … I was already feeling comfortable in myself and my identity,” he said. “My brain space can be taken up by actually important stuff, instead of worrying about how people are going to perceive me in public and if I'm safe and if I'm presenting in the correct way.”

Joey recently moved away from his conservative hometown to start college in a more liberal city, where he studies ceramics and fiber arts. There, he has been able to build a community of trans friends.

“People here don't have to try to understand me. So that's very peaceful, in a way, that I'm just understood without having to work for it.”

Nathan Gilbert, 20

Columbia, Missouri

Nathan Gilbert and Gin Gin, an African gray parrot that stays with his dad and stepmom. “I love her to death,” he said. “She is my favorite creature on the planet.”

Gilbert is surrounded by a loving gaggle of parents and stepparents, grandparents, pets and close-knit friends. But grief has in many ways defined his year — his stepfather, Rick, was diagnosed with terminal cancer and he lost his 17-year-old friend, Soren, to a motorcycle accident in April.

“I think that grief is really an important part of life, and it does shape who we are. … The people in my life who I have lost have really had a profound shaping on who I am,” he said. He cherishes the extra time he has been spending hiking and playing board games with his stepfather.

The death of Gilbert’s close friend, Soren, hit him hard. Here, he makes an “I love you” sign in Soren’s room.

Gilbert’s stepfather Rick almost always wins when they play board games, one of the multiple hobbies they share.

Gilbert photographs his girlfriend, Joan, during an afternoon at the park. The couple met during his first year of college.

This past summer, Gilbert worked as a student technical assistant at one of the University of Missouri’s farms, growing corn.

After Soren’s death, Gilbert adopted one of his friend’s favorite quotes: “I love you because you’re perfect.”

Gilbert, who studies biology at the University of Missouri, has thrown himself into research, working toward his aspiration of getting a doctoral degree related to genetics.

While working on this project, Gilbert wrote a letter to the trans community. “I hate that I hide the fact that I’m transgender from so many people. I’m afraid for the world to know and see my greatest vulnerability. I fear that someone, or some group of people, will try to harm me for being openly trans,” the letter begins. It goes on to say, “At the end of the day, while I’m transgender, I’m also a human with hopes, ambitions and dreams.”

Though he is surrounded by love at home, he says the voice in his head telling him to hide his identity “feels really overpowering and overbearing sometimes.” He adds: “A lot of times, it's made me repress who I am for the idea of just keeping myself safe.”

“I'm really tired of hiding who I am,” Gilbert said. “I don't think that I should feel shame, and I think that I should feel proud of myself.”

Ellis Goud, 21

Athens, Georgia

Ellis Goud works at the University of Georgia’s independent student-run newspaper. “I feel like my experience as someone who is both queer and trans really informs my experience as deputy editor, because I can kind of understand why it's important for us to diversify our newsroom,” they said. “This role is something I've been really passionate about.”

Ellis Goud’s home in Athens, where they attend the University of Georgia, is filled with thrifted furniture, eclectic art, a trio of climbing cats and — most importantly — loving roommates.

“I live with three other queer people. It's really important for me to be in a space where I feel safe,” they said. “When I'm home, I want to be in a space where I don't have to worry about what people think of me.”

Goud lives with three other queer people, and all of their furniture is thrifted. “I wanted to share this because I felt like it was a good representation of my living space,” they said.

Goud’s friends host a yard sale on the porch of their home. "It's so important to be sustainable and that has to do with both my identity as a queer person … and someone who loves the environment,” they said.

Students look at a pond outside the Odum School of Ecology at the University of Georgia. Right now, Goud’s life is consumed by their two majors — journalism and ecology — which they hope to use to become an environmental science journalist.

A turtle swims in the pond on campus. “I think it's such an important thing for me to be able to share scientific information with other people as a journalist and an ecologist,” Goud said. “You know, I have these two different worlds that are kind of colliding.”

Over the summer, Goud served as the first openly transgender editor-in-chief of the student-run newspaper, The Red & Black, and they now serve as its deputy editor of standards and practices.

Goud grew up in Roswell, a city about 20 miles north of Atlanta, where they felt residents around them were comfortable with LGBTQ people. But on campus, they said the months leading up to the election were fraught with difficult conversations with their conservative peers.

Goud took this picture while visiting their friend group from Georgia College and State University, where they went before transferring to UGA. “I just feel like there's something so special about having a queer friend group,” Goud said. Their friend Gray Sullivan, second from the right with the dog, Bella, was the first transgender person Goud became friends with. “Meeting Gray was just something that was so special to me, because they kind of showed me the person that I could be.”

This Kamala Harris campaign sign was designed to look like the iconic Waffle House logo. "It’s really important to have community," Goud said after Trump's election. "I definitely feel a lot better and a lot more heard being able to talk to my queer friends about our plans for the future and air out with my newsroom how we feel about the election results and how to continue reporting."

Goud’s “T corner,” where they store both their testosterone and the tea they drink. Goud started hormone therapy this semester. “It's difficult to think about how my future will look like on hormone therapy after the election, because it's an atmosphere where you don't know what is going to directly impact you,” they said.

“It doesn't make sense to me that you can say you're friends with me, or say you love me as an individual, and then vote for someone who actively wants to erase me as a person.”

Returning to campus after Trump's election was difficult, they said.

“It was like a different kind of pain to run into my queer friends and to just like, see the look on everyone’s faces that day,” Goud said. “I think we’re all still processing what’s going on right now.”

Malachi Allen, 32

Memphis, Tennessee

Malachi Allen wears a drag outfit. “Drag, it started out as my getaway, (my) mental break,” Allen said. It helped him “gain confidence in the real world” expressing himself as a man.

Malachi Allen and his fiancé Tavianna, both of whom are trans, are raising their two young children in a tiny home in Memphis. He calls his family his life’s “centerpiece.”

“I was happy (to take these pictures) because I love showing my joy with the world,” Allen said. He hopes to “motivate the next person who might be thinking about having a family that might be in the same situation as a trans guy or trans individual.”

Allen’s two children, Makell, 4, and Tianna-Rae, 6 months. “When the kids get older, they can be like, ‘Oh, my dad was cool,’” Allen said.

After birthing his 6-month-old daughter and 4-year-old son, Allen wants to create a community program that would support trans parents.

He believes his family “opens up doors” and is “spreading that little sparkle of hope” by showing other trans people they can grow beautiful, healthy families after their transition.

Olivia Wood, 20

Boonville, Missouri

Olivia Wood spends many of their days shuttling between the liberal University of Missouri campus in Columbia and their small hometown of Boonville, where they live on a 100-acre plot with their family. Though just about 25 miles apart, the way they navigate the two communities could not be more different.

“I think it's a lot less stressful to be queer in Columbia than in Boonville,” they said, recounting a time when wearing their new nose piercing to a diner in Boonville was enough to indicate to others that they might be queer. “So, you definitely don't really get into things like queer identity in Boonville, if you can at all avoid it.”

Wood wrote about coming to terms with their queerness for The Body Collective, a literary journal published by the University of Missouri’s LGBTQ Resource Center. “When I was 15, I got my mom to let me wear a suit to a dance instead of a dress, and I wrote about that. That was a big moment for me.”

A sticker on Wood’s laptop reads “Queer liberation is for everyone.” It was a Christmas gift from an aunt. “I remember that being a very significant moment,” Wood said. While most of their extended family do not have openly negative feelings about their identity, their support is usually not forthcoming.

One of Wood’s family cats, Crookshanks. “I think he's kind of, in a strange way, also a reminder of change in my life,” Wood said. “He's been through a move from one small town to another. He's also kind of a steady constant, I think. We've had him for a long time.”

“In Columbia, you get to be who you are, and you get to be OK with it, instead of trying to pretend like you're not and worrying about how you're perceived,” they said, adding they don't worry about how people look at them on the street there.

While they aren’t aware of other queer people in Boonville, they’re sure they are not alone.

“Queerness is everywhere and queer happiness is everywhere. This isn't something that you have to be in any specific environment to experience.”

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to clarify that cameras were sent to nine people.

In honor of Transgender Awareness Week, CNN's Impact Your World has compiled a list of resources for trans and nonbinary communities.