5 October 2025

Your trans friends are scared. Our fears are fueled by new laws and by the uncertainty of what’s coming next. We see the risk of losing our health care. We live under restrictions in schools, in sports, and in restrooms. And when political leaders and organizations paint trans people as “dangerous,” it doesn’t just give lawmakers permission to make our lives harder; it also emboldens people to commit violence against us.

This fear isn’t new. Trans people, especially trans women of color, have long faced violence at rates far higher than the general population. What’s new is how quickly and openly these threats are intensifying. Many of us believe it will get worse before it gets better.

Even so, I try to hold on to Dr. King’s reminder: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” I believe that this nation can one day move beyond anti-trans hatred. But assurances that “things will probably turn out okay,” especially from people who are not trans, bring me no comfort. Before it gets better, it will almost certainly get worse.

If you care about trans people, you’ve probably heard the obvious advice: call lawmakers, make public statements, use your platforms. All of that matters. But one thing is too often overlooked: simple, direct presence.

We need more than optimism. We need spiritual and emotional companionship. We need people willing to sit with us in the discomfort. When my fear is met with someone else’s reassurance, what I actually hear is: “I’m confident it will work out for me, even if it doesn’t for you.” That’s not what we need.

When I was in Clinical Pastoral Education at a large trauma center, my supervisor used to tell us that most patients don’t need cheering up. He put it bluntly: when people are stuck in a “river of [excrement]” (he used a stronger word), you can’t pull them out. All you can do is wade into the river with them, no matter how messy or unpleasant it is, and be there.

As a trans person, my very existence is under attack. My life is labeled “trans ideology.” My health care, my legal status, and even my safety are at risk. I am truly afraid that I could be murdered for who I am. In this reality, I don’t need you to tell me it will be okay. I need you to be willing to wade in with me so I’m not alone. I think that’s what many of us need.

In my ministry career, I have had the honor of holding the hands of people in the most terrifying and vulnerable moments of life, with patients as a chaplain and with congregants as a pastor. I have been present for countless deaths, been next to people for horrific medical diagnoses, and stood with them in the true depths of despair. In this sacred and holy work, I’ve discovered the power of presence.

You may feel powerless to help your trans friends. We feel powerless too. But your presence matters. Listening without trying to fix. Saying out loud: “I see your fear. You won’t face it alone.” That is how you help.

Rev. Jakob Hero-Shaw | Director, CLGS Transgender Roundtable