By Mikael McLaren
When my family first began speaking publicly about our transgender daughter, I never imagined we’d one day leave Ohio because of it.
The truth is, Ohio was once our refuge.
In 2015, we moved from Florida because our young daughter was being bullied simply for being herself. We were looking for a place where she could grow up, make friends, receive the care she needed and just be a kid. Ohio gave us that. For 10 years, it was home. She flourished there, and so did our hope.
That is what makes this moment so painful.
Over the past decade, we testified before legislative committees, met with lawmakers and shared our family’s story whenever we were asked. We never wanted to become advocates. We became advocates because our daughter’s humanity kept becoming a political debate.
We weren’t asking for special treatment. We were asking for the chance for our daughter to live the same ordinary life every parent wants for their child.
Today, that future is in Utah. My wife’s company required a return-to-office transition there, which helped shape the timing of our move, but it also came at a moment when we were already deeply questioning whether Ohio could still be home for our family.
Our move is partly about work, but it is also about accepting a difficult reality. The state that once gave our family sanctuary has spent years debating whether our daughter deserves the same dignity and opportunities as everyone else.
The latest example came with the fallout surrounding Amy Acton’s campaign. After Acton referred to transgender girls as “boys” and said she supports Ohio’s transgender sports ban, many LGBTQ+ Ohioans hoped her promised meeting with community leaders would begin rebuilding trust. Instead, according to numerous attendees, transgender leaders were denied entry to the meeting, others were removed from the meeting, Acton herself never attended and the campaign offered no apology or meaningful commitment to move forward.
Whether every attendee remembers every moment exactly the same isn’t what matters most. What matters is that respected LGBTQ+ leaders from across Ohio walked away feeling unheard, excluded and disappointed. When the people most affected by your words can’t even get into the room, leadership has failed.
I’ve spent years talking with people who disagree with me. I can respect honest disagreement. What I struggle with is watching my daughter – and families like mine – be treated as political calculations instead of human beings.
My daughter is not an issue.
She is a young woman building a future. She laughs with her friends, dreams about what’s next and worries about the same things every young adult does. She deserves to be known for who she is, not reduced to a campaign talking point.
What concerns me most is the growing belief that throwing transgender people under the bus is somehow smart politics. I don’t believe that. Republicans won’t stop attacking Democrats over transgender issues because a Democratic candidate adopts part of their rhetoric. What it does accomplish is telling transgender people and the families who love them that they are expendable.
Leadership isn’t about finding the safest position.
It’s about showing up when conversations are difficult. It’s about listening to the people who are hurting. It’s about recognizing that there are real families behind every policy debate.
For years, Ohio families like mine have done exactly that. We’ve shown up. We’ve spoken with honesty, even when it was uncomfortable. We believed our stories could help make Ohio a kinder place.
Our family is fortunate. We have the ability to leave.
Many families don’t. They will remain in Ohio hoping the next election, the next legislative session or the next governor finally changes the trajectory for their children.
As our daughter begins this next chapter in Utah, I feel grateful for the opportunities ahead of her. But I also feel profound sadness.
Ohio once represented safety for our family. It was the place we ran to after Florida failed our daughter.
I never imagined that, 10 years later, we would once again be packing boxes because we no longer believed the state we loved could offer her the future she deserves.
Ohio didn’t lose my daughter because she stopped loving her home.
It lost her because, little by little, too many leaders made it clear she would always have to fight harder than everyone else just to belong.
Every child deserves better than that.
Mikael McLaren is a human rights advocate dedicated to advancing LGBTQ+ equality through education, advocacy and authentic storytelling. His work centers on helping families, communities and policymakers better understand the importance of dignity, inclusion and belonging.
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