I'm a trans man. We don't have a secret agenda – we're just asking you to let us live.

My wife gave birth to our first child earlier this year, and I am over-the-moon in love with being a father to my baby boy. Along my parenthood journey, I’ve thought a lot about the life I want to help build for my son and the community I want him to grow up in.

At the same time, I’ve thought a lot about the things I experienced as a kid that I hope he never has to. 

For example, I hope my son never has to feel a drop in his stomach as he approaches the cashier at a grocery store, anxious that he might be turned away simply because of who he is. I don’t want him to stress about his first apartment application being denied for the same reason. I hope he’s never told by a doctor that he can’t get treatment for his cold because the doctor doesn’t know how to treat “people like him.” These are just a few things I’ve worried about and experienced as a transgender man living in America.

I didn’t have the language growing up to know that I am transgender, but I knew I was different. I was bullied because of it, and some of those specific rejections will forever be seared into my childhood memories. But I was lucky. My family and friends were and have always been supportive. It’s difficult to navigate the current anti-transgender political climate in our country, but my strong support network helps me through it.

Not everyone is so lucky. In fact, most of us aren’t. Somehow, I ended up with enough support to dedicate my career to ensuring things are better for young people growing up today than they were for me. I’m more than two decades in, and while we’ve made meaningful progress for transgender people in the United States, we still have a long way to go.

Sunday marks the International Transgender Day of Visibility – an annual observance intended to celebrate transgender people and raise awareness of discrimination faced we face worldwide. This year, I’m reflecting on how the visibility of transgender people is dangerously outpacing understandingof what it means to be trans.

Transgender people have visibility – but do we have understanding?

Fewer than 1 in 3 people report personally knowing someone who is transgender. Yet the American public is saturated with viral social media videos and political news stories, largely generated by a well-funded coalition of organizations long dedicated to making it as difficult as possible for LGBTQ+ people to go about their daily lives.

Nex Benedict deserved long, happy life.Instead, we lost them to cruelty.

These organizations proudly advocate for the abuse of LGBTQ+ young people through the dangerous and discredited practice of conversion therapy, and they have celebrated their role in influencing Texas to “investigate” parents who’re doing their level best to support their transgender kids.

They’ve succeeded in generating national debates about excluding transgender kids from school sports, banning medically necessary health care and even prohibiting restroom usage – all under a guise of “protecting young people.” But these debates are largely missing the point. 

Transgender people are our friends, family members and neighbors. They work in the cubicle next to us at the office, and they pray next to us in our houses of worship.

If you don’t know a transgender person, it can be hard to understand what it means to be transgender. But transgender people, like all people, are just trying to get through the day.

No one chooses to be transgender to win a trophy. No one “changes their gender” on a whim. Embracing who I am in a world that makes it quite difficult to be so is the most deliberative thing I’ve ever done.

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Trans youth need support to survive, let alone thrive

I don’t know why I was born transgender, but I have no secret agenda. I’m a husband, a father, a brother, a godparent. Like everyone else, my focus is on working hard to take care of my family, contributing to my community and going about my daily business.

As I enter parenthood, what I care about most is ensuring my son has a better experience growing up than I did. For all of us who care about protecting our young people and ensuring they can thrive, the conversation we ought to be having is, “How can we accomplish this for all of our young people?”

For transgender young people, the data tells us all we need to know. Roughly half of transgender and nonbinary young people seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year. Nearly 1 in 3 LGBTQ+ young people said their mental health was poor most of the time or always due to anti-LGBTQ+ policies and legislation.

While these are harrowing statistics, the solution is right in front of us. Research consistently shows that LGBTQ+ young people with access to supportive environments at home, at school or in the community report significantly lower rates of attempting suicide.

Like all our young people, transgender young people need love and support in order to thrive. It’s really that simple.

To parents, from a transgender person:Let’s clear up some anti-trans misconceptions

From my perspective, the debates being generated by anti-LGBTQ+ activists about sports and medical care aren’t really about these policies. They’re about making it as difficult as possible for LGBTQ+ people, especially young people, to be who they are.

If fair-minded people want to have a reasoned and responsible discussion about inclusion in sports and the long-standing medical protocols used to support transgender people, I’m all for it. But the current trend of rushing to rip transgender kids away from their teammates and overrule medical decisions made by parents in consultation with doctors suggests an ulterior motive – one that has grave consequences for transgender young people.

This International Transgender Day of Visibility, I’m not asking everyone to agree with me on particular policy questions. I’m asking fair-minded Americans who share my desire for these young people to live − let alone thrive − to slow down, engage in deeper discussion and gather unbiased facts before forming opinions and taking action.

I reject the idea that supporting some young people must come at the expense of others. We can work together to create spaces where all young people can feel safe and accepted. When we do so, everyone wins. 

When my son grows up, I have no idea what he’ll be interested in, or who he’ll fall in love with, or what he will want to do with his life. There are so many unknowns as an expecting parent, and it is easy to fall down a rabbit hole of worries and what ifs.

But I do know one thing for certain: I want my child to live in a world where they are safe and free to be exactly who they are.

Kasey Suffredini (he/him) is the senior vice president of Prevention at The Trevor Project, the leading suicide prevention and crisis intervention organization for LGBTQ+ young people.