After the Supreme Court Ruled I’m Not a Woman, I Refuse to Disappear

A Ruling That Tries to Write Us Out

The moment I read the Supreme Court’s ruling, I felt it deep in my chest like a quiet collapse. They said “woman” in the Equality Act means biological sex. That’s it. Not gender. Not even legal gender if you’ve got a certificate. Just biology. That cold, clinical word. And suddenly, I was invisible again.

I don’t have a Gender Recognition Certificate. Most of us don’t. In fact, only about 8,464 have ever been issued. That’s a drop in the ocean of trans lives across the UK.

And even for those who have one? The court didn’t really offer protection, just more fences and fine print. So if even that doesn’t count, where does that leave the rest of us?

It leaves us hanging in a kind of legal limbo. Not real. Not woman. Just an asterisk in the system. It tells me, no matter how I live or how much I exist in my truth, the law won’t see me.

It tells me: you can be a woman in your life, but not in your rights.

Getting a GRC was never simple. It meant begging a panel of strangers to validate your identity.

Paying for the privilege of being dissected. Producing proof. Performing authenticity.

And now, what’s the point? When the highest court in the land just pulled the rug out from under it anyway?

We’ve come so far. From being erased in the 70s, to the small breakthrough in the Goodwin case that forced recognition, to the GRA in 2004 that gave us a bureaucratic breadcrumb.

And now, it feels like they’re walking it all back. Quietly. Politely. With a gavel.

Shattered Trust in Our So-Called Allies

And the silence from those who should know better? Deafening.

I’ve supported Labour all my life. Voted, campaigned, defended.

But watching them respond to this ruling felt like a gut punch. A government spokesperson praised the “clarity” this brings.

Talked about “confidence” for service providers. Not a single word about the fear this puts into our hearts.

Not even a nod to the people this ruling erases.

And that’s when I knew we’re not on their list of priorities.

I want to trust. I do. But how can I? When clarity for some means cruelty for others?

And while we’re here, let’s talk about the NHS.

About how my GP was told not to support people like me if we’re getting care outside the NHS.

No blood tests. No shared care. No safety net.

We’re being pushed to wait years for a first appointment or go private and risk being completely unsupported.

It’s a setup. A punishment. A way to keep our transitions in limbo.

Someone said it best: heroin addicts get monitored by GPs for safety.

Trans people? We’re left to guess.

We’re treated like a danger to ourselves for simply wanting to live in the skin that makes sense to us.

The Real-World Fallout

So what happens now?

It means women’s spaces can exclude me legally.

It means jobs that require a woman? Not for me.

It means the word “woman” in the law is no longer something I can rely on.

It’s not just me either.

It’s young trans kids in schools.

It’s people being misgendered in prisons or hospitals.

It’s a system lining up brick by brick to keep us out.

Even cis lesbians are being thrown under the bus.

Told who they can and can’t love.

It's all part of the same twisted framework.

Finding Hope in Solidarity and Support

But here’s the thing they didn’t count on.

The outpouring of love after the ruling? It was overwhelming.

My phone didn’t stop. Friends, old colleagues, even people I barely know just checking in, sending love, reminding me I’m not alone.

And I wasn’t.

Social media was filled with solidarity.

Charities, unions, even some MPs refusing to play along with the erasure.

A joint statement from dozens of LGBTQ+ orgs standing together and saying: we see you. We’re with you.

Equity, the actors’ union, didn’t mince words.

Their general secretary laid it out:

Trans men are men. Trans women are women. No legal ruling changes that.

He called on every union to stand up.

And I felt something shift. Just a little.

The day after the ruling, I didn’t leave the house. Not right away. I sat with it, with the weight of being made smaller again, with the ache of it.

But online? That’s where I found something steadying. People organising vigils. Strangers offering hugs. Folks I’ve never met standing up for people like me with fire in their bellies.

That mattered. That landed. It reminded me I’m not alone, and never will be not really.

We Will Stand Up, Speak Out, and Exist

So what now?

We keep living. We show up. We tell our stories.

Because every time someone meets a trans person and realises we’re just regular people you know, people they like it chips away at the fear.

We keep talking. Keep correcting the lies. Keep being visible.

Because visibility is how we win.

Not because we owe the world an explanation,

but because hiding is what they want.

And we are not going to give them that.

I know it’s tiring.

I know there are days where hiding feels safer.

But that’s exactly what this ruling is about.

Making us feel small. Making us disappear.

Not today. Not ever.

We’ve got each other.

That’s the start.

That’s the spark.

I don’t know what’s next.

Could be more setbacks.

Could be small wins.

Probably both.

But I do know this:

They tried to write us out of the law. We’re writing ourselves into the world instead.

There was a moment, not long ago, that reminded me exactly why we keep showing up. Legally, when I got married, I did so as a man. That’s what the certificate says. That’s how the state recorded it. But that wasn’t the truth of the day. So we drove to the Black Forest in Germany before our legal wedding. Just me, her, our nearest and dearest and the trees. We stood in the stillness, and we promised each other everything before signing anything. We got married in spirit first. In truth first. No one who saw me that day would’ve thought to call me a man. Not even for a moment. I wore the dress I chose. I was the woman I am. That moment wasn’t diminished by the law. It was bigger than the law. Because we wrote our own version of what marriage means. And that version? That one saw me fully.

We are not a loophole.

We are not an error.

We are not going anywhere.