Have you ever woken up from a dream and looked at the world around you and been like "thank god I'm not there in real life?"

I feel like that right now, except none of it was a dream. It all was real life. A stark "before" and "after" that is tearing me apart from the inside. My world shattered as everything fell apart, unraveling with me standing on the ground unsure how I got there and unsure if I could ever pick myself up enough to put myself back together. Except I have 3 kids who depend on me, so somehow, I did the Hard Thing and got to the other side. Somehow, I survived.

Right now, I'm sitting in Vancouver, Canada. Tommy is sitting next to me. Two of the kids are in the other room and one is on the couch. All are safe. Thank god, they are all here and we are all safe. It almost didn't happen this way. I almost lost one of them twice.

Our oldest, E, is almost 14. He's trans. And he's traumatized. It's a bad combo, really. Dysphoria plus PTSD is a hell of a toxic combo for anyone. I know this first-hand from my own journey. And then we have the shit-show that is the state of the world. As a 30+ year old man, it almost broke me. I cannot imagine dealing with it at 13. But this is his reality. Every day, this is his reality.

Ever since he came out as trans last October, he has been dealing with harassment in school. It's been bad. Really bad. He was pushed in the halls. He was called slurs and mocked and told he was stupid and deserved to die. His teachers would refuse to call him his chosen name or use the correct pronouns. The administration did nothing. No one protected him. So we pulled him from school to keep him safe.

And then, on January 28, kids in the apartment complex told E to go kill himself because he was trans. They also said our 8 year old, B, is a freak and should die too, because she's trans. The next day, E attempted to take his own life. Both Tommy and I were home, so we were able to rush him to the behavioral health unit and they had him in-patient. We upped all our timelines on getting out of Utah. We decided to not wait for everything to process and to go on a giant road trip and stay in Washington until we were legally able to move to Canada.

We left on February 22. We would have left sooner if Tommy hadn't been only a couple weeks post top surgery. He couldn't help with almost anything, but we left anyway. 3 kids and a van full of things. We drove throughout Utah and in western Colorado and then into Arizona.

That's when hell started.

The kids were really struggling. We all knew that we were leaving Utah because it wasn't safe for our family to stay in Utah. We couldn't hide that from them. It would be disingenuous to try. And E wasn't feeling safe. And as a 13 year old does, he lashed out. I didn't see it for what it was at the time. I didn't see it as him begging for help. I've reviewed the days leading up to the Moment Everything Changed a million different ways and I cannot unsee all the little things I then missed. I regret not seeing them. Hindsight is 20/20. I didn't have that then.

On February 26 in Phoenix, AZ, E was left in the car alone for a few minutes. He's 13. This should have been fine. He'd been left in the car alone before. Hell, he'd been left in charge of his younger siblings in the car before. We didn't know. God, I wish I'd known.

In those few minutes, he took half a bottle of medication and a bunch of another. When we got in the car, he lied to us, saying he took his rescue migraine medication. That med makes him sleepy. It's normal for him to kinda pass out after taking it. So him falling asleep on the way to the hotel in Eloy didn't raise any red flags.

It was hours later, after all the kids were supposed to be sleeping, when Tommy and I were on a drive to talk through some things privately, that he told Tommy what he'd done. He was vomiting and regretted his choice. I immediately flipped the car around while Tommy called poison control. I know the area as I lived in that area of AZ almost 10 years, so I knew that it would take longer for an ambulance to get to us in Eloy than it would take for us to drive him to Casa Grande's hospital ourselves.

When I got there, he was unable to move himself. I picked him up and carried him to the car in my arms. He held on for dear life as I spoke reassuring words to him, carrying him down the flight of stairs to the car. Hold on, baby. We're going to get you to the hospital. It's going to be okay.

I didn't know if it was going to be okay.

Tommy loaded the other kids in the car and we drove to the hospital. The moment we got there, Tommy leapt out and ran for help. I, again, picked up my son and carried him because it would get him the help the fastest.

Tommy stayed with E at the hospital while I figured out what to do with myself and the other kids. In desperation, I called my ex husband, C, and asked if we could spend a single night on his couches. I had nowhere else to turn. My ex is a good human. As B later said "I like C. I want him to come visit us." When I had no where to go, he let us sleep on his couches so that I could be close to the hospital. That meant everything to me.

The hospital stabilized E and we drove to Tucson to sleep in a hotel down there. Strangely, hotels in Tucson were almost $150 cheaper than I was finding in Phoenix, or even Casa Grande. Before we even knew for sure that E was being sent in-patient, we had decided that the moment he was out of the hospital, we were leaving and flying to Canada. I had a professional development lined up in Surrey, BC, and I wanted to get some housing and other things sorted in Canada before we returned to Washington to wait for my citizenship to process. But we had to wait.

E was sent to a hospital in Scottsdale, AZ for inpatient. He arrived on the evening of the 27th. In less than 24 hours, we had removed E from the hospital because not only did the staff not respect him, give him dignity, or even give him his goddamn medications, they triggered a series of events that led to him being physically assaulted by a patient as he left his room, giving him a concussion (a concussion they did not monitor or treat, by the way). Thank god for the singular nurse there who saw my son as a human deserving kindness. That nurse called us and encouraged us to press charges. We have done so.

It was then that we found out that the two incidents the hospital reported to us were not the only two incidents of harassment E experienced. One of those incidents that wasn't reported included a direct threat of "we will beat you bloody" by a patient. All harassment was because he is trans. No genuine efforts were made to protect my son.

We also then learned that the only medication E was given was a multi-vitamin, even when the psychiatrist told the staff to give him pain meds for his head injury. He bled from his ear after being punched in the head and knocked to the ground. He lost consciousness. He suffered a concussion. They didn't even give him a Tylenol. He remembers telling them "it hurts, it hurts. Please help." They gave him an ice pack and sent him on his way. He had to wash the blood off of himself in the shower.

The reason we did the road trip was for me. I wanted to say goodbye to people and places that I knew I would never see again. I know that I could not know what was going to happen, but I still feel incredibly selfish for having made that choice. If only we'd flown directly to Canada. If only I had just driven us north to Washington. If only. If only.

When you're actively hemorrhaging blood from your chest, the answer isn't to worry about the pain in your knee from overwork. You take care of your chest and then you can worry about everything else.

My child had been physically attacked in the place he had been sent to keep him alive. My other trans child, B, was spiraling in anxiety about what would happen to E and her in the US. She told Tommy that she wished she were a boy so that she could be safe. It reminded me of how when I was a teenager, I concluded that no one would choose to be gay because why would anyone ever choose to go through this? My kids are testaments that no one actually chooses to be trans. There is no fame or popularity in their existence. They have been told to die for existing. One was physically assaulted for being trans. They were terrified. I was terrified. Tommy was terrified. This was the equivalent of hemorrhaging blood from the chest. So we booked flights for less than 48 hours later.

The difference between driving our belongings to Washington and flying to Canada is stark. Do you know how much Fedex wanted to charge for me to fly a few belongings to Vancouver? I think it was about $4000. Nothing we own is worth $4000. I gave my ebike to a homeless person. He showed kindness to me when he saw me struggling. That was more than I got from some of the people I'd reached out to who I had called friends. So he got a $1600 ebike. I hope it helps him.

Our van is still sitting in the Tucson airport economy parking lot. We ran out of time to sell it the day before we left. I still don't know what to do with it. Worst case, it'll be towed eventually. The van isn't worth our children's lives. Nothing is.

Are we refugees if we fly to a country that I legally have citizenship in (even if it hasn't been proven yet)?

This is the question I keep asking myself. Are we refugees? I don't know. I guess it probably depends on how you define refugee. But what I do know is I cannot go back. I cannot take my children back to the United States.

The United States is not somewhere that is safe anymore. Not for anyone.

White US citizens have been gunned down for being kind. Adults and children are being rounded up based on the color of their skin. People of color have simply disappeared, with no one knowing what has happened to them. Families are being torn apart. "Trans activists", like myself, have been designated "domestic terrorists". The DHS has subpoenaed Meta, Google, others to get the information on people who have posted critically about ICE endeavors. Even the reddest of red states, Utah, has been targeted by Trump, with the DOJ suing the Lt Gov to get the voting records of every single Utahn.

If it's not safe for anyone, how much less safe is it for me and my family? 4 of us are trans. Tommy and I both have posted critically of Trump, ICE, and my transition journey is on YouTube. We both voted against Trump in every single election. I know how the internet works enough to know that what I have previously posted can never be erased. If I set foot in the United States at any time unless it corrects course, I could very easily be arrested for being a domestic terrorist. I'm not, but since when has this presidency cared about facts?

Worse, I cannot keep my child alive in the United States. We've talked, E and I. The reason he attempted both times is because he believed it would be better to be dead than to be a trans kid in the US. I wouldn't have blamed him for his feelings before. After what he's gone through, I know that if I were to take him back, he would try again. I can't lose him like that. I just can't.

And if we went back, how long until my 8 year old, B, followed in E's footsteps? How long until she tries? Her mental health has been spiraling the last week. Every day, she has more questions about what is happening in the US, why the government hates her, why it can't be safe for "rainbow people".

So we're in Canada. My citizenship application has been submitted. I included a 26 page urgency letter with citations.

I'm terrified. God, I'm terrified.

Mostly, I feel broken, shattered to a million pieces. I don't know where to start, what to do, how to cope. I don't know how to help my children when I cannot figure out how to even start with myself. Tommy keeps asking me how he can help because he knows I'm struggling. I don't know, I answer. And I don't. I have no idea.

I've felt broken before. I spent most of my life feeling broken. Nothing has ever compared to this.

Every morning when I wake up, I remind myself I'm in Canada now. I love Vancouver already. I love standing on the beach. I love the rain falling around me and the green everywhere I look. It's like waking up from a nightmare.

Except it was real life. It is real life. I still can remember whispering kind words in my son's ear as I carried him down the stairs to the van. Hold on baby. It's going to be okay. I got you. I'll keep you safe. All the while, not knowing if I was telling the truth.

I keep telling the kids it'll be better now that we're here. I keep telling them it's going to be okay, that I'll keep them safe.

I hope I'm telling the truth.

If you'd like to help us afford the mental health help we really need, please consider donating to my GoFundMe or directly through my old business PayPal.