Betrayal : Pending

Nothing is happening – and that’s what makes it worse.

There are no dramatic headlines today. No press releases. No sudden judgments or committee reports. Just the dull hum of silence as the Equality & Human Rights Commission holds onto their guidance draft like Judas hiding the silver pieces behind his back. The consultation is closed. The damage is already done. But the hammer hasn’t fallen. Not yet.

People who’ve never had to fight for recognition often mistake this moment for peace. But it’s not peace. It’s dread hidden in a pile of paperwork. It’s wondering whether the next parliament discussion is just admin or the start of another attempt to erase us.

Since the Supreme Court ruling redefined “woman” in law, we’ve been living in the chasm between decisions – neither safe nor forgotten, just suspended.

This kind of waiting isn’t passive. It gets into your bones. You start planning less far ahead. You second-guess your own voice – how do you support others when the ground beneath you is crumbling? You watch friends burn out or disappear from view, because even hope becomes hard to maintain when it’s constantly under threat.

For me, this in-between time has been the hardest part. I’ve written letters that don’t get answers. I’ve prepared talking points for MPs who say all the right things but inspire no confidence.

This isn’t just bureaucracy being slow. This is a strategy.

The EHRC’s decision to withhold correspondence about its consultation until after publishing the final guidance wasn’t just a technical move – it was a signal. We are being managed, not engaged. Our rights are being decided in private meetings, with hateful groups that want us legally invisible. And we’re expected to wait patiently while they finesse the language of our exclusion.

Delays wear people down. They fracture communities, reduce protest energy, and mask political cruelty in the language of “process.”

But we’re not waiting in silence.

Even now, trans people are speaking, organising, preparing. Some are writing or working on legal challenges. Others are helping friends navigate dismissive GPs or abusive media. Some are just getting up in the morning and putting one foot in front of the other, which in times like these, is a political act of resistance all by itself.

As for me, I’m watching. I’m writing. I’m making sure the EHRC and WEC know that we see what they’re doing. I’m helping others get ready for whatever comes next, because whatever it is, we’ll face it together.

I think about what it might feel like to actually breathe without bracing for the next attack.

To plan ahead and enjoy life – without a guillotine hanging over my neck.

To build something without wondering who’s going to strip it down next week.

To raise my son knowing that my womanhood won’t be reduced to footnotes and legal technicalities.

To walk into a clinic, a council office, a courtroom – and not have to prove I exist.

That future still feels far away. But naming it helps. And writing this, even now, helps. Because if the hammer comes down, it will not find us quiet. It will find us speaking, fighting – resilient.