Let's talk about bathrooms.

Let’s talk about something simple. Bathrooms. We all use them. We’ve all waited in line for one. They’re part of the most ordinary rhythm of life.

And yet somehow, they’ve become a flashpoint for something far more complex: identity, safety, and how we share space with one another. So let’s pause and ask—with honesty and care— Why do some people feel afraid of sharing bathrooms with transgender people?

This isn’t always an easy conversation—especially for cisgender women and girls who’ve grown up constantly negotiating their safety. There is a deep and justified fear many carry—not of trans people, but of violence. Of being followed, touched, harmed. And that fear has roots. Because in a world shaped by toxic masculinity, far too many women, girls, and queer people have been harmed. We are taught early on to be vigilant. To check behind us. To clutch keys. To be careful.

So when conversations around trans-inclusive bathrooms come up, that fear sometimes gets redirected. Instead of questioning the systems and norms that make violence so common, the target becomes trans people—particularly trans women—who are simply trying to exist.

But here’s what’s deeply important to understand: Trans people are not coming into bathrooms to harm anyone. They’re coming in to pee. To wash up. To breathe. Just like everyone else.

And the data backs that up. There’s no credible evidence linking trans inclusion in public bathrooms to an increase in violence or assault. In fact, study after study shows that trans people are the ones most at risk—of harassment, of being kicked out, of being attacked.

And here’s the part we don’t talk about enough: When we deny trans women access to women’s restrooms, we are not protecting women—we are actively putting trans women in danger. Sending a trans woman into a men’s bathroom doesn’t keep anyone safe. It pushes her into the very environment we’re afraid of—the one shaped by toxic masculinity and a culture of gendered violence. It’s not hypothetical. Trans women are regularly harassed, threatened, and assaulted in men’s restrooms. In some cases, they are killed.

So we have to ask: If everyone feels afraid in bathrooms… who is actually doing the harming?

Let’s not confuse discomfort with danger. And let’s not repeat history either. Bathroom segregation is not new. Decades ago, it was used to keep Black people out of “white only” restrooms. Fear was the justification then too—fear of contamination, of threat, of the unfamiliar. Women, too, were once denied access to public toilets because it was assumed they didn’t belong in public space. Fear was used to keep them out as well.

Now, it’s trans people who are being told they don’t belong. Who are being asked to hold it, go somewhere else, or prove their gender to a stranger.

So—what can we do?

Here are a few ways we can move forward, together, without anyone needing to feel erased or unsafe:

1. Provide multiple bathroom options—including unisex and single-stall spaces. When someone feels unsure, a unisex or private option gives them a way to step away without stepping on anyone else’s rights. These bathrooms already exist in many spaces—airports, cafes, homes—and they work well. This isn’t about forcing everyone into one model. It’s about offering choice. Dignity for all means options for all.

2. Trust trans people—but hold everyone accountable for behavior. Let’s name the real issue: inappropriate behavior, not identity. Anyone who acts in threatening or harmful ways in a bathroom—cis or trans—should be held accountable. Let’s not assume guilt based on appearance or fear. Instead, let's focus on behavior. That’s a standard everyone can agree on.

3. Make public spaces feel safer for everyone—especially women and girls. More lighting. More staff training. Panic buttons in certain facilities. Clear codes of conduct. When we invest in making all bathrooms safer from violence and intimidation, it benefits everyone—regardless of gender.

4. Listen to each other without shutting down. If you feel scared, it’s okay to say so. But be open to learning what trans people face, too. And if you’re a trans person being questioned, you shouldn’t have to justify your existence—but you might want allies to step in and hold the space with you. We all need to listen better—to understand where fear comes from, and where care can grow.

5. Reframe this as a collective issue, not a personal flaw. This isn’t about being “transphobic” or “woke.” It’s about navigating a changing world with empathy. Gender is evolving. Our public spaces should evolve too. And we’ll only do that well if we hold space for both the pain that comes from lived harm and the discomfort that comes from unlearning.
   

This isn’t about pitting trans safety against cis women’s safety. It’s about recognizing that the real threat to both is a culture that normalizes violence, polices gender, and tells people to be afraid of what they don’t yet understand.

When we build for everyone, everyone wins.

Because no one—cis, trans, non-binary—should have to choose between holding their bladder and holding their truth.