Vann Jones is an undergraduate student graduating Spring of 2023 at the University of California, Santa Cruz, located on the unceded territory of the Awaswas-speaking Uypi Tribe, stewarded today by the Amah Mutsun Tribal Band. He is double majoring in Feminist Studies with an emphasis in queer and trans theory, as well as the History of Art & Visual Culture with a concentration in Curation, Heritage, & Museums. Vann is a lifelong activist for the trans and queer community, having worked extensively in the Castro Valley Unified School District and within the Castro Valley community to educate, build connections, bring understanding, and engage in dialogue from the time he was 13 years old until his graduation in 2019.

In more recent years, he’s worked for Our Family Coalition, Trans Fertility Coalition, the Santa Cruz Museum of Art & History, and the Office of Assemblyman Evan Low, Chair of the California LGBTQ Legislative Caucus, via Equality California’s Comcast Fellowship. He is currently working with the independent journalist Erin Reed as well as the National LGBTQ+ Task Force in order to fight back against the onslaught of anti-transgender legislation that is erupting across the nation. He has presented his research on transmasculine reproduction at the 2023 Creating Change Conference alongside Trystan Reese, in a class on the Sociology of Pregnancy taught by Professor Christie McCullen at UCSC, and at a Dine & Discuss event hosted by the Womxn’s Center in collaboration with the Cantú Queer Center. He has guest starred on the Babblery Podcast with support from KSQD radio. When he’s not working or studying, he enjoys gardening, sewing, quilting, hiking, making art, spending time with friends and family, and playing with his cat Mabel.

My interest in researching transmasculine fertility stemmed from my own lived experiences as a transgender man. Ever since I was young, I’ve known I’ve wanted to have children. Caretaking has always come naturally to me. When I was little, I used to have baby dolls I’d carry around with me everywhere I went. My grandmother would take me to the thrift store and let me pick out clothes for them. She taught me a lot about raising and taking care of babies through these dolls; she purchased little bottles of mashed baby food, a little plastic tub to teach me how to bathe the baby, and even little mittens to stop the baby from ‘accidentally scratching itself’. Even though I was just a little toddler, I loved baby dolls dearly and I treated them as if they were real. As I grew up, I continued to love children and found many opportunities throughout my life to work with them. When I realized I was transgender at the age of 14, that desire didn’t go away.

At the age of 15, I decided to seek HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) in order to achieve my transition goals and treat the dysphoria that was affecting my mental health. I was told by my endocrinologist at the time that the use of testosterone would lead to my eventual infertility, a belief that has been disproven time and time again yet still remains prevalent within medical spheres. It wasn’t until a year of being on testosterone that I discovered the truth: that testosterone does not affect the health of one’s eggs and that it is not meant to be used as birth control. I was frustrated by the fact that I had received misinformation from a trusted medical professional, and that that could have affected my ability to make safe and informed decisions with my body.

Since realizing that the option to conceive my own child was back on the table again, I began contemplating what it would mean to someday be a pregnant man. Doctors weren’t fully educated on transgender fertility and pregnancy, which made me greatly concerned for my health and safety. I worried that if I were to ever have my own child, I would be intruding on a space women felt was safe and exclusive for them. I worried about pregnancy effectively outing me as transgender to everyone in my life, and that I would have no authority over who did and didn’t know about my identity, which again led me to worry about my safety. The world around me felt as though it left no room for pregnant men. It was with my own concerns about my future as a parent that I decided to undertake research in order to understand the experiences and challenges of transmasculine people in their path to parenthood in order to better prepare for my own.

My hope in creating this project and conducting this research is to be able to share a holistic view of transmasculine fertility, pregnancy, postpartum, lactation, and parenthood with those who may benefit from this knowledge; whether it be transmasculine individuals, health care providers, allies, or even just someone who is willing to put in the time to be able to learn about and empathize with our community. The greatest realization that I have been able to take away from this project is that transmasculine parenthood is an incredibly nuanced experience. Each of the individuals that I was fortunate enough to interview with had a very different path to becoming a parent, and that resulted in a variation of priorities and concerns. While certain themes may repeat, there is no way to speak on behalf of all transmasculine individuals or predict with absolute certainty the experience of transmasculine parenthood.

Recognizing the ways in which experiences diverge is key to understanding the full landscape of the community and being able to move forward in plans to support those who are struggling and advocate for social change. Those seeking a path to parenthood should be given all of the options available to them, and be informed on up-to-date, evidence-based, non-judgmental information so that they may decide what is right for them and their family. After I graduate, I am determined to continue my work in transmasculine reproductive health care and family rights. I’d like to be a voice that is able to help people and make positive impact and change, and create the conditions for a world that makes space for pregnant men.