Imagine a law that tries to define what it means to be a man or a woman by just one thing: your reproductive system at birth. Sounds simple, right? But for some Texans, especially those born intersex, it's anything but. This new rule, House Bill 229, is sparking big worries about everything from getting a driver's license to potential medical procedures. Mo Cortez, a co-founder of The Houston Intersex Society, knows this kind of worry intimately. Growing up in San Angelo, he had a pretty normal childhood until age five. That's when he woke up from surgery with a deep pain and a red ‘X' on his groin. He was born intersex, meaning his body didn't fit neat definitions of male or female anatomy. Doctors removed his male reproductive organs, making him appear more female. It wasn't his choice. This kind of forced medical intervention, often done to 'normalize' intersex children, is a fear that now looms larger for many with the passage of HB 229. This law, often called the “sex definition” bill, specifically ties being male or female to your reproductive organs at birth. It says if you're a woman, your system produces eggs; if you're a man, it's built to fertilize them. The problem? Intersex people don't always fit these strict categories. This legal rigidity could mean a host of practical problems, like difficulties updating government documents such as passports or driver's licenses. Your gender marker on these documents might not match your identity, or even your previous legal changes. What's even more concerning is the fear that this law could indirectly encourage more irreversible surgeries on intersex children. It might pressure parents to choose one binary gender for their child, even if it means invasive medical procedures without the child's consent. This is a very real public policy concern: is the state pushing families toward medical decisions that could cause lifelong physical and psychological harm? Representative Ellen Troxclair, a Republican from Lakeway, introduced HB 229, calling it a “women's bill of rights.” She argued it creates a “clear, consistent and biologically accurate” definition to protect women and girls. But for many intersex Texans and their allies, the bill's impact is far from protective. We don't have an exact count of intersex Texans, but state data shows that out of hundreds of thousands of babies born in Texas between 2020 and 2024, dozens were listed as having an “unable to determine” gender. Nationally, up to 1.7% of people are intersex. That's a lot of people whose lives could be affected by a law like this. Intersex is an umbrella term for many different body variations. You might have an extra chromosome, unusual hormone levels, or reproductive parts that develop differently. Not everyone is born with both sets of organs, like Mo Cortez. Some variations aren't even noticeable until puberty or later in life. This diverse reality just doesn't fit into HB 229's narrow definitions. Juliette Thurber, a San Antonio transgender woman who also has an intersex variation called Klinefelter syndrome (XXY chromosomes), explains how frustrating these policies can be. She says many intersex people don't want the government assigning them a gender. She identifies as an intersex woman, a choice she made for herself, not one imposed by doctors or laws. Her experience highlights a critical constitutional question: does the state have the power to dictate your gender identity based solely on reproductive biology, especially when it contradicts your lived reality and potentially your bodily autonomy? Lawmakers were actually told repeatedly that HB 229 would hurt intersex Texans. In response, Representative Mary González, a Democrat from Clint, added an amendment. It stated that intersex people “are not considered to belong to a third sex” and “must receive accommodations in accordance with state and federal law.” This amendment passed quickly. But for people like Juliette Thurber, it doesn't really help. It doesn't spell out what those 'accommodations' are, and the law's strict definitions still leave many intersex people in a legal limbo. If your body doesn't fit the 'ova producer' or 'ova fertilize' definitions, where do you legally stand? Thurber asks, “Does that mean I legally don't exist?” It's a fundamental question about legal recognition and personhood. For Cortez, the main goal is to stop forced, irreversible surgeries. His own medical records show doctors saw his intersex traits as a “problem” to be “addressed.” At five years old, he underwent a phalectomy and a gonadectomy. He remembers the procedures as “dehumanizing.” The state's stance on gender-affirming care for trans youth has been to restrict it, citing concerns about irreversible changes. Yet, paradoxically, similar invasive surgeries are often pushed on intersex infants, often without robust long-term research or regard for the child's future well-being. This creates a deeply inconsistent public policy, raising questions about bodily autonomy and informed consent, particularly for minors. Back in 2016, three former U.S. Surgeon Generals actually spoke out against cosmetic genital surgery on intersex infants, calling it harmful and based on untested assumptions. Despite this, these surgeries remain common. One study found that most parents offered surgical intervention for their intersex children accepted it. Advocates fear HB 229 could make this worse, pushing parents to conform their intersex children to a binary gender. Cortez recalls his mother felt pressured into his surgery by child welfare services, who accused her of “raising a boy as a girl.” This is a significant constitutional concern: the state potentially coercing parents into medical decisions for their children without true informed consent and with lasting negative consequences. Beyond surgeries, HB 229 is throwing a wrench into government records. Before this law, many transgender and intersex people could get court orders to change their gender on birth certificates or driver's licenses. But months before HB 229 took effect, Governor Greg Abbott ordered courts to stop recognizing these orders. Attorney General Ken Paxton backed this up with a legal opinion. This effectively creates a patchwork of legal identities, where some documents reflect your true self, and others revert to your sex assigned at birth. This legal inconsistency can create significant burdens, impacting everything from employment to travel and housing. While some argue that intersex people have always had male or female listed on their documents, advocates say that's not true for everyone. Some intersex individuals, like Cortez, had no sex assigned at birth on their original records, or even both sexes listed. For these people, the law offers no clear path, essentially leaving them in a legal loophole where their very identity is undefined by the state. Cortez experienced this headache firsthand. In 2015, a Harris County judge refused to change his birth certificate from female to male, even with evidence of XY chromosomes. He eventually found a more sympathetic judge in Travis County who approved the change. But he worries such paths will become far harder under HB 229, especially with more conservative judges on the bench. This points to a potential violation of due process and equal protection, as individuals are denied the ability to update essential identity documents. Juliette Thurber, whose records still list her as male, doesn't know how HB 229 will define her. More importantly, she doesn't identify as male. She tried to change her name and gender in Bexar County but was denied after Paxton's legal opinion. She's out $400 and faces a “nightmare in the medical field” because her records won't align with her identity. This isn't just an inconvenience; it can be a barrier to proper healthcare, causing misgendering and misdiagnoses. Intersex advocates aren't looking for exceptions to laws that harm others. They want policies that don't treat intersex variations as a problem to be fixed. They're pushing for formal standards of care that prioritize consent and well-being, not just surgical 'normalization.' They also want protections in state-run facilities and inclusion under hate crime laws, recognizing the systemic discrimination they often face. Thurber points out that lawmakers often include intersex 'exceptions' in laws aimed at transgender people, but these well-meaning gestures often miss the mark. The core problem, she says, is a lack of understanding and a reluctance to respect the nuance of intersex identity. This law, in its attempt to simplify gender, overlooks the biological reality of many Texans and opens the door to significant legal challenges concerning individual rights, bodily autonomy, and the state's proper role in defining identity.