Picture this: you’re a kid, just enjoying life, maybe playing Super Mario. Then, one day, you wake up in a hospital, feeling a sharp pain. You lift the sheet, and there’s a red ‘X’ on your body. The smell of rust and blood fills the air. That’s what happened to Mo Cortez when he was just five years old, back in 1989. For him, it was the moment he realized something was ‘unacceptable’ about his body. Mo, who helps run The Houston Intersex Society (THIS), was born intersex. That’s an umbrella term for folks whose bodies don't neatly fit the typical definitions of male or female reproductive anatomy. In Mo’s case, doctors removed his male reproductive organs. He didn’t get a say in that surgery, and honestly, that lack of choice is a huge fear for many in the intersex community. Now, here in Texas, that fear is really hitting home thanks to a new law. Last summer, state lawmakers passed House Bill 229, sometimes called Texas’ ‘sex definition’ law. It's a bill that tries to strictly define ‘man’ and ‘woman’ based solely on your reproductive organs at birth. The problem? For intersex Texans like Mo, this law could mean real trouble. Think about getting a passport or a driver’s license. If your body doesn't fit the law's rigid boxes, and your internal gender identity doesn’t match what some old medical document says, you could be in a bind. It’s like the government is telling you who you are, regardless of your lived experience or even your body’s own natural variations. And it gets heavier. Many intersex individuals worry this law takes away their ability to change a gender marker that might have been assigned to them as a child, often without their consent. Even worse, some fear it might actually push parents towards those kinds of life-altering surgeries on intersex kids—surgeries that force a child’s body to conform to either ‘male’ or ‘female,’ rather than letting them grow and make their own decisions later. It’s a huge ethical debate, touching on bodily autonomy and parental rights, all wrapped up in state legislation. When Representative Ellen Troxclair, a Republican from Lakeway, put forward HB 229, she called it the ‘women’s bill of rights.’ She said it was about setting a ‘clear, consistent, and biologically accurate’ definition of what a woman is, aiming to protect the rights, safety, and opportunities of women and girls. But for many intersex Texans, it feels more like a bill that erases them or puts them in legal limbo. We tried to get a comment from Rep. Troxclair, but she declined to speak on this story. We don't have an exact count of intersex people in Texas. But get this: between 2020 and 2024, out of nearly 400,000 babies born here, 58 had their gender listed as ‘unable to determine’ by the Texas Department of State Health Services. And that number doesn't even count people whose intersex traits show up later in life. Nationally, experts say up to 1.7% of people are intersex. That’s a significant number of Texans who might be affected by a law that doesn’t seem to know how to categorize them. Adeline Berry, an intersex researcher who actually left Texas because of discrimination fears, points out that 'intersex' covers over 40 different bodily variations. It's not just about having both male and female reproductive organs, like Mo. It can be things like having an extra X or Y chromosome, unusual hormone levels, or reproductive parts that just develop differently from the typical definitions. These variations can show up at birth, during puberty, or even be discovered much later in life. What’s often overlooked is how some of the state’s recent policies, especially those targeting transgender people, accidentally hit intersex individuals too. These laws often try to force a specific gender on someone. But many intersex people, like San Antonio’s Juliette Thurber, don’t want the government making that choice for them. Juliette has Klinefelter syndrome, an intersex variation where she has XXY chromosomes. She was born appearing male but identifies as a woman. “In a body that was not given the ability to define itself, I define myself as a woman,” Juliette explains. “I was always an intersex male, and now… I’m an intersex woman, and that’s my choice.” Her words really drive home the idea of self-determination, a core aspect of personal liberty and, arguably, a constitutional right. During the HB 229 debates, lawmakers definitely heard from people who warned that the bill would hurt intersex Texans. In response, Representative Mary González, a Democrat from Clint and part of the Texas House LGBTQ Caucus, added an amendment. It basically said that intersex people ‘are not considered to belong to a third sex’ and ‘must receive accommodations in accordance with state and federal law.’ The amendment passed quickly, in just 22 seconds. But here’s the rub: Juliette Thurber feels this amendment doesn’t do much because it doesn’t actually spell out *what* those accommodations are. And the law’s definitions of ‘woman’ (someone whose reproductive system produces ova) and ‘man’ (someone whose system can fertilize ova) are so specific that people like Juliette, whose Klinefelter syndrome can cause infertility and low testosterone, might not fit either. She asks, “I literally fall into a third gender, according to this law, a third gender that is not defined. So does that mean I legally don’t exist?” That’s a pretty powerful question about legal recognition and due process, isn’t it? If the state doesn't recognize your existence, how do you enforce any rights? Representative Jessica González, another Democrat and the current chair of the Texas House LGBTQ Caucus, agrees that while the amendment’s intentions might have been good, the bill still causes harm. She bluntly called HB 229 ‘poorly written.’ Rep. Mary González also declined to comment for this story. While some, like Mo and Juliette, appreciate the sentiment of not being 'othered' as a 'third sex,' for many, the bigger issue isn't about categorization; it's about bodily integrity. Mo Cortez says, “I just want to slow down… the irreversible, forced sex change surgeries.” This really highlights a tension between legislative intent and the real-world impact on fundamental rights. Think back to Mo’s surgery. Before that, he was raised as a girl and didn’t feel anything was ‘abnormal’ about his body. But his medical records show doctors repeatedly framed his male reproductive organs and intersex diagnosis as a ‘problem’ that needed fixing. Mo describes it as ‘very dehumanizing.’ He had a phalectomy and a gonadectomy at five years old. It's a stark contrast to how Texas currently restricts gender-affirming care for transgender individuals, yet these same kinds of surgeries are often pushed on intersex babies with little regard for their long-term well-being or future self-determination. This isn't just a Texas thing. These surgeries on intersex kids were so common that in 2016, three former U.S. Surgeon Generals actually spoke out against ‘cosmetic genital surgery’ on intersex infants. They said such procedures are based on ‘untested assumptions’ and ‘usually causes more harm than good.’ Despite these strong warnings from top medical officials, and high rates of parental consent for these surgeries (one study found 35 out of 37 families agreed to intervention), the U.S. government hasn’t done much to slow them down. Advocacy groups like InterACT worry that policies like HB 229 will only make it worse, pushing parents to conform their intersex children to one binary gender. This is where state policy directly impacts individual bodily autonomy and parental decision-making, often without sufficient legal safeguards for the child. Mo's own mother, he says, felt pressured to agree to his surgeries. His medical documents suggest child welfare services were involved, with accusations she was ‘raising a boy as a girl.’ Mo remembers being told, “They said ‘do the surgery or we’ll take away your kids.’” That’s coercion, pure and simple, and it speaks volumes about the lack of legal protection for parents and children in these situations. Since his surgery, Mo has battled urinary tract infections constantly, which he blames on the procedure’s complications. Adeline Berry also talks about lifelong struggles and 'excruciating' pain from her own childhood genital surgery. These are not minor inconveniences; these are permanent physical and psychological scars, raising questions about medical malpractice, informed consent, and children's rights. Beyond surgeries, there's the frustrating issue of government records. Before HB 229, many trans and intersex individuals could get court orders to change their gender on birth certificates or driver’s licenses. But then, Governor Greg Abbott, without legislative action, ordered courts to stop recognizing these orders. Attorney General Ken Paxton backed him up with a legal opinion. This executive action effectively bypassed judicial precedent, creating a serious separation of powers concern. Now, with HB 229 in play, Shelly Skeen, a lawyer with Lambda Legal, warns of ‘mismatched documents.’ People who successfully changed their gender markers before might find their records reverting to their sex assigned at birth when they renew documents. You could end up with some IDs reflecting your identity and others not, leading to a bureaucratic nightmare for things like travel, employment, and even just proving who you are. The inconsistency itself poses legal challenges for individuals trying to navigate daily life. Rep. Troxclair and others argued that intersex people have always had either 'male' or 'female' on their birth certificates and HB 229 wouldn't change that. But intersex individuals and their advocates say that's just not true for everyone. Some intersex people, like Mo Cortez, didn't have a sex assigned at birth on their original documents. Others might have had both sexes listed. For these individuals, the law simply doesn’t say how it applies, leaving them in a legal grey area. Sylvan Fraser Anthony, legal and policy director for InterACT, put it plainly: “The state law is going to have you running into trouble.” This ambiguity in the law creates potential for arbitrary enforcement and denies individuals the predictability and certainty that due process typically demands. Mo already knows this headache. Back in 2015, a judge in Harris County wouldn't let him change his birth certificate from female to male, even with evidence of his XY chromosomes. He said they didn't even ask for medical records or about gender-affirming surgery; they just said no. He later found a Travis County judge who agreed, and the Texas Department of State Health Services updated his birth certificate. But Mo fears these battles will become much harder now. “There’s still a lot of Republican judges now,” he notes, “Republican, conservative judges that are not eager to help us.” This highlights how political ideology can influence judicial decisions and impact individual rights. Juliette Thurber, whose records still list her as male, doesn’t know what HB 229 means for her. She identifies as a woman and wanted to update her name and gender on government records to make things easier, especially for medical care. She filed her request in Bexar County, paid $400, and went through an FBI background check, all just two weeks before AG Paxton’s legal opinion came out. Her request? Denied. “Because of all that, it was denied, and I’m out $400,” she says. “I’m going to have a nightmare in the medical field trying to get it changed, because everybody still uses my old deadname.” This isn't just a financial loss; it’s a profound blow to her identity and ability to access necessary services, a direct consequence of state action overriding personal legal efforts. What do intersex advocates actually want? They want policies that don't treat them as a medical problem to be 'fixed.' Fraser Anthony points out the cruel irony that most state bans on gender-affirming care for trans minors still *allow* surgeries on intersex kids—the very opposite of what they’re fighting for. InterACT also wants public awareness campaigns to help future parents and the general public understand intersex variations better, reducing stigma and promoting acceptance rather than 'correction.' Mo Cortez wants kids to have a real say in decisions about intersex-related surgeries. He also wants formal standards of care for intersex people, which, surprisingly, aren’t really in place right now. Outside of health care, he hopes for legislation that includes intersex individuals in hate crime protections and ensures their safety in state-run facilities like prisons. These are basic civil rights protections that should apply to everyone. Juliette Thurber has testified repeatedly before the Texas government, but she often feels unheard. She notes that lawmakers' 'well-meaning' policies for intersex people often just end up being exceptions to laws meant to hurt transgender individuals. “The path to hell is paved in good intentions,” she warns. Above all, Juliette hopes lawmakers will finally recognize the nuance of intersex people’s gender identities. She wants policies that actually protect and reinforce their rights, or, failing that, just leave the community alone. Her closing thought is a stark warning: “Intersex people are going to get attacked in just the same way as trans people are. People don’t understand intersex people – and they don’t want to – just like they don’t understand trans people – and they don’t want to.” It's a call for empathy and legal clarity that goes beyond simple definitions, urging policymakers to consider the full human impact of their laws.