Finding Each Other: Why We Need LGBTQ+ Family Planning Communities in Today’s World

In the past few years, I’ve watched the landscape of queer and trans family building change in ways that are both inspiring and sobering. On one hand, more LGBTQ+ people than ever are becoming parents—through donor conception, surrogacy, adoption, or good old-fashioned pregnancy. On the other hand, we’re living in a moment where visibility itself can feel like an act of defiance. States across the U.S. have proposed or passed laws restricting fertility treatments, parental rights, and even the language that recognizes our identities and our families. For many of us, the path to creating family has never been simple—but lately, it’s also become political.

And yet, in the midst of all this, something beautiful is happening. We’re finding one another.

I see it every day in spaces like PregnantTogether, an online community where LGBTQ+ parents and parents-to-be gather to swap stories, ask questions, vent, connect, and celebrate with each other. It’s not simply a virtual community—it’s a home base for those of us navigating family in a world that isn’t built to support families like ours. 

Visibility as a Form of Care

For queer and trans people, visibility has always been a double-edged sword. To be seen is to risk scrutiny, but to hide is to lose connection. Many of us learned early that safety and authenticity don’t always coexist. Still, there’s something transformative about being visible to one another, especially in the intimate realm of family and parenting.

In a world that often questions whether our families are real or legitimate, visibility becomes a form of care. When we share photos of our kids, tell the truth about our birth journeys, or name our pronouns at the pediatrician’s office, we are creating the conditions for someone else to breathe easier. To someone who’s still deciding whether or not to go off of testosterone to try for a baby, someone who’s nervous to tell their OB that their partner uses they/them pronouns, someone who’s never seen a family that looks like theirs—these moments of recognition matter.

The Digital Gathering Place

When I think about the online LGBTQ+ family planning community, I’m reminded of the queer bars and coffeehouses of the past—those physical spaces where people went to find belonging. In the digital age, communities like PregnantTogether have become our modern-day gathering spots. I call the Zoom room where we gather for our different support groups (pregnant people, non-gestational parents, solo parents, and so many more) our “virtual living room.” People from all over the United States and the world gather to remember how, although we often feel like the only ones in our community or social circle growing our families, we aren’t alone in this.

Rocio Sanchez, a queer digital strategist at Marketing by Rocio who helps LGBTQ-led businesses build visibility online, says this makes a lot of sense. “I grew up in a digital era where queer folks found each other on forums, traded survival strategies, and celebrated moments of visibility together,” they say. “Now, I see queer parents doing the same: searching for connection, support, and solidarity online. That’s the role of digital communities in queer visibility. The more we search, the more visible these resources become. That’s the power of SEO, after all.”

Resisting Erasure Through Connection

We talk a lot about resistance in LGBTQ+ spaces—marches, votes, policy advocacy—but the quieter forms of resistance are, for me as a queer midwife, just as powerful. To connect and nurture each other in community is a political act for queer folks. That’s the feeling at the core of PregnantTogether; we are growing our families out of a sense of deep love and hope, and community members bring that vibe into our virtual space.

In this current climate, where DEI has become a political lightning rod and words like “inclusion” are being stripped from public institutions, creating a space where queer and trans families can gather is not neutral work. It’s a deliberate act of preservation.

When we build communities that center LGBTQ+ family-making, we are refusing the narrative that says our families are optional, or worse, dangerous. We are asserting our right to exist—to love, to parent, to thrive.

One of the things I’ve noticed in these online spaces is how often people step up for each other. When someone posts that their fertility clinic misgendered them, others rush in with empathy, suggestions, and sometimes even the name of a more affirming provider. When someone loses a pregnancy, the comments fill with grief and solidarity from strangers who understand that particular kind of loss. When someone finally announces a positive test after months—or years—of trying, the celebration is collective.

A Community That Mirrors Our Diversity

LGBTQ+ family planning communities are not monolithic. We come from different races, classes, genders, and cultural traditions. Some of us are coupled; others are solo parents by choice. Some conceive with the help of midwives and home inseminations; others through IVF or gestational carriers. What connects us isn’t sameness—it’s shared intention. The commitment to creating family consciously, lovingly, against the odds.

That diversity is our strength. It pushes back against stereotypes that flatten queer families into a single narrative. It reminds us that there’s no one right way to become a parent, and that family itself is a living, evolving concept.

In queer family planning spaces, you’ll often hear people talk about “chosen family.” That concept doesn’t disappear when we have children. It expands. Our kids are born into webs of care that stretch far beyond the nuclear model. Aunties, donors, surrogates, friends who co-parent across households—all of them form part of the constellation that surrounds our families.

Looking Ahead

Queer people have been growing our families forever and will continue to do so. Even when access to reproductive technology, affirming healthcare, and parental rights are under threat, queer and trans people will continue creating and nurturing the next generation.

When we tell our stories, celebrate each other’s milestones, reach out across time zones and state lines to say “I see you,” we’re doing more than supporting each other—we’re shaping the future of what family means.

Our visibility is not just resistance. It’s love in action.

And as long as we keep finding one another in living rooms, in clinics, in online threads and group chats, we will continue to build families that reflect the best of who we are: intentional, resilient, radiant with care.