Alivia Stehlik instructs foreign and US military medical personnel during a joint emergency medicine exercise at Fort Cavazos, Texas, in Karen Sampson. This article first appeared on The War Horse, an award-winning nonprofit news organization educating the public on military service. Subscribe to their newsletter. Twelve years ago, Army 1st Lt. Six-foot-two, with a West Point pedigree, a Ranger tab, ramrod straight posture, and an infectious smile, Stehlik was an ideal instructor.
The generals and the admirals, on the other hand, needed some refreshers. Back then, Stehlik presented as a man. She would transition years later after the military allowed transgender troops to start serving openly. Today, Stehlik, now a major, is waiting for another decision from far above her pay grade about who has the right to serve. Now, Stehlik and thousands of other troops, stationed from Connecticut to Kentucky to California, are bracing to see if Trump orders a new trans ban.
While the waitβand weight of the decisionβmay be agonizing, there is little transgender service members can do to make their case. The lessons carried over from the Old Guard, where everything was drilled to perfection: every footstep in lockstep, every uniform exactly tailored.
Nothing could be out of place. When Stehlik first transitioned in , she worried about standing out. But these days, there are other female Rangers who wear the revered badge, other transgender soldiers in uniform. She has treated thousands of soldiers.
Today, she is the director of holistic health and fitness for the st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell. She lives about an hour south of base in Nashville with her partner and a wildly affectionate dog named Mozzie. She rides her motorcycle, plays keyboard and piano, guitar and bass, and browses bookstores on the weekend. Despite the growing political tension over trans issues, life is normal most of the time. She does not feel much like she stands out anymore; she does not want to talk about standing out.
