Why Our Family Left Iowa — Choosing Safety and Acceptance Over Affordability

My children, now in kindergarten and third grade, finally make dining out pleasant: they rarely spill lemonade, don’t trip servers, and their restlessness has given way to an almost scholarly focus on tic-tac-toe and, astonishingly, the food on their plates.

When this change happened, we lived in Iowa, where affordable, family-friendly restaurants were plentiful. Reaching this stage felt like a hard-won victory for my wife and me. We had endured many failed outings when the kids were younger — a diaper disaster in a tiny bathroom, $12 of macaroni rejected for having the “wrong” color of cheese — so a meal that ended with full bellies and no dishes felt like a rare treat.

After we ate, we always stacked our plates and wiped under the table to signal goodwill on behalf of all parents, asked for a box, and then the bill. Each time, the server would ask the question that became a small ritual:

“Two checks?”

From Everyday Slights To Statewide Policy

There is no single moment that pushed us out of Iowa. Instead, over the six years we lived there we felt increasingly unwelcome as the state's politics shifted. What had been reliably blue in presidential contests for more than two decades (save a razor-thin loss in 2004) turned deeply red in a relatively short span; President Donald Trump won Iowa in 2024 by more than 13 percentage points.

At first the signs were small and private: puzzled looks when we said our children were both ours, polite smiles that quickly cooled, servers who still brought two checks. But the changes ran deeper. Public schools saw funding diverted to private-school vouchers. During the pandemic, schools were prohibited from issuing mask mandates and later from mentioning gay or transgender people in class. Transgender youth faced a trio of restrictions: bans on sports participation, limits on bathroom access, and barriers to gender-affirming health care.

In 2025, Iowa removed gender identity as a protected class from its Civil Rights Act. Soon after, an Iowa Senate resolution urged the U.S. Supreme Court to overturn same-sex marriage, invoking heterosexuality as "the basis of Anglo-American legal tradition." These shifts made everyday life feel less safe — every Lyft driver, dental hygienist, and grocery clerk could feel for me like a potential threat.

Why We Moved

We wanted our children to grow up in a place where their parents were publicly affirmed and where safety wasn’t a matter of luck. So we moved to Illinois, trading a large, affordable house on a street with Trump signs for a smaller home with a mortgage roughly three times larger on a block with pride flags. Our property taxes doubled and public-school fees increased, but not a single neighbor asked whether we were sisters when we arrived with the moving truck. At school, all kids are welcomed without fuss over which bathrooms they use, what sports they play, or how they dress.

Today I use the word "wife" without hesitation, and the word passes without discomfort. When the restaurant check arrives, there is just one, tucked into a vinyl folder that feels like a small trophy.

Privilege, Statistics, And Concern

We are fortunate to have the means to move. Many are not. A GLAAD report (2025) found that most LGBTQ adults in the United States expect violence, threats, and discrimination to increase in the coming year. The Trevor Project reported that 39% of LGBTQ young people and their families have considered relocating to friendlier states, though only about 5% have actually moved — affordability is a major barrier. The ACLU is currently tracking about 30 anti-LGBTQ bills in Iowa, including measures related to book bans, drag-show restrictions, and limits on diversity, equity, and inclusion programs.

Leaving was the right choice for our family, but I grieve for those who cannot move — especially LGBTQ youth who deserve to grow up in communities that protect and affirm them.

We moved for safety and dignity. That should not be a luxury.