After 17 years of service and combat deployments, Major Kara Corcoran stood ready to graduate from a prestigious military leadership programme until a Pentagon directive forced her to cut her hair and wear male uniform, erasing years of transition and identity. Her experience captures the personal cost of a renewed ban on transgender military personnel, reinstated under President Donald Trump in 2025, which now threatens the careers and livelihoods of thousands.
On the eve of a hard-earned graduation from one of the US military’s most elite leadership programmes, Major Kara Corcoran, 39, faced an unexpected order: to conform to male grooming standards. That meant cutting the long blonde hair she had grown since beginning her transition in 2018 and donning a male uniform despite living and serving as a woman for years.
“Nothing about me is a man,” she said hours before the ceremony. “It’s not my choice to cut my hair. I’m doing it because I have to.”
The directive came as part of a sweeping new policy under President Donald Trump’s administration, which once again bans nearly all transgender individuals from serving in the US military. Signed into effect in January 2025, the policy marks a stark reversal from the Biden-era protections and removes nearly all exceptions, now mandating separation proceedings for personnel diagnosed with or exhibiting.
The Pentagon argues that such conditions are “incompatible with the high mental and physical standards” of military service. An executive order called transgender identity “radical gender ideology” and claimed that “a man’s assertion that he is a woman, is not consistent with the humility and selflessness required of a service member.”
Official estimates place the number of transgender service members around 4,200, though advocacy groups say it may be closer to 10,000. Many, like Corcoran, now face involuntary separation, a forced discharge that could strip them of pay, benefits, pensions, and housing.
Corcoran, who has served in Afghanistan as a platoon leader and company commander before transitioning, said her identity has strengthened her ability to lead. “It’s made me more focused, more resilient,” she said. “There’s a misconception that transitioning is a liability, it’s been the opposite.”
Despite the risk, she refuses to leave voluntarily. “I’m not going to get voluntarily separated. I’ll go through whatever they put me through.”
Another Career Cut Short-Lt. Rae Timberlake, a non-binary Navy officer who served aboard the USS Nimitz and in the Middle East, also finds themselves caught in the fallout. After Trump’s election victory in 2024, Rae requested a transfer to be closer to family in anticipation of likely dismissal.
They relocated across the country with their wife and child, seeking emotional support before the ban was formalised. “It felt like the safest move,” Rae said. “We’ve been in survival mode.”
Rae has since applied for early retirement effectively a voluntary separation which, while giving them some control, will likely mean losing out on a full military pension estimated at $2.5 million over a lifetime.
Their wife, Lindsay, says the family has been emotionally and financially strained. “Watching Rae lose their career it’s painful.”
Supporters of the ban, such as former Navy SEAL turned conservative commentator Carl Higbie, argue that gender dysphoria requires treatment that can interfere with deployability. “You can’t be on hormone therapy and serve effectively in combat,” he claims.
But critics point to hypocrisy. “Biological women on hormone-based medications aren’t disqualified,” one former officer noted. “This isn’t about readiness. It’s about politics.”
The ban aligns with broader efforts by Trump-appointed Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth to dismantle diversity and inclusion programs in the armed forces. Hegseth has publicly dismissed initiatives like the Women, Peace and Security program as distractions from “war-fighting.”
Multiple lawsuits are challenging the ban’s constitutionality, and a federal judge temporarily blocked it earlier this year. But in April, the Supreme Court lifted the injunction, allowing the policy to proceed while legal battles continue.
The Department of Defense has said affected service members will be treated with “dignity and respect,” and that involuntary discharges will generally be “honourable,” unless a service record suggests otherwise.
Still, for Kara Corcoran, dignity feels distant. She now lives out of a modified vehicle in case she’s ordered off base. “At least I have somewhere to live,” she says. “A shower, a bed, a power bank it’s enough.”
Corcoran graduated with distinction from her programme. But she did so under male regulations, her hair gone, her identity visibly denied. “It meant a lot,” she said, “but how I had to do it felt like erasing who I am.”
As the July 6 deadline for active-duty separations approaches, many like Corcoran and Timberlake are waiting in painful limbo.
“This isn’t about poor performance,” Corcoran said. “It’s about people who’ve dedicated their lives to service, now being told they’re not fit because of who they are.”
Erizia Rubyjeana
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