October 01, 2025 | Michail Takach

Kathy Flores: from preacher's daughter to passionate changemaker

For decades, Kathy has been a voice for the voiceless, including abuse survivors, migrants, and the trans community.

Photo by Samantha Waldron for Our Lives Magazine

"It’s time for those with more privilege to step aside and empower brown, black, trans, and queer leaders."

Born in Montana, Kathy Flores grew up in Texas, California, and Michigan. Her father, an independent fundamental Baptist preacher with a military background, didn’t just lead her church, but also served as principal at her parochial school. Her mother, a Mexican woman, refused to teach her Spanish as she wanted her to ‘pass’ more as white and speak without an accent.

As a result, she grew up in a surprisingly strict – and surprisingly conservative – family environment.

“Our church thought all the other Baptists were too liberal,” said Kathy. “That included the Southern Baptists, if you can even believe it.”

The church thought Kathy was very “of the world,” but she describes her childhood as rebellious. She was a typical preacher’s daughter – just clamoring to get out and experience the world beyond.

Kathy learned about racism at a young age. She watched her mother face ridicule, discrimination and stigma, and heard her father make racial slurs and jokes knowing full well he was talking about his wife and child. Growing up in southern California, Kathy saw firsthand how Mexican migrants were treated.

“I had the privilege of white-passing skin and English as my first language,” said Kathy, “but I am Mexican, and I am white. I have been called ‘chingona’ many times from Spanish-speaking friends, which means ‘bad ass woman.’”

Kathy and her family

Kathy Flores

Kathy Flores

Kathy Flores

Growing up, her only points of gay reference were Liberace and Paul Lynde on Hollywood Squares – and the negative comments that their flamboyance would inspire. There were no positive LGBTQ role models in her family, community, or circle of friends -- not for a long time.

“I had the hots for Jodie Foster and Kristy McNichol without even knowing it,” said Kathy. “I wanted Josie and the Pussycats to be my girlfriends. I didn’t understand what any of it meant. I didn’t even know what a lesbian was. I just really, really liked these people on TV. Those are my earliest memories of seeing people who were ‘like me’ in the world.”

Kathy’s very first kiss was at age 11 – with another girl. She carried tremendous shame for that moment, which sent her into revival tents begging for forgiveness for her “sins.”

“I never told my mother what I was crying about at the altar,” said Kathy. “I lied to her, saying it was guilt about a time my friend and I got lost, and they had to send the police to find us. But it wasn’t because we’d gotten lost. It was because I’d kissed my friend.”

“I believed I was going to hell. And I suppressed my feelings for a very, very long time afterwards. My family never really discussed sex. We never discussed birth control. And we certainly never discussed same-sex attraction.”

After becoming pregnant with her first child at 17, Kathy married into an abusive relationship. She moved to Appleton, Wisconsin in 1986, now her home for nearly forty years. After her divorce, she married and divorced again.

“I learned how to be a survivor at a young age,” said Kathy, “and I knew what it felt like to have an uncertain future.”

Kathy’s Baptist upbringing was still haunting her – and the AIDS crisis felt like a prophecy come true.

“I struggled, I really did, to overcome the brainwashing,” said Kathy. “Especially since my father once said, ‘I don’t care what you do with your life, but if you ever tell me you’re gay, I will have to disown you, because it’s the only sin that God calls an abomination.”

“Of course, I later learned that men translated the Bible to suit their own purposes,” said Kathy, “and for centuries, that translation was used to justify mistreatment of LGBTQ people.”

“In the 1980s, the Moral Majority and the religious right were using atrocious, self-righteous language to justify AIDS. They wanted everyone to believe that all gay people were diseased or dying – and worse yet, that this is what they brought upon themselves. They didn’t care that people were dying – in fact, they seemed to prefer us dead.”

“I was very, very conflicted,” said Kathy, “trying to reconcile my upbringing, my faith, my identity, and my future, in this increasingly volatile world – while raising my children at the same time.”

She still remembers attending her first Melissa Etheridge concert – and the impact it had on her.

Kathy and her children

Kathy and her children

“Like every other baby gay, I fell in love immediately,” she said. “I even told my boyfriend about it. ‘The way she strums that guitar… it’s like she’s strumming a woman,’ I said. He raised his eyebrows real high, asking ‘how would you know what that looks like?’”

“She just thrilled me so much. I even dreamed about her hands that night. Just her, strumming that guitar. And I wondered, am I gay? I already knew I was. I’d already started watching the Spice Channel. I was already exploring – and trying to find out who I was.”

When her third husband proposed, she finally said the words out loud.

“I don’t know that I should get married. I think I’m a lesbian.”

Her husband-to-be asked her if she’d ever had relations with a woman. Since she had not, he told her that she couldn’t possibly be a lesbian. And so, she married a third time.

“That’s how naïve I was at that time,” she said. “I was living my life as a straight ally. I was supporting diversity and inclusion efforts at my workplace (Kimberly Clark Corporation.) I was always at gay pride events. I could lead a gay pride parade if I needed to. I was the PFLAG mom, even though my children were too young to express their identities. And yet, I was still struggling myself: silently, painfully, internally.”

Kathy and her husband went to a therapist, who speculated that she wasn’t really a lesbian, just aroused by “taboo” activities.

“They actually recommended that we watch lesbian pornography together,” said Kathy. “This is almost comical to say out loud! After trying that once, my husband said, ‘I think she wants me to put on a wig and call me Rachel!’”

Kathy exited the marriage soon afterwards. She credits KD Lang for helping her find herself.

“She sang about constant cravings, desires, secrets… she spoke to me,” said Kathy. “I was already a mom with three little ones. Even after my divorce, I was still a mother first. I may have been single, but I didn’t have the freedoms of a single woman.”

“I finally went to a gay bar in the 1990s, and I was terrified that someone would hit on me. And that’s funny, because when I left, I was hurt that no one hit on me!”

While working for Harbor House, Kathy met her current spouse, Zephyr, who was volunteering there. At the time, Zephyr did not identify as they do now, so this was considered a same-sex relationship for them both. They’ve now been together over 20 years, as partners, spouses, parents, and grandparents.

“It sounds like a 1990s lesbian rom com,” said Kathy, “to think that we met in a domestic violence shelter!”

Later, the couple was part of a pivotal Wisconsin Supreme Court lawsuit that led to domestic partner protections.

“We didn’t start with marriage equality in Wisconsin,” said Kathy. “We started with simple human accommodations, like visitation rights and end of life decision-making, and sometimes we have to remind people of that.”

“Our experience began when I was receiving cancer care at a Catholic hospital in Appleton. The staff denied Zephyr access to visit me, calling them my ‘friend,’ and not honoring our requests."

"We were part of a 2009 Fair Wisconsin lawsuit against Juliane Appling, president of Wisconsin Family Action, who sought to have the state’s domestic partnership registry declared unconstitutional. Five years later, we won the freedom to marry in Wisconsin, and that was progress.”

Today, Kathy proudly identifies as queer, while recognizing that there are still people uncomfortable with the word.

“I came out as bi, and then I said I was a lesbian, but I eventually recognized that I am attracted to pretty much anyone but cisgender men,” said Kathy. “If I was dating trans women, trans men, or non-binary people, that’s not strictly a lesbian relationship.”

“I will say that both my partner (who is a trans guy) and I will always deep down identify with lesbians. For Z, it was those ‘90s riot grrrls and lesbians who raised them up. There’s a part of me that identifies as a lesbian, too. I most often say that I’m queer. But I am also trans family. The person I chose to love and marry is a trans person. So, queer I am.”

Working at Harbor House was the foundation of Kathy’s next career. She remembers running into pushback in a community that wasn’t always open to radical change.

Her response? Kicking down the doors and making change happen.

“I was a preacher’s kid, so I knew how to preach, and now I was preaching a different message,” said Kathy. “While working in domestic violence work, I was like, where are the gay men? Where are the trans people? Where are the lesbians? Why is the shelter full of women married to straight men? We know that domestic violence exists in the queer community. We know that violence does not discriminate. So, why is no one supporting the victims?”

Kathy found a new path: she would create spaces where LGBTQ victims of domestic and sexual violence could find supportive, affirming, and culturally competent support.

“We were the first domestic abuse shelter in Wisconsin to establish a trans-inclusive policy,” said Kathy, “There was a time when trans women were not allowed into any shelters. But our next challenge was, what about the men? How do they find shelter, services, navigators? How do we keep them safe and focused, so they don’t just return to their abusive partners?”

Over the years, Kathy built a statewide network of professionals devoted to solving that problem. In 2016, when she joined Diverse & Resilient, there were only three Wisconsin shelters that allowed men.

When she left the organization a few years later, every single shelter in Wisconsin had to accept men, as Kathy and her colleagues successfully convinced federal grantmaking agencies to require gender-inclusive policies.

“If they denied genders other than women, they would be denied funding,” said Kathy.

“The shelters had to rebuild their programming to be all-inclusive, not simply female-focused. And when we started seeing men in the shelters, we learned that it wasn’t the men who were the issue. Sometimes it was the women."

Zephyr and Kathy

Kathy and Zephyr

Zephyr and Kathy's wedding day

Photo by Samantha Waldron for Our Lives Magazine

"We had a few stories of a woman acting aggressive towards the men: hitting on them, taking them under their wings, trying to ‘initiate’ them. So, we had to create new programs, to teach women how to respect men in survivor spaces, while protecting the privacy and integrity of the men.”

Kathy is proud of Wisconsin’s progress in expanding domestic abuse shelter access to the trans community. (She notes, however, that homeless shelters are not always safe for trans people.)

In 2009, she joined the City of Appleton as a diversity and inclusion coordinator. She’s especially proud of her work for the city, especially challenging outdated fair housing and dress code laws.

For someone hired to “challenge the status quo,” Kathy soon found herself challenged by a City Council who felt her agenda was “too gay.”

“They tried to remove me from my position three times!” she laughed. “I too loud and outspoken.”

In 2013, Appleton became the third city in Wisconsin to guarantee anti-discrimination protections for trans residents in housing, employment and public accommodation. This is the work that feels like her legacy because it is her proudest accomplishment while in office.

“Milwaukee and Madison were the only cities with trans-inclusive ordinances, so having a city in northeastern Wisconsin as the third was huge. But over a decade later, we still live in a state where you can be fired just for being transgender, evicted for being transgender, denied the human right to a bathroom for being transgender… we should have seen the whole state adopt these provisions by now. Here we are, still fighting about whether trans people are people, and whether they deserve the same rights.”

Kathy left her city position in 2016 to work for Diverse & Resilient, where she later founded an Appleton extension office and A Room to Be Safe, a groundbreaking anti-violence center for LGBTQ residents. She counts her seven years with Diverse & Resilient as some of the finest work of her career.

Kathy has survived multiple health issues including a brain aneurysm, cancer, multiple sclerosis and other diagnoses that have complicated her disability. These combined factors sadly ended her career at the age of 56.

After retiring from Diverse & Resilient, Kathy remains deeply connected and heavily invested in the community. In 2024, she was recognized as a USA Today Woman of the Year for her impact on LGBTQ quality of life in northeastern Wisconsin.

Kathy admits it’s hard not to feel like the world has regressed. With marriage equality, workplace rights, and trans-inclusive healthcare at high risk, it can often feel like the world is on fire.

After working so hard for immigrant rights, she’s especially concerned about the targeting of queer and trans immigrants.

“The government is coming down hard on immigrants, many of whom fled their countries to escape homophobic or transphobic persecution,” said Kathy.

“If they get sent back, it’s a death sentence, and nobody even considers that. This concerns me greatly.”

“Martin Luther King Jr. always said, ‘the arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice,’ but I’m starting to worry that we’re not bending towards justice anymore.”

Still, Kathy has hope for the next generation, adding, “it’s time for those with more privilege to step aside and empower Brown, Black, trans, and queer leaders to be fully supported in rising to this moment. They don’t always need us on the microphone talking about their needs. They need us to pass the mic to them.”