July 01, 2026 | Michail Takach

Rachel Maes: leading Green Bay with courage and conviction

Despite a lifetime of heroic achievements, she never expected to be anyone's hero.

Rachel Maes never set out to become anyone’s hero.

She never anticipated becoming a community leader, a legislator, or a changemaker.

She never imagined that one day, she would be one of northeastern Wisconsin’s most visible champions for transgender voice, visibility, and engagement. Yet her life — shaped by perseverance, public service, and a profound commitment to honesty — has become exactly that.

Today, as a recipient of the 2026 BeSeen Award, Maes stands as one of the region’s most compelling examples of what it means to lead with courage, clarity, and compassion.

Her story begins in Milwaukee, winds through Green Bay, Madison, Minneapolis, Superior, and back again, tracing a path defined by a relentless pursuit of purpose. It is a story about the revolution that happens when a person decides to live fully, openly, and without apology.

A childhood of overachievement

Born in Milwaukee and raised in Green Bay, Maes grew up with a drive that seemed almost gravitational. She excelled academically, athletically, and socially — captain of the football team, rugby player, National Honor Society member, mock trial competitor, and a student who graduated high school with 29 college credits already earned. She was, by her own admission, a serial overachiever, someone who chased the American dream almost obsessively.

At the University of Wisconsin–Madison, she graduated in the top 10% of her class and double-majored in political science and Russian, imagining a future in intelligence work.

“I wanted to be a spy,” she laughs, “but that wasn’t exactly compatible with the family we were building.”

She married early, started law school in Minnesota, and welcomed three children into her life. By her early thirties, she had achieved nearly every traditional marker of success: education, marriage, career, homeownership, stability.

But, beneath the surface, her greatest challenge was becoming louder and louder.

Living under a silent weight

Maes describes her early experiences with gender dysphoria not as dramatic ruptures but as small, accumulating truths — “emotional pebbles,” she calls them. Each day she lived as someone she wasn’t, another pebble dropped into her pocket.

Over time, the weight became crushing.

Growing up in the 1990s and early 2000s, she lacked the vocabulary to explain what she felt. She knew she was different, but cultural conversations centered exclusively on sexual orientation. Gender identity — especially transgender identity — was rarely discussed, barely understood, and unsupported with essential resources.

Moments of expression erupted: dressing as Minnie Mouse for Halloween in seventh grade, cross-dressing with friends at the Rocky Horror Picture Show, experimenting with feminine presentation on a trip to Las Vegas. These glimpses were always framed as jokes, exceptions, or costumes — the only socially acceptable way to explore a truth she could not yet name.

As she moved through college, law school, and early adulthood, her internal sense of self continued to evolve. And her need to live her truth just kept getting louder.

“Eventually it felt like every day I wasn’t addressing my gender identity was another pebble in my pocket,” she says. “And after decades, the weight was just crushing.”

The turning point came in March 2019, at age 34, when she realized she could no longer deny who she was. She began hormone therapy that May. She started coming out to friends and family.

And she confronted the most difficult question of all: Would living authentically cost her everything she had built?

Transitioning meant confronting the possibility of losing her marriage, her job, her community, her privilege, and her sense of stability. It meant risking rejection from people she loved. It meant stepping into a world where transgender visibility was increasingly politicized, weaponized, and even criminalized.

Her marriage ended, as her ex-wife could not continue a romantic relationship with a woman. The divorce was amicable, grounded in shared respect and a shared commitment to co-parenting.

Her parents and siblings stood by her. Her mother, a retired pediatrician familiar with gender-affirming care, offered support. Her sister, who had founded a GSA in rural Illinois, understood the stakes.

Rachel’s coming out process was surprisingly simple. First, she updated her Facebook name and profile photo, Then, she posted a message stating “no, my account has not been hacked – this is me.” She let the announcement sit for 24 hours before reviewing or responding.

The response was overwhelmingly positive. Friends from every chapter of her life — grade school, college, early legal career — reached out with support.

“I had feared villagers with pitchforks,” she says. “Instead, I was met with compassion.”

Her children adapted with remarkable ease. Her oldest struggled – for a moment -- when he first saw her wearing makeup. “This is different,” he said. Rachel helped him connect the experience to his own joy in expressing himself by wearing streaks of red, spray-in color in his hair to school. “That’s how I feel when I wear makeup,” she explained. The lightbulb went on. From that moment, he understood.

Her youngest, born in 2019, has only ever known her as Mommy.

Life without limits

Transitioning unlocked something profound in Maes: the confidence to step fully into public life.

“Once I gave myself permission to live,” she says, “I could be fully present — not just for my kids, but for my community.”

She joined the boards of NeighborWorks Green Bay and the YWCA. She became a founding member of the Bay Area Council on Gender Diversity. She helped establish the Baird Creek Parkway Neighborhood Association. She served on the State Bar of Wisconsin’s Board of Governors. She ran for circuit court judge in 2021 and county board supervisor in 2022 — not because she expected to win, but because she saw unmet needs, and felt compelled to advocate for meaningful change.

Running for office as a newly out transgender woman was certainly not easy.

“I had family members who didn’t recognize my name,” she said. Yet the campaigns gave her a platform to elevate issues of equity, accessibility, and community investment.

Her most visible act of civic leadership came in 2025, when the local school district abruptly required all middle and high school students to use clear backpacks after a weapons incident three weeks into the school year. Families had already purchased backpacks for the year; many could not afford replacements. Maes and her wife stepped in, raising $1,948 in order to donate 192 backpacks and over $700 to the school district to ensure no student was left behind.

“When people see you showing up and doing the work,” she says, “they trust you. They know it’s not lip service. They see action. They see change. They know you mean business.”

That trust helped propel her to elected office in the spring of 2024.

The power of being seen

Maes’s approach to visibility is intentional. She still keeps her social media accessible to the public, because she knows the importance of a trusted lifeline.

“If someone is in a dark place emotionally, I want them to be able to find me,” she says.

Her willingness to be visible — to be a public-facing transgender leader in a region where such visibility is still growing — has made her a resource for anyone seeking clarity, courage, or connection.

She speaks passionately with parents, teachers, neighbors, and community members who are navigating questions about gender identity. She understands that not every transgender person feels obligated to educate others, and she respects that boundary. But she chooses to step forward.

“I appreciate people who want to understand,” she says. “It tells me that they recognize their need for knowledge. It’s an honest effort to do better for the transgender people in their life. And I don’t shy away from opportunities to help.”

What makes Maes a trailblazer is not simply that she is transgender. It is that she has woven her identity into a broader tapestry of civic engagement, community-building, and public service. Her leadership is not performative; it is practical, grounded, and deeply relational.

She is a model of what civic leadership looks like when rooted in authenticity:

She leads by example, showing up for neighbors in moments of crisis.
She builds new institutions, not just joining existing ones.
She advocates for equity, both professionally and personally.
She embraces visibility, not for herself, but for those who need to see someone like her thriving.
She demonstrates resilience, navigating personal transformation while continuing to serve her community.

Pause for applause

The BeSeen Award honors LGBTQ-identified individuals who have elevated community voice, visibility, and engagement — people who make their communities safer, more informed, and more compassionate. Her story is not one of perfection, but of perseverance. Not one of comfort and convenience, but of courage and conviction. Not one of profit and gain, but passion and grit. Not building a personal brand, but achieving her personal best to build a better world.

Today, Maes continues her work as a municipal prosecutor, community organizer, board president, advocate, and mother. She is remarried, grounded, and thriving. She knows the joy of being loved and supported by her wife for all of the ways she is authentically Rachel. She shows up -- for her kids, her neighbors, her colleagues, and the countless people who reach out seeking guidance, solidarity, or simply hope – and she just keeps on showing up.

Her life is a testament to the power of choosing authenticity over fear, service over silence, and courage over conformity. Thank you, Rachel, for taking a stand to be seen!