LGBTIQ+ Loneliness and Mental Health

Check out the graphics for this article, created by ARC (allied rainbow communities)

Human beings are social creatures. We strive for connection. It’s signalling from the base parts of our brain that still recalls our early ancestors, where being part of the pack meant survival and being ousted meant death. It is innate, our search for connection, to relate who we are to the world and find our community, our place within it. But finding our place isn’t always so easy; it can even seem almost unattainable at times. 

Loneliness can be described as a universal human experience, but for LGBTIQ+ people loneliness has an added edge. For those who don’t fit within the cis-het binary, we face an extra complexity of trying to connect within a world that is still learning to accept what it perceives as ‘different’. Our loneliness is layered with systemic and social challenges; whether at school, within our families, our religious spaces, our political spheres, LGBTIQ+ people can often struggle to fit into a setting that rarely considers and too often villainises our identities. Over and over the message is clear: ‘who you are is not accepted, not respected, and has no place within our society’. So we learn early on how to hide parts of ourselves to fit into the status quo, how to conform so that we can be accepted, as a means of survival, of safety. Somewhere along the way, we realise there is no place at the table for us that we don’t carve for ourselves. 

That can feel like a lonely and heavy load to carry. Internalized homo/transphobia, dysphoria and dismorphia, depression, anxiety, self-harm behaviour and even suicidal thoughts can emerge when carrying this load every day. In fact, studies have highlighted that LGBTIQ+ people report higher rates of mental health challenges than cis-het folks. That risk is even higher for trans and non-binary/gender diverse individuals. It’s not to say that LGBTIQ+ persons are inherently predisposed to mental health challenges– rather, it is the direct consequence of navigating a world that demands we minimize our existence just to belong. As queer people constantly calculating the safety of our environments—evaluating whether holding a partner's hand, using a public restroom, or simply speaking authentically will trigger hostility— the nervous system remains trapped in a perpetual state of hypervigilance. The toll of constantly being in survival mode fundamentally erodes a person’s capacity to form spontaneous, relaxed human connections, even within welcoming environments. 

That is why community advocacy is so relevant to LGBTIQ+ people. We aim to create a space where the body can reset, the nervous system calms, and trust in the safety of others can grow. It is within these spaces that we can walk up to a table built for us and be welcomed for who we are. Where the only prerequisite is respect. Within queer-affirming spaces, we can put down our armour and be ourselves. As an activist, I come across people of all ages who have lived their life behind a mask they needed to wear in order to survive. People who have had to make themselves small. People who yearn for connection yet struggle to walk through the door. But once they do, they find their family, their community, and genuine relationships can be formed without the masks we all wear to belong within our society. 

But unfortunately, even in queer spaces, division between LGB and trans/non-binary identities can further perpetuate this sense of loneliness and exacerbate mental health challenges. When someone feels excluded even within our queer community, the walls grow ever higher and it can feel like the ultimate betrayal to be ousted by the very community that is supposed to offer sanctuary. But even further, that internal fragmentation within our community severs vital lifelines of psychological support queer people rely on to thrive. 

Loneliness is something that touches all of us. Whether we yearn for intimate partnership, stronger family ties, more genuine friendships, the underlying need is the same– to be seen, known, and valued in our totality. To know we aren’t alone in this world. That is why we need to encourage affirming, welcoming, and safe spaces where people have the opportunity to be themselves, to be seen and supported, and stand by each other as queer family. Otherwise, we feed the monster, the ones outside of ourselves that scream we don’t belong and the ones inside of us telling us they are right. Because we do belong at a table our community throughout history has carved for us. 

So, come take a seat. You are welcome here.