Why Resilience Culture is Failing LGBTQ+ People: The Problem with 'Just Be Stronger'
The resilience movement, though well-meaning, fails to recognize the essential needs of LGBTQ+ individuals to thrive in an unaccommodating world.
The world's obsession with resilience has reached a fever pitch.
Everywhere you look, there's another bestselling book, viral TED Talk, or Instagram carousel telling you how to "bounce back," "overcome adversity," and "strengthen your mental fortitude."
This advice might work wonderfully for some, but after almost two decades of working exclusively with the LGBTQ+ community in therapy, I've witnessed firsthand how conventional resilience wisdom not only fails LGBTQ+ individuals but often increases their suffering in ways most practitioners never consider.
Let me explain.
The Resilience Paradox
When I first began practicing as a therapist, I believed in the universal application of resilience principles. I'd recommend the same evidence-based techniques to all my clients, regardless of sexuality or gender identity. Books like "Grit" and "Mindset" sat prominently on my office shelves.
But something wasn't clicking.
I remember one client—let's call him Michael—who followed every resilience protocol to the letter. Gratitude journaling. Meditation. Exercise. Positive self-talk. He did it all consistently.
Yet week after week, he'd return to my office more depleted, more frustrated, and increasingly convinced that his inability to "just get over" his anxiety and depression was a personal failing.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked during one particularly difficult session. "Everyone else seems to manage. Why can't I just be stronger?"
Nothing was wrong with Michael. The problem was with how we understand resilience itself.
The Missing Context of Minority Stress
What mainstream resilience culture consistently overlooks is the foundational reality of minority stress—the chronic, unique, and socially-based stressors that LGBTQ+ individuals experience as a direct result of their stigmatized identities.
When I work with LGBTQ+ individuals across continents—from Ghana to Australia, Canada to the United Kingdom—I consistently observe how resilience advice that ignores this reality creates a dangerous psychological trap.
It's not just unhelpful; it's actively harmful.
Here's why: conventional resilience frameworks are built on the assumption of a level playing field.
They presume that the primary obstacles to well-being are internal rather than structural. They suggest that with enough personal strength, any adversity can be overcome.
But what happens when the source of your stress isn't a temporary setback but a constant environmental assault? What happens when "bouncing back" requires returning to a baseline that was never safe to begin with?
I've worked with over 1,000 queer people throughout my career, and I've seen how this fundamental misalignment creates three harmful outcomes:
It pathologizes natural responses to oppression
It places the burden of change on those being marginalized rather than on unjust systems
It creates a cycle of shame when culturally insensitive resilience strategies inevitably fail
These outcomes create a toxic cycle where LGBTQ+ individuals internalize their struggles as personal failures rather than recognizing them as natural responses to systemic challenges.
When resilience strategies don't work, many blame themselves instead of questioning whether the approach itself is flawed.
The reality is that true resilience for LGBTQ+ people must acknowledge the unique social, cultural, and psychological barriers they face.
It requires a framework that recognizes minority stress as a key factor in mental health outcomes.
The Invisible Depletion of Hypervigilance
Perhaps the most insidious aspect of how resilience culture fails the LGBTQ+ community is its blindness to the neurobiological reality of hypervigilance.
Every single day, lesbians, gay, bi, and trans people make hundreds of micro-calculations that their heterosexual, cisgender counterparts never face:
Is it safe to hold my partner's hand here?
Should I correct this person's assumption about my spouse's gender?
Will wearing this expression of my identity put me at risk in this space?
This constant threat assessment isn't paranoia—it's a rational adaptation to living in a world where safety isn't guaranteed. But it comes at a significant cost.
The sustained cortisol release associated with this vigilance state creates what neuroscientists call "allostatic load"—a physiological wear-and-tear that conventional resilience techniques simply cannot address. You cannot meditate, journal, or positive-think your way out of this neurobiological reality.
What's particularly painful is that many LGBTQ+ people blame themselves for their inability to sustain the ongoing emotional labor this requires.
When resilience messaging tells them they should be able to "push through" or "rise above" with enough grit, it creates a profound disconnect between their lived reality and cultural expectations.
Community Resilience vs. Individual Bootstrapping
The most revealing insight from my cross-cultural therapy practice is that LGBTQ+ resilience has never primarily been an individual achievement—it has always been communal.
For example, the most psychologically healthy gay men I work with aren't those who've mastered personal resilience techniques in isolation. They're the ones embedded in supportive communities that validate their experiences, share the burden of navigating marginalization, and create spaces where hypervigilance can temporarily subside.
This directly contradicts the hyper-individualistic framing of mainstream resilience culture, which often idealizes the "lone hero" overcoming obstacles through sheer force of will.
For LGBTQ+ individuals, this framework isn't just ineffective—it's fundamentally misaligned with how queer resilience actually functions.
The historical record supports this.
From the underground networks that sustained queer communities during the most dangerous periods of the 20th century to the chosen families that provided refuge during the AIDS crisis—LGBTQ+ resilience has always been collective rather than individual.
What Actually Works: Beyond Generic Resilience
After both working with and researching LGBTQ+ individuals across six continents, I've concluded that effective approaches to minority stress and resilience require fundamentally different frameworks than those popularized in mainstream psychology.
The most life-changing shifts happen when we:
Validate the reality of minority stress rather than pathologizing its symptoms
Focus on creating safety rather than building tolerance for unsafe environments
Cultivate connection to affirming communities rather than celebrating solo endurance
Recognize that "just being stronger" within unjust systems perpetuates those very systems
I'm not suggesting that personal resilience has no place in LGBTQ+ mental health—quite the contrary.
But effective approaches must be specifically calibrated to address the unique stressors that queer people face.
The Way Forward
Generic resilience frameworks that ignore the realities of social injustice do more than just fail LGBTQ+ people—they gaslight them, suggesting that their inability to thrive in marginalizing environments is a personal deficiency rather than a rational response to chronic stress.
What's needed isn't more resilience platitudes but specialized approaches that acknowledge both the neurobiological impacts of minority stress and the collective nature of authentic queer resilience.
These days, the clients who truly evolve in my online practice aren't those who learn to "toughen up" or "push through." Instead, they’re the ones who discover that their struggles aren't personal failings but predictable responses to extraordinary circumstances—and who connect with communities that share the burden of navigating those circumstances.
This isn't just about feeling better. It's about fundamentally changing how we understand the psychological well-being of marginalized people.
If you're an LGBTQ+ person who's struggled with conventional resilience advice, know this: the problem isn't you. The problem is applying frameworks that were never designed for your reality.
True growth begins not with pushing yourself harder but with finding spaces and support that truly understand what you're pushing against.
🏳️🌈 Want more? My paid posts hit where it matters. For us, by one of us.
Paid subscribers aren’t just reading — they’re finally feeling understood:
💬 Therapeutic deep dives that cut through the noise — unpacking shame, sabotage, self-worth, and more with queer-informed clarity and care.
🧠 Real client stories drawn from 10,000+ hours in the therapy room — illuminating the inner lives of LGBTQ+ people with honesty and insight.
🛠️ Tools and prompts to help you break stuck patterns in love, work, and self-trust — grounded in real therapy, not self-help fluff.
🧡 Your subscription also helps fund free and low-cost queer mental health resources — so this work reaches those who need it most.
💡 Choose annual. It’s cheaper than one therapy session — and you save 17%. That’s basically two months free.
Disclaimer:
This newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only. It does not replace therapy, diagnose, treat, or prevent any condition. For info here.
Excellent article!
This article couldn't come at a better time. Thank you for sharing your research and for offering valuable insights into your findings with your clients. Information like this will allow LGBTQ+ "lone wolf" identities like myself to start the conversation within our minds about how the issue is systemic and that seeking out community strengthens our sense of self while affirming that they are not alone in these issues.