The Double Closet: Hiding Mental Health Struggles in the LGBTQ+ Community
What happens when you have to perform pride while falling apart
The pride flag on my desk made me lie harder.
Not because I distrusted her—quite the opposite. She was one of us. And that flag, that symbol of safety, only reminded me of the pressure to be okay. To be strong. To not fall apart in front of someone who knew just how much the world already thought we were broken.”
"How are you doing?" she asked, settling into her chair with the practiced ease of someone who'd heard every variation of queer pain.
"Fine," I said, the word sharp as glass in my throat. "Just tired from all the advocacy work."
She nodded, waiting. The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything I wasn't saying: that I hadn't slept properly in weeks. That the mere thought of another Pride planning meeting made my chest constrict. That I'd started avoiding my own reflection because I couldn't stand seeing the exhaustion I was desperately trying to hide from everyone else.
Twenty minutes into our session, I finally cracked. "I can't be depressed," I whispered. "Not when they're literally trying to erase us. Not when kids are counting on us to show them it gets better. How can I tell them it gets better when brushing my teeth feels like a marathon?"