He was sixteen when the boys at school figured out he was gay. They found out through proximity and noticing certain patterns. For about eight months after that, he ate lunch alone. He got good at being on his own, so much so that twenty years later he’s arranged his life around the behavior.
At twenty-five, he lived in a lovely apartment, enjoyed a job he genuinely loved, and claimed his weekends to himself. He’d say he preferred being on his own and the freedom it provided.
He hadn’t made a close friend in ten years. He avoided going to gay social spaces almost entirely. When asked why, he gave several reasonable answers: the gay scene felt hierarchical, he met someone for coffee, and afterward the man didn’t reply to his follow-up message; he felt betrayed by someone whom he let in.
His answers were real, but they were keeping him from the possibility of changing how he felt.
What took him longer to see was that, at an early age, he’d learned what happened when he let people see the real him. He had learned to create distance between himself and others before they could confirm what he half-believed about them, and himself.
The solitude was his answer to avoiding situations that once ended in pain.
Someone once told me that “friendship requires tolerance for uncertainty.” I remember thinking about this for quite some time. Then I got it.
Whenever we meet someone, let alone when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and let someone in, we open ourselves up to all the unkind experiences of the past. Asking this of someone who has experienced deception, bullying, teasing, lies, and ultimately pain is a lot.
For gay men, and queer men in particular, that early experience often includes learning that disclosure and safety come with risk, and over time, with each new bad experience being stored as “muscle memory”.
These men enter adulthood having already mastered how they present themselves to others, hyper-alert to threat, all to avoid the challenges they learned early on. Unless they examine these difficulties, their view of the world remains unchanged.
Research has made an important connection between happiness and social connection. They also show a strong correlation between chronic social isolation and worse health outcomes. These studies aren’t specific to one part of the world but rather across populations.
What the literature sometimes misses is how adapting to social isolation can lead to a preference for disconnection being disguised as a preference. A man who is disconnected and the man who prefers a quiet life often come across as the same person. Ask how they are, and they’ll likely give you the same answer.
Some people genuinely have low needs for social contact, are satisfied with a small circle, and feel fulfilled with limited socializing. That is real. The problem is when the person has adopted these traits under threat.
Gay men who fit into the latter explanation rarely put up their hand to unpack what may be going on because doing so would mean they would have to face their past, the source of their preference.
For some gay men, socializing is exhausting. Were you to see them at a gay social space, you’d think they were confident and enjoying themselves. Except for these men, leaving the space feels the same as when they first arrived.
They explain this as not having anything in common with most gay men they meet. The gay scene feels exhausting. Superficial conversations, arbitrary exchanges that lack the depth they seek. While this could be because they haven’t met the right community, it’s an observation shared by many gay men. So instead of exhausting themselves, they prefer to stay away. The result is fewer disappointments.
This is complicated because they’re not entirely wrong. Many gay social spaces can feel hierarchical in ways that mirror the conditional acceptance these men experienced growing up. Desirability in gay social spaces is often similar to desirability in gay dating spaces — particular age ranges, body types, levels of confidence, and how you look.
For men who have spent years protecting themselves from rejection, social circles can bring up old memories of them being judged or excluded. So although being a part of a gay community promises understanding and belonging, when it repeats the familiar patterns of status and exclusion, the disappointment hurts more.
Betrayal is one of the most hurtful experiences that prompts some men to keep their distance. Many of these men describe themselves as having high standards and being selective. Understandably, trust isn’t handed over easily.
Everyone goes through an unspoken analysis, carefully calibrated against standards. The time this social curation takes is less painful than the risk of that deep, painful stab in the chest that makes them retract immediately, like a snail contracting into its shell when touched or threatened.
These patterns may seem strange from the outside, but they make complete sense when taking context and history into account. Whether it’s spending years alone at lunch, exhaustion from all things superficial, or betrayal that surfaces primal pain, social isolation has its roots firmly in a need to feel safe.
Gay community dynamics could, in theory, help men who have experienced negative social interactions in the past. Being recognized by others who share similar histories and survival skills can make some people feel less alone and more connected. There can even be a sense of belonging and mirrored identity that can repair previous exclusion.
However, many gay social spaces are another example of conditional belonging that men experienced in their adolescence. Desirability in gay community spaces is often similar to desirability in gay dating spaces. Men who don’t fit a particular age range, body configuration, or level of confidence relive the lack of belonging they learned to live with in the past.
This can create difficulty for men who could most benefit from being a part of a gay community. The ones who have the deepest scars and view the world with caution. Men who could benefit from being welcomed by others who might also benefit from the contact.
Some gay spaces are welcoming and do make men feel understood. But finding a way in can still be hard for men with painful histories. Telling them to “join the community” can leave them feeling they’ve failed at one more thing, without recognizing why it’s difficult.
What tends to work is less about social isolation and more about gradual reintegration into social spaces. It’s a slow, steady introduction into places that feel like an extension of their personalities and interests.
Working from a coffee shop instead of from home. Going to the bookshop to find their next read instead of Amazon and a Kindle enabling hibernation. Having lunch out — alone or with a partner or friend — instead of ordering Uber Eats all the time. Joining the gym instead of exercising in the living room being coached by Apple Fitness+.
These small behavioral changes, while courageous and sometimes difficult, build social capital by association. For some, that may be the extent of being part of a social economy; for others, it enables the odd smile, the greeting of familiar faces, and perhaps the start of one of many conversations.
The man who ate lunch alone at sixteen was me, and I learned exactly what I needed to learn to survive that period.
Thirty years later, I still take time to invite someone in fully, and I consciously make decisions that produce the outcomes I once rejected but needed: healthy, safe relationships that are mutually rewarding and life-expanding.
I can’t tell someone who prefers isolation whether connection to others is worth it. For some men, the life they’ve built, preferring to be alone, works for them, and it’s a legitimate choice. For others, myself included, the safety of isolation starts to feel like a different kind of cost.
The challenge isn’t deciding whether you need people or a more active social life. It’s in recognizing whether the life you live is one you’ve chosen, or if it’s one chosen for you decades ago by a sixteen-year-old doing the best he could with what he knew.
If this landed, I’d like to know which part. Reply to this email and tell me.
Until next time,
Gino x
Gino Cosme is a gay therapist with over a decade of clinical work with gay men. Unfiltered Clarity is about naming the patterns gay men live and rarely name.
All examples in this piece are composites drawn from patterns observed across therapeutic work with gay men. Details have been altered to protect confidentiality. No single story represents an individual person.
This newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only. It does not replace therapy, diagnosis, treatment, or prevention of any condition.
Now, Gino.....if you're going to hide under my bed and write so accurately and concisely about every aspect of my life, we really have to talk about this and come to some sort of agreement.
I mean, really now.
(Sigh. Easier for me to joke about this than to talk about my red eyes and wet cheeks after reading this.)
Signed,
The guy who desperately wants to socialize, but stays in my safe cocoon
A mentor of mine once told me that if I wanted to have relationships with people, I needed to do four things:
1. Show up.
2. Be on time.
3. Pay attention.
4. Don't be tied to the outcome.
I've been sharing this with my clients for years, and #4 is still the most challenging, for them and for me. Learning how to form and have relationships really has been a lifelong marathon-- but I'm finding the payoff to be well worth it as i age.