I had spent eighteen months steeped in grief for my son. I was no longer inching my way toward madness or suicide. The carefully constructed walls of my heterosexual life were beginning to crumble, and coming out was an act of survival—my soul’s howl to finally be honest about my sexuality.
Coming out, I thought, was supposed to be like being converted in the Christian church I had left years before. That moment when you “see the light.” Instead of claiming Christ, you claim your sexuality, the ‘hallelujah’ moment when you are no longer deluded about who you are and can finally accept the truth about your sexuality with the joyous intensity of a conversational experience. Besides, I had years to make up.
Those two years reflected the grief we experience as straight men and queer men.
I grieved for my son as a straight man, with all the societal recognition afforded to a straight man whose child has died. I mourned the loss of my marriage, the loss of a previous identity I had lived with for half a century, and I grieved the micro-losses I encountered while becoming comfortable with who I am as a gay man.
Grieving as a gay man often felt like walking through a world that acknowledged my pain but did not know how to articulate it, and frequently chose to overlook it altogether.
For many queer men, grief is not solely about death. It encompasses silence, erasure, and exclusion. It is the ache of losing someone you were never permitted to name aloud. It is the mourning of a self you had to bury to survive.
I grieved the years spent in hiding, the friendships lost when I came out, and the man I might have been if the world had welcomed me with openness instead of doctrine and shame. This grief did not come with rituals: no casseroles, no condolences. It just lingered—quiet, invisible, and heavy. I found myself mourning what had happened and everything that hadn’t.
For many GBTIQ+ men, the experience of loss encompasses layers that remain hidden beneath the surface. When grieving as a gay man, feelings of isolation and unacknowledged sorrow can intensify the natural process of mourning. Societal expectations and a lack of validation for queer relationships add weight to every emotional moment, making the journey through grief even more complex and challenging.
“How does one heal when their grief goes unrecognised?”
This article explores the complex nature of grief among queer men, encompassing the unspoken losses, the unique challenges of mourning and the steps that gay men can take to heal and reclaim their narratives.
1. What Is Unspoken Grief?
Unspoken grief, also called disenfranchised grief, is a form of mourning that society fails to recognise or validate (Doka, 1989). For GBTIQ+ men, this often includes:
- Losing chosen family with no legal or cultural recognition
- Enduring rejection from one’s biological family
- Mourning identities or lives never fully lived
- Unresolved grieving from the HIV/AIDS crisis.
Many of these losses are silenced or dismissed because they do not align with dominant cultural scripts of grief; in some cases, they are actively erased.
This lack of recognition not only deepens emotional pain but also isolates the grieving person. As a result, many queer men internalise their grief — wearing it like a second skin beneath outward strength or humour.
2. The Griefs Queer Men Carry
a) Family Rejection
Being cast out by parents or siblings leaves an invisible wound. It is a grief that comes without rituals, condolences, or casseroles. It simply lingers. Many GBTIQ+ men, particularly those from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds or strongly religious environments, carry the unspoken grief of either:
- Being shunned and rejected by their families, or
- Living an inauthentic life by conforming to cultural and religious mandates around their sexuality.
Research has found that 39% of LGBTQ+ youth report serious family conflict, and this disconnection often continues into adulthood for many (Ryan et al., 2009). The lack of familial mourning support only intensifies emotional loneliness.
b) The Closet and the Life Not Lived
Some gay men spend decades in the closet. We learn to perform straightness for safety, acceptance, or religious belonging.
What is often left unspoken is the grief of that unlived life. I have written about this grief in another blog.
For many of us who came out late, there is a need to grieve and reconcile the youth that was never celebrated freely with the self that was never fully expressed.
These are more than simple regrets; they symbolise profound emotional wounds — an accumulation of micro-losses that can crystallise into chronic sorrow (Harris, 2020).
c) HIV/AIDS Legacy
Many older gay men grieve not only for those lost to HIV/AIDS but also for the stolen time, fear, and trauma of living through that era. Some never had the chance to mourn—too busy surviving and afraid to stop.
The long shadow of that crisis persists, with intergenerational grief echoing in the queer psyche (Crimp, 2002).
d) Romantic and Platonic Losses
Gay men often create chosen families—intimate friendships and romantic partnerships that provide emotional safety and a sense of identity. When these relationships end, there is no public script for mourning them. Grief goes underground.
3. Why This Grief Stays Hidden
Several cultural and psychological factors keep queer men’s grief unspoken:
- Masculinity norms discourage emotional expression, especially sadness or vulnerability (Wong et al., 2017).
- Homophobia — internalised and external — leads many men to minimise or invalidate their pain.
Internalised homophobia significantly complicates the grieving process. When societal messages have long cast doubt on one’s worth, each rejection feels like confirmation of deeply rooted fears rather than what it truly is—prejudice. The struggle to reconcile internal beliefs with external loss creates a constant dialogue of regret and anger that heterosexual individuals rarely confront when processing grief.
- Shame acts as a censor, muting the voice that would cry out for help or recognition.
- The absence of queer grief rituals — most mourning traditions are centred around heterosexual, nuclear families, leaving out many gay men’s lived experiences.
This combination often leads to unresolved or “frozen” grief, which can manifest as anxiety, depression, or emotional numbness.
4. How Grieving While Gay Affects Mental Health
The mental health impact of disenfranchised grief is profound.
Studies show that LGBTIQ+ individuals face higher rates of depression, anxiety, and suicide risk, all of which are compounded by unprocessed loss (Meyer, 2003). For gay men in particular, the inability to grieve openly or be acknowledged in their loss can lead to emotional disconnection, identity confusion, and substance use (Kaysen et al., 2014).
5. Steps Toward Healing and Expression
Healing queer grief starts with visibility and voice.
a) Name the Loss
Whether it is the friend who died, the father who never accepted you, or the teenage self you could not be — name it. Acknowledge it.
Grief unspoken festers. When grief begins to be named, it can be healed.
Using writing prompts like:
- “What loss am I not allowed to grieve?”
- “Who or what do I miss that no one knows about?”
- “What part of myself am I grieving right now?”
It can be a great way to start unlocking the grief buried deep inside.
b) Tell the Truth in Safe Spaces
Queer grief needs to be witnessed.
Seek out:
- GBTIQ+ grief groups
- Therapists who specialise in queer identity
- Trusted friends or mentors who can hold space without judgment.
Community does not erase the grief we feel, but it does hold it.
c) Reclaim Ritual
Rituals are crucial to the grieving process. They encompass the often overwhelming emotions associated with grief and assist us in experiencing it in manageable portions rather than being consumed by it.
Rituals do not require a priest or permission. We create rituals that are meaningful to us, for example, we can:
- Write a letter to a lost partner or parent.
- Light a candle for your younger self.
- Plant something living in memory of someone you could not mourn publicly.
Ritual makes the intangible real. It offers your grief a place to rest.
6. Turning Grief into Growth
Queer grief is not a weakness. It is a map.
It reveals what mattered.
It shows where love was.
It reminds us of what we still long for—and what we can still build.
As Viktor Frankl wrote, “In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning.” (Frankl, 2006)
For many gay men, grief becomes the doorway to self-acceptance, spiritual renewal, and deeper connection.
Final Thoughts
GBTIQ+ men carry griefs that the world rarely sees.
However, invisibility does not mean unimportance.
Your grief matters.
Your love mattered.
Your story still matters.
To grieve while gay is not to be broken. It is to be brave.
Furthermore, healing begins when we stop asking for permission to feel.
What part of your story is still waiting to be grieved?
References
Crimp, D. (2002). Melancholia and moralism: Essays on AIDS and queer politics. MIT Press.
Doka, K. J. (1989). Disenfranchised grief: Recognising hidden sorrow. Lexington Books.
Frankl, V. E. (2006). Man’s search for meaning. Beacon Press.
Harris, D. L. (2020). Non-death loss and grief: Context and clinical implications. Routledge.
Kaysen, D., Rosen, J. A., Bowman, M. L., & Resick, P. A. (2014). Cognitive processing therapy for veterans with posttraumatic stress disorder and co-occurring alcohol use disorders. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 27(4), 426–433.
Meyer, I. H. (2003). Prejudice, social stress, and mental health in lesbian, gay, and bisexual populations: Conceptual issues and research evidence. Psychological Bulletin, 129(5), 674–697.
Rosenfeld, D., Ridge, D., Catalan, J., & Delpech, V. (2019). Grief and loss among older gay men living with HIV: The legacy of an epidemic. Sociology of Health & Illness, 41(6), 1179–1193.
