When Coming Out Costs You Family: The Grief No One Talks About

Written By Philicia Ross

The Grief That Pride Can Surface

Pride Month is often framed by joy. The flags. The parades. The fierce and free declarations of self. And while that joy is real and hard-won, it doesn’t tell the whole story. 

For many Queer and Trans folks—especially Black and Brown ones—this month also surfaces a quieter truth: grief.

Not the kind that comes with casseroles and sympathy cards. But the kind that lingers in your chest when your own family never tried. The kind that makes you go quiet in the middle of a room full of celebration. The grief of being vibrant and honest and still seen as a disappointment.

This grief doesn’t always have language. And because of that, it often gets buried inside of us.

One thing I witness often during Pride season is the dissonance between public celebration and private grief. Social media fills with rainbow flags, parades, and fierce declarations of pride—and yet, so many queer and trans folks, especially Black and Brown ones, are navigating something much heavier behind the scenes. 

This internal conflict aligns with the concept of "minority stress," which refers to the chronic stress faced by members of stigmatized minority groups, including LGBTQ+ individuals. This stress arises from societal prejudice and discrimination, contributing to adverse mental health outcomes.

Clients and community members have shared moments like this with me: being ignored by a family member after coming out, or watching others celebrate while they themselves sit with fresh wounds of rejection. Not overt harm, but a deeper ache—the kind that comes from being tolerated, but never fully seen. The kind that grows in the silence.

We don’t talk enough about this kind of grief during Pride. But we should because it’s real. And because so many of us carry it quietly.

The Grief of Being Erased

During family-centered holidays like Pride or the winter season, many LGBTQ+ folks face increased emotional strain, not just from outright rejection, but from subtle erasure, microaggressions, or being expected to pretend.

According to Jefferson Health, these moments often push folks to abandon their routines and turn to coping strategies like food or alcohol overuse, especially when traveling or navigating emotionally unsafe spaces. Research indicates that LGBTQ+ youth who experience family rejection are at a significantly higher risk for negative health outcomes, including depression, substance abuse, and suicidal ideation.

This grief is layered. It is chronic. And it is valid.

For Black and Brown Queer folx, the pain is compounded by cultural expectations around family loyalty, gender roles, and respectability. The intersection of racial and LGBTQ+ identities can intensify experiences of discrimination and rejection, leading to increased psychological distress. There may be pressure to stay silent out of “respect,” to keep the peace even if it costs your well-being, to stay small and palatable, to stay connected.

That’s not just exhausting—it’s soul-bruising.

What This Grief Can Look Like

Grief doesn't always manifest as overt heartbreak; often, it emerges in the quietest moments:

  • Scrolling through Mother's Day posts, wondering if your mom would ever share a photo of you, if she even acknowledges you at all.

  • Practicing your pronouns in the mirror, imagining your father using them… or fearing he never will.

  • Editing a holiday invitation because your partner wasn't acknowledged, again.

  • Feeling guilty for setting boundaries you know are necessary, yet still fearing the fallout.

These seemingly small moments can accumulate, leading to what mental health professionals identify as complex trauma—a form of trauma resulting from prolonged exposure to emotionally distressing situations, such as ongoing family rejection. This type of trauma is particularly prevalent among LGBTQIA+ individuals, often compounded by intersecting issues like discrimination, bullying, abuse, and isolation.

Moreover, the chronic shame stemming from growing up in cultures rooted in heteronormativity and anti-queerness can have profound psychological effects. This persistent shame can activate the fight-flight-freeze response, leading to internalized distorted beliefs about oneself, others, and the world, thereby impacting relationships and self-worth.

Recognizing and naming these experiences isn't about being dramatic; it's about acknowledging the truth of your experiences. Honest grief is the beginning of honest healing.

What You Deserve to Know

Let this be your reminder:

You are not too sensitive.
You are not the disappointment.
You are not the problem.

Longing for your family’s love is not shameful. Wanting to be embraced as your full self is not too much—it’s deeply human.

Understanding that these feelings stem from external rejection rather than personal failings is crucial. Recognizing this can be a pivotal step toward healing and self-acceptance.

Even if you've had to walk away—even if you've had to let go of certain relationships to protect your peace—grief can still live in the space between what was and what never was.

Sometimes, grief isn't about wanting someone back.  It's about mourning who they never became for you and honoring the parts of you that had to go quiet in order to stay close.

What Healing Can Look Like

Healing from this kind of grief doesn’t mean forcing yourself to “move on.” It means finding ways to return to yourself, especially in the absence of those who couldn’t meet you.

At Village of Sound Mind, we don’t treat healing as fixing. We see it as remembering. Reclaiming. Returning.

And we define liberatory healing not through perfection, but through softness, slowness, and learning to find safety in your own body again.

Your healing might look like:

  • Being fully witnessed by chosen family who say your name with reverence.

  • Setting sacred boundaries and not feeling the need to explain them.

  • Writing letters to the people who hurt you—not to send, but to clear space in your heart.

  • Creating new rituals for holidays that used to leave you feeling invisible.

  • Letting yourself grieve at your own pace. No timeline. No pressure.

These practices align with the principles of liberatory healing, which emphasize understanding personal distress within the context of societal oppression and aim to restore a sense of agency and self-worth.

And according to Glaad.org healing also means not going it alone.

There are spaces specifically designed to hold queer and trans grief, joy, and complexity.

Organizations like:

These are not just crisis resources—they are lifelines. Doorways into visibility, safety, and collective care.

For BIPOC LGBTQ+ individuals seeking affirming support, consider:

If You’re Feeling This Grief…

Please know this:
You are not alone.
You are not too much.
And you never deserved to be erased.

There is room for your story here.
At Village of Sound Mind, we hold space for the grief that doesn’t always have language. We witness your truths without shrinking from them.

Whether in 1:1 therapy, community gatherings, or seasonal workshops, you’re allowed to bring your full self. Your softness. Your sorrow. Your strength.

We don’t ask you to perform your healing. We simply invite you to begin.

Philicia Ross
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