Do you find it difficult to trust? Do you feel out of place at work even though you are surrounded by friendly people? Maybe it’s not just shyness. The trauma of bullying in LGTBIQ+ childhood has deep and often invisible roots.
Childhoods marked by fear
Most of us don’t need much explanation to know what it feels like to be insulted for how you walk, talk or dress. Many of us were raised in hostile school environments where being different was cause for ridicule, punishment or isolation. Bullying towards LGTBIQ+ people is not “a stage” that is overcome when growing up. It is violence. And like all violence, it leaves wounds.
We’re not just talking about being made to feel weird for wearing a sequined t-shirt. We are talking about accumulated years of insecurity, rejection, verbal (or physical) attacks, and a deep feeling of “being wrong.” This, according to multiple studies, can lead to complex post-traumatic stress disorder.
What is complex post-traumatic stress?
It’s not just having a bad memory. It is living with your body and mind on alert, as if the danger was still there, even if you are now 30 years old and drinking coffee in the office.
LGTBIQ+ people who suffered bullying in childhood can develop this type of chronic trauma, which manifests itself in difficulties trusting, setting limits, or even feeling pleasure when socializing. It is no coincidence that many of us continue to suffer from social anxiety, hyperdemand, or an irrational fear of “annoying.”
In the work environment: the wound is disguised as “social phobia”
Imagine this: you arrive at a meeting, you have brilliant ideas but you don’t dare to speak. Or you have a hard time connecting with your team, even though you want to be part of it. Or you think they are going to discover that “you are a fraud.” You are not alone.
Many queer people who were victims of bullying feel that work is just another version of the schoolyard. A space where you have to “act normal”, avoid attracting attention and fit in. But that constant effort generates emotional exhaustion. And yes, it can lead to imposter syndrome, burnout, and work isolation.
And socially… why do I feel so different?
The consequences of bullying do not stay at work. In adult social life, this trauma translates into:
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Difficulty in making new friends
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Fear of constant rejection
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Tendency towards isolation
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Hypervigilance in public spaces
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Affective relationships marked by dependence or emotional distance
That is, what in theory should be moments of enjoyment or connection, become scenes of tension and alert. It’s hard for us to relax. It’s hard for us to trust. And the worst thing: many times we don’t even know why.
How do we heal?
There are no magic formulas, but there are paths. Here are some keys to get started:
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Name it: recognize that this bullying left its mark. It’s not weakness, it’s self-awareness.
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Seek therapeutic support: especially with professionals who understand LGTBIQ+ realities.
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Explore safe spaces: support groups, associations, queer networks, shared activities.
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Reeducate the body: through practices such as yoga, dance or body art that help inhabit our body without fear.
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Accept that slowness is also progress. There is no rush to heal. There is no single path.
What if the problem is not just us?
Okay, now let’s talk about something awkward. In this narrative of “healing wounds,” we sometimes forget to look outside. Because yes, it is true that many LGTBIQ+ people carry traumas from the past. But it is also true that we live in a world that continues to discriminate.
No matter how much you meditate or go to therapy, if your environment continues to be exclusive, the pain is reactivated. It is not enough to “be resilient”, we also need really safe work and social spaces. Sometimes the problem is not (only) in how we experience trauma, but in how society perpetuates it.
It’s not your fault
This must be repeated like a mantra: it’s not your fault. It wasn’t you who had to change in childhood, nor now. Rarity was never the problem. It was (and still is) a system that punishes diversity.
Accepting that trauma exists is an act of self-love. Healing it, little by little, is an act of revolution.
And if you’ve ever felt guilty for avoiding social events, for not trusting your boss, or for not being able to have a stable relationship, remember this: you are rewriting a script that you didn’t write. And that takes time.
A critical look (because not everything is black or white)
Some experts and activists warn about the risk of pathologizing all experiences of queer childhood. Not all LGTBIQ+ people who suffered bullying develop post-traumatic disorder, and focusing only on the pain can reinforce a victim narrative. Furthermore, we cannot forget that many have transformed these wounds into collective strength, creativity or activism. Therefore, the focus should not only be on the trauma, but also on the tools, on healthy bonds and on the possibility of rewriting history from a freer place.
How do we trust again?
There are no easy answers. But there is something powerful in knowing that we are not alone. That other queer people are also going through that same process of internal reconstruction. That we deserve spaces where we don’t have to justify ourselves all the time. That trauma does not define us, even if it has left scars.
Perhaps it is not about “returning” to trust like before. Maybe it’s about learning to trust for the first time, in our conditions, from dignity and truth.
And that, friends, is a journey worth taking.
