By Héctor Lozano Jiménez
General Health Psychologist and Director of Ocnos Psychology Clinic · COPAO AN 11777
Key idea: some LGBTQ+ people did not only grow up discovering who they were; they also had to learn when, how and with whom they could safely be seen. Sometimes that way of protecting yourself does not remain only in memory: it also stays in the body.
During Pride Month, we often talk about visibility, rights, celebration and freedom. And rightly so. But there is another, less visible part that also deserves space: the bodily history of many LGBTQ+ people who, before they could be seen with pride, had to learn how to protect themselves.
This article does not attempt to speak for all LGBTQ+ people. Every story is different. Not every gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans or queer person has experienced direct rejection, and not every LGBTQ+ person develops anxiety, trauma or relational difficulties. Reducing so many lives to one single narrative would be unfair and clinically inaccurate.
However, it would also be naïve to deny something important: growing up in an environment where a central part of you could become a reason for mockery, tension, silence, punishment, exclusion or danger can leave a mark. And sometimes that mark does not appear as a clear memory. It appears as a way of being in the world.
Some people did not simply grow up discovering who they were. They also grew up calculating how much of themselves they could show.
They learnt to read a room before speaking. To measure a gesture before expressing themselves. To tell the difference between an innocent joke and a possible humiliation. To notice tiny changes in someone’s tone of voice, in a look, in a silence that lasted slightly too long. To think, before saying something, whether it might reveal too much.
And that learning did not happen only in the mind. It happened in the body too.
When the body learnt that being seen could come at a cost
Our nervous system does not wait for us to understand something rationally before responding. It learns from patterns. It learns which tones of voice come before criticism. Which looks announce rejection. Which silences need to be interpreted carefully. Which topics are better avoided. Which parts of ourselves need to remain hidden in order to preserve belonging.
In many cases, an LGBTQ+ person does not necessarily grow up with one major traumatic scene, but with many accumulated micro-experiences: comments at home, insults at school, jokes in changing rooms, family silences, ridiculed characters on television, lack of references, fear of “being obvious”, or the feeling that affection depends on not showing too much.
The body may then learn something very basic: “being seen can have a cost.”
From the outside, years later, some responses may look exaggerated. Reading too much into the atmosphere. Interpreting an ambiguous sentence as a sign of danger. Feeling anxious about a neutral look. Distrusting someone who is kind. Not being able to fully rest. Preparing for rejection even when there is no clear evidence that it is coming.
But from the inside, many of these responses have a logic. They are not whims. They are not weakness. They are not “drama”. They are learnt strategies of protection.
Living in defence: hypervigilance, self-censorship and emotional fatigue
One of the most understandable responses in this context is hypervigilance.
Hypervigilance is not simply “being nervous”. It is a constant readiness to scan the environment for signs of threat. In some cases, it can look like social intuition: noticing shifts in tone, reading between the lines, detecting tension, anticipating reactions. And, in fact, that ability often developed because it was useful.
If, for years, you needed to know whether someone was safe before speaking naturally, your body may have become very good at detecting small signals. If showing affection, desire, femininity, non-normative masculinity or vulnerability could have consequences, learning to observe everything made sense.
The difficulty appears when that strategy continues to work with the same intensity in contexts where it is no longer so necessary. The person is no longer at school. They no longer live by the same rules. They no longer depend on the same figures. They are not necessarily in danger. But their body may still behave as if it has to protect itself all the time.
That is where fatigue appears. Difficulty resting. A background tension. The feeling that you cannot lower your guard. The impression that even calmness is suspicious.
- Reading too much into other people’s tone of voice.
- Preparing for rejection before it has happened.
- Feeling that every gesture, comment or expression of affection has to be measured.
- Avoiding talking about your partner or your personal life in order not to feel exposed.
- Struggling to trust when someone is kind.
- Feeling tired after social situations that seem completely normal from the outside.
When kindness feels unfamiliar
Another possible effect is that safety can feel unfamiliar.
When someone has spent years expecting criticism, mockery or rejection, genuine kindness may not immediately feel safe. It may feel strange. Excessive. Hard to believe. As if there is a trap. As if affection must have hidden conditions.
This does not mean the person does not want to be loved. It means their protective system may have become used to not trusting too quickly.
Sometimes, in therapy, this appears in very concrete ways: difficulty receiving compliments, discomfort with tenderness, fear of depending on someone, suspicion when a relationship is going well, needing to withdraw when intimacy appears, testing whether the other person will stay, or feeling that one must be self-sufficient in order not to be exposed to harm.
Again, we are not talking about a character flaw. We are talking about learning.
If the body learnt that being seen was dangerous, it may need time to learn that being seen can also be safe.
It was not a failure: it was an adaptation
This may be one of the most important parts.
Many people come to therapy angry with themselves for still reacting in this way. They tell themselves they should have moved past it by now. That it makes no sense. That they are too sensitive. That they should not be so affected by an ambiguous message, a change in tone or a feeling of distance.
But very often, the first therapeutic step is not to correct the reaction, but to understand it.
An emotional response does not appear out of nowhere. The body does not activate itself for no reason. Anxiety, vigilance, avoidance, the need for control or suspicion often have a history. They may be unhelpful today. They may create difficulties today. They may limit life today. But that does not mean they began as mistakes.
At some point, they may have been solutions.
Reading the room may have protected you. Staying quiet may have protected you. Being self-sufficient may have protected you. Anticipating rejection may have protected you. Not trusting too quickly may have protected you. Not drawing attention to yourself may have protected you.
The problem is that a strategy that was useful in one context can become a prison in another.
What once helped you survive may, years later, make it harder to rest, trust, love, ask for help or live with more freedom.
When the nervous system is still using old data
One useful way to explain it is this: sometimes the nervous system is still working with old data.
The body learnt certain associations: “if I show myself, I will be rejected”; “if I lower my guard, I will be hurt”; “if someone gets too close, something will happen”; “if there is ambiguity, it is safer to prepare for the worst”.
Even when life has changed, those associations can still become activated. Not because the person wants them to. Not because they have not worked hard enough. Not because they are unable to think rationally. But because emotional learning is not updated simply by understanding something intellectually.
You can know that you are safe now and still feel in danger.
You can know that someone loves you and still expect rejection.
You can know that you are no longer in that school, that home or that group, and still feel in your body as if you were there.
This difference between what we know and what we feel is central in psychotherapy. It is not enough to repeat “nothing is wrong”. Sometimes the body needs repeated experiences that show it something different can happen now.
Safety can also be learnt
The good news is that the nervous system does not only learn threat. It can also learn safety.
But safety is not usually learnt through pressure. Telling yourself “relax”, “get over it”, “don’t be insecure” or “it’s in the past” does not tend to work. In fact, those messages often add a second layer of suffering: the person feels anxious, and then feels guilty for feeling anxious.
Safety is learnt in another way.
It is learnt through repeated experiences of acceptance. Through relationships where being seen does not end in punishment. Through healthy boundaries. Through conversations where someone can tell the truth without being humiliated. Through gradually allowing oneself to live more authentically. Through noticing emotion without automatically obeying it. Through discovering that discomfort does not always mean danger.
From approaches such as cognitive behavioural therapy, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy and transdiagnostic models focused on emotional regulation, the aim is not to erase the person’s history. Nor is it to convince them, superficially, that “everything is fine”.
The aim is to help them widen their margin of freedom.
So they can notice alertness without living under its command. Recognise fear without organising their whole life around fear. Distinguish between a real danger and an old emotional memory. Choose how to act instead of automatically repeating the strategies that were once necessary.
Affirmative therapy: not to fix who you are, but to stop living in defence
At this point, it is important to say this clearly: therapy should not be used to correct anyone’s identity. It is not about “fixing” being gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans or queer. That does not need fixing.
What may need care are the wounds left by having had to hide, justify yourself, remain vigilant or protect yourself for too long.
Sometimes therapy means revisiting learnt beliefs: “I am not enough”, “if they really know me, they will leave”, “I have to be flawless to be accepted”, “I need to anticipate everything so that I do not get hurt”.
At other times, it means working with the body: learning to detect activation, regulate the threat response, tolerate intense emotions, rest without guilt and remain present when vulnerability appears.
And sometimes it involves something apparently simple, but deeply reparative: building a life in which the person no longer has to continually negotiate their right to exist.
At Ocnos Psychology Clinic, we understand affirmative therapy as a space where sexual, affective and gender diversity is not pathologised. Identity is not debated or corrected. The person is supported in understanding their history, regulating their emotional system and building a way of living with more internal safety.
If this article connects with anxiety, constant alertness or difficulty resting, you may also find it helpful to read about our anxiety treatment or the possibility of starting online therapy if beginning from home feels easier.
A fairer way to look at your story
If you grew up feeling that being yourself was not completely safe, perhaps some of your current responses make more sense than you thought.
Perhaps you were not too sensitive. Perhaps you were paying attention.
Perhaps you were not cold. Perhaps you learnt not to need too much.
Perhaps you were not distrustful. Perhaps your body was trying to avoid another blow.
Perhaps it was not a failure. Perhaps it was a brilliant adaptation to a difficult context.
But it is also possible that this adaptation no longer has to direct your whole life.
The body can learn danger. But it can also learn safety. It can learn that not every look judges. That not every silence threatens. That not every closeness ends in harm. That not every difference leads to exclusion. That not every affection has a trap.
This is not learnt all at once. It is not learnt by force. It is not learnt because someone says, “that’s it, get over it”.
It is learnt with time, with new experiences, with sufficiently safe bonds and with a kinder, more accurate way of looking at one’s own history.
Because, sometimes, healing does not mean stopping being who you are.
It means no longer living as if being who you are were still dangerous.
Important clinical note: this article is for information and reflection only. It does not replace an individual psychological assessment. Every LGBTQ+ person has a different history, and not all emotional distress is explained by stigma-related stress or experiences of rejection.
If you are in crisis, are thinking about harming yourself, or feel unable to keep yourself safe, seek urgent help: call emergency services, go to A&E, or contact someone you trust so that you are not alone.
Frequently asked questions about living in defence and emotional safety
What does living in emotional defence mean?
It means maintaining a state of alertness, self-control or protection even when danger is not obvious. Very often, it does not come from exaggeration, but from previous experiences where being seen, trusting or lowering your guard came at an emotional cost.
Why do some LGBTQ+ people feel they have to read the room so carefully?
Because in certain contexts, learning to observe tone, looks or jokes may have been a way to protect oneself from rejection, mockery or exposure. That ability may have been useful in the past, but it can become exhausting when it stays switched on all the time.
Does hypervigilance mean I am exaggerating?
Not necessarily. Hypervigilance can be a learnt response of the nervous system. It may be unhelpful today or create distress, but it often made sense within a specific history. Understanding it can help you work with it with less guilt.
Why can kindness or safety feel strange?
When someone has lived expecting criticism, rejection or conditions for acceptance, safety can feel unfamiliar. This does not mean they do not want to be loved; it means their protective system may need time and repeated experiences in order to trust.
How can affirmative therapy help?
It can help the person understand their history of protection, reduce alertness, work with shame, review learnt beliefs and build a life with more internal freedom. Affirmative therapy does not aim to correct identity, but to support the person from a respectful and non-pathologising perspective.
Does this article replace Rocío’s article on minority stress?
No. Rocío’s article explains in more detail what minority stress is and how it can affect mental health. Héctor’s text works as a complementary reflection on how that history of alertness can be felt in the body and in relationships.
Recommended external sources for further reading:
Article written by Héctor Lozano Jiménez
Héctor Lozano Jiménez is a General Health Psychologist, Director of Ocnos Psychology Clinic and registered psychologist with COPAO number AN 11777. His work is practical, educational and respectful, integrating emotional regulation, anxiety, identity processes, relationships and psychological wellbeing.
You can read his professional profile at Ocnos and check his professional registration with COPAO.
Taking the next step with professional support
If, while reading this article, you recognised a way of living on alert that you have been normalising for too long, perhaps the issue is not to demand more from yourself, but to begin understanding what your body learnt to protect.
At Ocnos Psychology Clinic, in Palmones, we support processes involving anxiety, identity, relationships, self-esteem and emotional safety from a clinical, respectful and affirmative perspective.