What can we all learn from the LGBTQIA+ community about the importance of chosen family, when it comes to our mental health?
The first time I came across the concept of a ‘chosen family’, it almost felt daunting. As if a parade of fellow queer people were going to be walked out on stage, X Factor-style, for me to choose from, granting them the prize of officially becoming a part of my ‘new family tree’, and rendering those left to go home and apply again next year.
In actuality, it was far from the fantastical experience I had manufactured in my head, and instead distilled with a sense of fluidity and depth that comes with the ability to choose one’s inner circle. A chance to choose what one needs when it comes to connections that may have been missing previously. It is the opportunity to fill one’s life with people who enrich it and make it better – which, although synonymous with queer community, is something we can all benefit from, especially when it comes to finding community in mental health circles. But how do we get there?
It was 2020 when I first went on antidepressants, and I distinctly remember reading the booklet that was neatly folded inside my prescription in the park under a huge tree that showered me in shade. Through the tiny letters and reams of paper, I realised that I didn’t personally know anybody who was on this medication at the time – or anything similar – and, amid the global pandemic, felt like this new venture would be one I would have to take alone.
But, even in one of the world’s darkest of times, community was still available to me, albeit digitally. By being vulnerable online, and speaking to the internet in the haphazard way I often do, throwing out my current circumstance like a fishing line and waiting to hear if anyone bites, I was able to ask for help. Through sharing my inexperience with mental health medication with those whom I felt comfortable to do so, I was able to uniquely ask for help, and find a chosen unit of people who had similar experiences, much like I had done when I came out as queer. It was my positive experiences of finding queer community that made me confident to know that there must be an equivalent out there for those of us who need a bit of help in between our ears.
Despite the invaluable conversations and relationships that I formed during that time, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows – far from it. Even before the pandemic, the mental health landscape in the UK had been on its knees, with waiting lists for talking therapy growing exponentially. Young people are often hit hardest, with one in six six to 16-year-olds identified as having a mental health problem in 2021, according to a survey by NHS Digital. For LGBTQ+ people, the story felt bleak, too. According to LGBT+ Hero, a national health and wellbeing charity in the UK, between 2020 and 2021, 80% of LGBTQ+ people identified that the coronavirus Pandemic had impacted their mental health, with 50% saying they felt anxious ‘very often’ or ‘every day’.
I felt this too; a distinct lack of closeness with a queer community that are often so tactile and together, combined with financial and economic insecurities from not working, resulted in queer-specific challenges alongside the overall isolation lockdown created.
Before the lockdown, I had been exploring who I was as a queer person for the first time, and now this was cut off from me – making it harder to find my tribe. I struggled with the idea that part of my growth in this world was being stripped from me, resulting in a sense of desperation and loneliness that echoed the world over.
But one thing that queer people have within us, as if pre-programmed from birth, is resilience. From our queer siblings that went before us, passed down through the generations, is a determination to make things work, no matter how hard they may be. So, when push comes to shove, we can still help each other out, and support those who have it even harder, because that’s what it means to be a part of a community.
I learnt that I, too, had that resilience in me, even if I had to dig to find it. By speaking to fellow queer people day in and day out throughout 2020 and 2021, I was able to realise how strong I actually was. I’m thankful to my community for shining their light on me to allow me to find out what I am truly capable of in my darkest moments.
By asking for help, I was able to see those that would be there for me as much as I would be for them – allowing my inner circle to fluctuate with new faces, as well as witnessing departures from those who no longer were able to support me. By speaking up about my mental health diagnoses, and the newness that I was experiencing with my medication, I was able to create a chosen family that was uniquely mine.
Through speaking with like-minded queer folk, I was able to find an LGBTQ+ specific therapist in the coming weeks who perfectly matched my needs, and further evolved my relationship with myself – something that would’ve been impossible if I hadn’t taken a chance and asked for help.
Four years on, I have realised that we all should have the ability to find our own version of a chosen family. The root of our decision to find a group of people outside of our biological ties that we can connect with, is because at some point in our lives we wished more for ourselves. We dreamed of the possibility that there were people out there who could help us, as well as be helped by us. We wanted to be able to find people who could allow us to become better versions of ourselves, and vice-versa. So, although queer people often fall into this category more often, I would argue that we are all capable of finding a chosen family, no matter how we identify.
Why? Because in a time when our mental health services continue to struggle as each day passes, the only way we’ll be able to collectively grow as a society is if we allow our walls to come down, and new branches to be formed on our ever growing family trees. May they blossom and reach out to those who sit under them one day, wondering what the future may hold.
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