Magazine News & Features Coming Out: Why We’re Still Doing It (Again and Again and Again) Even now, we’re still coming out over and over. New jobs, new mates, new situations. It never really ends. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. You’d think by now we’d be done with the whole coming-out thing. We’ve got marriage equality, rainbow flags on everything from trainers to toothpaste, and queer icons hosting breakfast TV. And yet we’re still explaining ourselves at family dinners, work socials, or to that one person who says, “Wait, you don’t look gay.” Coming out isn’t one moment. It’s a lifetime subscription. Every time you meet someone new, you make the same quiet decision: Do I tell them who I really am? “Coming out doesn’t stop after the first time.” We asked Ian Howley, CEO of LGBT HERO, why this still feels like Groundhog Day. “Coming out doesn’t stop after the first time,” Ian says. “You do it every time life changes, new job, new city, new friends. It’s a weird little ritual that never ends. It can be exhausting, but it’s also powerful. Every time you do it, you’re saying, ‘This is me, and I’m not hiding.’” Voices from today’s LGBTQ+ community “I came out to my mum while unloading the dishwasher. She just said, ‘Cool. You still owe me rent.’” — Jess (she/her, 22, who identifies as lesbian) “Coming out as trans wasn’t one conversation — it was fifty. My dad still slips up, but he’s trying. That counts.” — Ray (he/him, 29, who identifies as a trans man) “I came out on TikTok and muted the comments. I didn’t need validation — I needed to say it out loud.” — Amina (she/they, 19, who identifies as queer) “My nan told me she already knew because she saw my Spotify Wrapped.” — Callum (he/him, 25, who identifies as gay) “I haven’t come out at work yet. Everyone jokes about pronouns like it’s a punchline. So, for now, I just… exist quietly.” — Maya (they/them, 34, who identifies as non-binary) “My husband and I came out as bi at the same dinner party. Our friends were more shocked that we coordinated it.” — Tom (he/him, 41, who identifies as bi) “When I told my mum I was pan, she said, ‘Like Peter?’ It’s been a long journey.” — Liam (he/him, 20, who identifies as pansexual) “I came out to my church group. Half left the WhatsApp chat. The other half brought cake. You take what you can get.” — Efe (she/her, 32, who identifies as lesbian) “Coming out saved my life. Hiding was killing me — literally. The day I said it, I started to breathe again.” — Mark (he/him, 46, who identifies as gay) “Every time I introduce my girlfriend, I brace for the pause. But honestly? Their awkwardness isn’t my problem.” — Hannah (she/her, 27, who identifies as queer) Some of us are tired — and that’s okay There’s this idea that coming out should always be a fireworks moment. Big speeches, tears, hugs, maybe a viral TikTok. But honestly? Sometimes it’s just work. It’s admin. It’s another awkward chat at a family barbecue, or another “Oh, I didn’t realise” from your boss. It’s deciding, every single day, whether you’ve got the energy to explain who you are — again. Because coming out isn’t one conversation. It’s hundreds. And some days, you’re just done. You don’t want to be the walking, talking LGBTQ+ explainer at the office. You don’t want to risk the weird silence when you correct someone on your pronouns. You just want to get through the day, eat your lunch, and scroll in peace. And that’s completely okay. “We talk a lot about pride,” Ian says, “but not enough about fatigue. You don’t have to be loud and proud all the time. Some days you’re tired. That doesn’t make you less valid — it makes you human.” Sometimes keeping quiet isn’t shame — it’s self-preservation. It’s knowing when it’s safe, when it’s worth it, and when it’s just not. And that doesn’t make your identity any less real. You’re not back in the closet just because you picked your battles. You’re protecting your peace. Coming out doesn’t have to be a performance. It can be quiet, personal, even mundane — like telling your flatmate, or updating your dating profile, or buying that first piece of clothing that actually feels like you. Those moments count too. “You don’t owe the world a story every day,” Ian adds. “You’ve already done the hard bit — accepting yourself. The rest can happen on your terms.” So if you’re tired, rest. You’ve earned it. Coming out might be lifelong, but it doesn’t have to be a constant fight. Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is just exist, unapologetically, even when you’re quiet about it. The online era changed everything (and nothing) Let’s be real — the internet changed the coming out game. These days, you don’t have to gather your family around the dinner table to drop the big reveal. You can just… post it. A caption, a selfie, a meme, a TikTok that says “Yeah, I’m queer — deal with it.” And suddenly, you’ve come out to everyone from your best mate to that weird guy you went to school with. It’s freedom. It’s power. It’s community at your fingertips. You can find people who get you, who look like you, who’ve walked the same messy road and made it out alive. For so many of us, that’s how we found ourselves — not in our hometowns, but online. But — and it’s a big but — the internet is also brutal. You can post the most heartfelt story about self-acceptance and still wake up to a comments section that looks like a hate-filled bin fire. Trolls don’t care about your journey. Algorithms don’t care about your safety. And once you hit “post”, your story isn’t just yours anymore — it’s public property. “Social media has made coming out easier and harder at the same time,” says Ian Howley, CEO of LGBT HERO. “For some people, it’s a lifeline — it connects them to others who make them feel seen. For others, it opens the door to hate. That’s why I always say: only share what feels safe. You don’t owe the internet your truth if it’s going to cost you your peace.” There’s also this strange pressure now — like you need to have the perfect “coming out arc”. Beautiful lighting, emotional music, a tidy moral at the end. But real life isn’t a reel. Sometimes you post and delete. Sometimes you write the caption and never hit upload. Sometimes the people who need to hear it already know, and that’s enough. “Visibility is powerful,” Ian says, “but it doesn’t mean you have to perform it. Coming out online can be amazing, but it’s not mandatory. Your identity is still real even if it never trends.” The online world gave us language, representation, solidarity — and that’s huge. But it also gave everyone a front-row seat to our most personal moments. Coming out in 2025 is part connection, part chaos, and part content moderation. So if you’re out there quietly living your truth offline, or posting selfies in the comments section of life, that’s still courage. Because whether it’s online, in a text, or whispered over a pint — it’s still you, showing up. Intersectionality: the word people pretend to understand “Intersectionality” gets thrown around a lot — usually by someone who couldn’t explain it if you paid them. But for many LGBTQ+ people, it’s not a theory. It’s Tuesday. Coming out isn’t one-size-fits-all. For some of us, it’s complicated by race, religion, disability, class, culture — all the invisible layers that shape who we are and how the world sees us. When you’re queer and something else the world loves to judge, coming out can feel like stacking identities on top of each other and hoping they don’t collapse. Take Aisha, 27, who identifies as bisexual and Muslim, who says: “I haven’t come out to my parents, and I don’t know if I ever will. My culture and faith are a huge part of me, and so is being bi. I shouldn’t have to choose, but I also know that in my community, safety comes first. Online, I can be myself. At home, I protect my peace.” Or Marcus, 34, who identifies as Black and gay, who told us: “When I came out, people acted like the hardest part was saying ‘I’m gay’. But honestly, the hardest part was being seen. In some spaces, I’m too gay. In others, I’m not gay enough. And in both, I’m still a Black man who gets stereotyped before I even open my mouth.” “Intersectionality isn’t an add-on to LGBTQ+ life — it’s the reality for most of us,” says Ian Howley, CEO of LGBT HERO. “Too often the mainstream narrative still centres on white, cisgender, middle-class experiences. That’s not the full picture. Visibility must reflect everyone’s truth — not just the comfortable version.” Some of us face language barriers, immigration systems, or even laws that make being out downright dangerous. Others are navigating families or communities where queerness just isn’t talked about. And while Pride might look like a celebration for some, for others it’s a reminder that they can’t be that free yet. Jess, 42, who identifies as a trans woman and disabled, puts it bluntly: “Every time I come out, it’s a calculation. How much energy will this take? Will they respect my pronouns and my mobility aid? I’m proud of who I am, but I’m tired of having to be brave all the time.” And that’s the truth — privilege plays a massive role in who gets to come out safely and who doesn’t. “Coming out is brave,” Ian says, “but it’s also strategic. You don’t owe anyone danger. You’re not less authentic for protecting yourself. Being true to yourself includes knowing when to keep yourself safe.” Coming out, in all its forms, is a deeply personal act. And intersectionality means understanding that not everyone gets the same applause — or the same risks — when they do it. It’s why community matters. Because when the world doesn’t get it, we do. And when we hold space for each other — across every identity, label, and background — that’s when our visibility becomes unstoppable. For those still figuring it out Here’s the thing: you don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need to know your label, your pronouns, or where you fit in the alphabet soup to belong here. You don’t even need to come out to anyone if you’re not ready. You’re still part of this community — full stop. Coming out is not a race, and it’s definitely not a requirement to “earn your queer badge”. It’s something you do when you feel ready — and sometimes that takes time, therapy, heartbreak, and a few late-night Google searches you’ll never admit to. “There’s no finish line to coming out,” says Ian Howley, CEO of LGBT HERO. “You might come out to yourself first, and that’s enough. You might tell a friend years later, or never tell your family at all. You decide your timeline — no one else.” Rae, 21, who identifies as non-binary, shared this: “I used to feel like a fraud because I hadn’t come out to everyone. Then I realised I was coming out to myself every day — choosing to live in a way that felt honest, even if no one else saw it. That’s what made me feel real.” Ollie, 29, who identifies as gay, told us: “I came out twice — once when I was 17, and again when I stopped pretending to be okay about how people reacted. The first time was about honesty. The second time was about healing.” And Carmen, 36, who identifies as lesbian, said: “My coming out story is boring. No tears, no drama. Just a text to my best mate that said ‘I fancy women’ and a gif of Beyoncé. That was it. Sometimes it doesn’t have to be a spectacle — it can just be real.” “We’ve got to stop treating coming out like a performance,” Ian adds. “It’s not something you owe anyone. It’s something you give yourself — the permission to exist as you are. That’s where the real freedom is.” If you’re not out yet, or if you’re somewhere in-between, that’s not weakness — that’s wisdom. You know what’s right for you. And if you never come out publicly, you’re still part of this family. You don’t need to shout to be heard. There’s also this quiet truth: even those of us who’ve been out for years are still figuring it out. Our identities shift, our labels evolve, our confidence grows and wobbles again. Being LGBTQ+ isn’t about finding a fixed point — it’s about learning to live comfortably in motion. “Being yourself isn’t a one-time act,” Ian says. “It’s a process. Some days you’ll feel brave. Some days you’ll want to hide. Both are okay. What matters is that you keep showing up for yourself, even in small ways.” So if you’re out, half-out, or still quietly whispering your truth into the dark — you’re valid, you’re loved, and you’re already part of the story. Because coming out isn’t just about visibility. It’s about freedom. And that freedom begins the second you say, even just to yourself: this is who I am. The takeaway Coming out isn’t a one-time event. It’s not a door you walk through and never look back. It’s more like a long, winding corridor — full of doors, some open, some locked, some you’re still finding the courage to try. You might step through one, take a deep breath, and think: Finally. Then, a few years later, there’s another one waiting. A new friend. A new job. A new doctor’s office. A new partner’s family. You take a breath, open it again. And again. And again. And that’s the thing — every time you do, you’re proving that visibility still matters. That even in a world that claims to be “post-equality”, we’re still here, making space for ourselves in places that weren’t built for us. “Coming out isn’t something you finish,” says Ian Howley, CEO of LGBT HERO. “It’s something you live. It’s an act of courage, every single time you choose honesty over comfort. But it’s also something to celebrate — because with every story, we make it easier for the next person.” Tom, 31, who identifies as gay, summed it up perfectly: “I used to think coming out was this huge mountain I’d climb once. But really, it’s more like a hundred small steps. Some days I sprint, some days I crawl. But I keep moving. And that’s what matters.” So maybe we stop seeing coming out as a moment — and start seeing it as a movement. A lifelong, messy, beautiful, exhausting, liberating practice of saying: I exist. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Because whether you come out quietly or loudly, once or a thousand times, you’re part of something much bigger — a chain of bravery that stretches across generations. From those who risked everything to those who now get to live freely because of them. “Every time you come out,” Ian says, “you’re not just telling your story — you’re adding to ours. And that story? It’s still being written, louder and prouder than ever.” So whether you’re out, not out, halfway there, or just thinking about it — remember: you’re already enough. You’re already doing it. You’re already part of the community. And one day, someone will see you living your truth and think, Maybe I can too. That’s the real power of coming out. Not the moment — but the movement. Need support? Coming out — or thinking about it — can stir up every emotion in the book. You don’t have to do it alone. Visit our Peer Support Forums to talk to others who’ve been there.Explore our Mental Health Directory for free services and safe spaces near you.Or check out our Coming Out Hub for guides, real stories, and advice. Manage Cookie Preferences