By Ian Howley | Chief Executive, LGBT HERO. 

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When everything goes to pieces, queer people don’t wait around for permission to care – we just get on with it. In a world that often overlooks or outright marginalises us, the LGBTQ+ community has honed a remarkable ability to rally together, creating lifelines where none exist. This isn’t just about survival; it’s a testament to resilience, empathy, and collective strength. From impromptu support networks to grassroots initiatives, our communities show what it means to show up for one another amid turmoil. But as we reflect on these acts of care, it’s crucial to recognise that while they sustain us, they also highlight systemic failures that demand broader change.

History has shown us what happens when we’re left out of the plan. The HIV/AIDS crisis of the 1980s and 1990s is a stark example. As governments dragged their feet and stigma ran rampant, LGBTQ+ people – particularly gay men and trans people – faced unimaginable loss. Yet, in the face of neglect, organisations like THT, ACT UP, GMFA and other community-led groups emerged, providing education, advocacy and direct care. Volunteers distributed information on safe practices, organised protests to demand medical research, and cared for the sick when hospitals turned them away. That era didn’t just expose inequities – it forged a blueprint for queer mutual aid that persists today.

Fast-forward to more recent catastrophes and the pattern repeats. During the COVID-19 pandemic, LGBTQ+ people were disproportionately affected, with higher rates of unemployment, isolation and mental health struggles due to family rejection and limited access to affirming healthcare. The cost-of-living crisis has only made things worse, as rising expenses force many to choose between basic needs and mental health support. Ongoing hate crimes – which have more than doubled in the UK over the past five years – add another layer of trauma. Amid these challenges, our communities have built their own safety nets. Because while the world debates our existence, we’re out here saving each other’s lives.

Take Jay, 30 (they/them), whose story captures the essence of this grassroots care. “I couldn’t get therapy, so my mates became my mental health team,” Jay shares. “We had a group chat called ‘Keep Each Other Alive.’ That’s how we made it through lockdown.” What started as a simple thread became a lifeline – sharing coping strategies, checking in daily and coordinating virtual movie nights to fight isolation. Jay recalls one night when a panic attack hit at 2 a.m.: within minutes, friends were on a video call, guiding them through breathing exercises. It wasn’t formal therapy; it was raw, immediate care from people who understood what it means to be queer in a crisis.

Similarly, Morgan, 25 (she/her), experienced the harsh realities of exclusion from mainstream services. “I was turned away from a women’s shelter because I’m trans,” she says. “But a queer friend I barely knew found me a place to stay. She probably saved my life.” Morgan’s story exposes a broader issue: many shelters and support services still lack LGBTQ+ inclusivity, leading to discrimination that deepens vulnerability. Her friend’s act of opening their home wasn’t just kindness – it was a direct response to a system that failed.

That’s what queer care looks like. It’s not always grand gestures; often, it’s the small, everyday acts that accumulate into something powerful. Group chats buzzing with 3 a.m. messages of reassurance. Memes that cut through the heaviness with humour. Someone dropping off soup when you haven’t eaten for two days. During the 2022 Mpox outbreak, which disproportionately affected gay and bisexual men, LGBTQ+ people quickly mobilised – sharing information on symptoms, vaccination sites and safer sex practices via social media and dating apps. That rapid, peer-led response filled gaps left by slow public health campaigns.

We’ve been practising community care long before it became a wellness buzzword. Rooted in necessity, it stems from a history of exclusion – from Stonewall to ballroom culture, where chosen families thrive when the world turns its back. When services are too slow, too heteronormative, or too intimidated by difference, we step up. Mainstream mental health support often fails to recognise intersectional realities. A Black trans woman might face racism in queer spaces or transphobia in Black communities – making tailored support essential. Yet mainstream therapy can be out of reach due to cost, wait times or lack of cultural competency. In response, LGBTQ+ people have built alternatives: peer-led groups, online forums and chosen families that bridge the gap.

This year’s World Mental Health Day theme, “Access to Services: Mental Health in Catastrophes and Emergencies,” couldn’t be more relevant. It sounds official and well-intentioned, but for LGBTQ+ people, the truth is we’re often already in survival mode when catastrophe hits. Disasters, economic crises and political upheavals hit us harder because of pre-existing inequalities. A 2023 report from Stonewall found that one in five LGBTQ+ people in the UK have experienced homelessness, and mental health issues like anxiety and depression are twice as common compared to the general population. We survive these compounded crises because of each other – through solidarity that transcends borders, backgrounds and identities.

The system can talk about “access” all it wants, but we’re already doing the work. Organisations like LGBT HERO are part of that ecosystem. Every day, we see people build community through our HangOuts and peer forums – arriving as strangers, leaving as friends. A post about feeling hopeless might draw replies filled with kindness, practical advice and empathy. It’s free, fast and deeply human. Peer support can be as effective as professional intervention, and often, it’s the only support some people can reach.

But while groups like ours provide essential immediate relief, we must go further. True progress requires an action plan that ensures better access to support for all LGBTQ+ people – not just those in crisis. This plan must prioritise prevention, giving people the tools to recognise and manage their mental health before it spirals. Imagine education campaigns teaching queer-specific self-care, like journaling prompts for gender dysphoria, mindfulness apps with inclusive language, or workshops on building resilient support networks. Schools, workplaces and community centres could embed LGBTQ+ mental health modules to help people identify early signs of burnout or trauma.

Governments and NGOs must fund these initiatives and make them accessible regardless of location or income. That means subsidising affirming therapy, expanding telehealth for rural queer folks and training first responders in LGBTQ+ sensitivity. Prevention also means tackling the root causes: anti-discrimination laws, inclusive sex education and policies that reduce poverty in marginalised communities. By giving people tools to support themselves – from coping with hate crimes to building emotional resilience – we can reduce crises before they begin. This is how we make lasting change.

If you’re struggling, don’t wait for perfect systems or professionals who understand every nuance. Reach out to your community, join a forum, attend a peer-support group or talk to someone who gets it. You don’t need to be fixed; you need to be heard and supported.

But let’s not stop there. Join the call for systemic change. Advocate for policies that prioritise preventive mental health care for LGBTQ+ people. Contact your local representatives, back organisations pushing for inclusive reform and speak up in your networks. We’ve seen what happens when our community demands better – we change the world. Let’s do it again.

Find your calm, even in the chaos. We’ve been doing it for decades. With the right plan, we can make sure the next generation does it with greater ease and dignity.

Visit www.lgbthero.org.uk/help to connect, share and find support today. And let’s commit to more: demand better access, prevention and equity for all.

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For other support:

www.lgbthero.org.uk/suicide

www.lgbthero.org.uk/mental-health-directory

www.lgbthero.org.uk/trans-directory

www.lgbthero.org.uk/sac-directory (sexual assault and abuse)

Samaritans: Crisis Line: 116 123

Switchboard: Phone: 0800 0119 100