Commentary
It’s time we talk about trauma
Coping with parental rejection a common struggle for LGBTQ community
(Author’s note: The content of this article may be triggering for some readers. If you or someone you know struggles with suicidal ideation, support can be found by calling or texting 988.)
In becoming a barback, I dove headfirst into the underbelly of fast-paced, homoerotic nightlife, which can be as stressful as it is fun but almost always entertaining. For me, though, the best part has been the camaraderie formed with my staff, in particular the other barbacks, all of whom bust ass behind the scenes while sharing laughs and memes along the way. Among this crew I’ve formed solid, healthy friendships, although it’s Marsel in particular who sees me in a way most in D.C. never has.
At first, I wasn’t sure if Marsel and I would get along. He’s ripped, tatted, confident, and hot, which is essentially the recipe for intimidating. Then we worked bar shifts together and I finally got to know him. Turns out he’s insanely witty, kind if you’re not an asshole, and overall easy to talk to. As it so happens, he and I are quite similar: two gays in our mid-30s working as barbacks who ended up in D.C. after growing up in rural, ruby-red states. Still, one parallel stands out above the rest: we both also have daddy issues.
That’s right—it’s a cliché and often a punch line of jokes (which can still be funny, by the way), but the reality for many queers is rejection from one or both parents. For some, including Marsel and me, the traits of a toxic parent warps childhood beyond just conservative thinking. Case in point: both of our dads harbored deeply rooted anger and resentment, making their reaction to learning who we are seemingly inevitable.
For Marsel, that pivotal moment came when his parents discovered he had a boyfriend in high school. In addition to filling his mind with fears about being gay, “they made me switch schools, severely monitored all my communications, what I would wear to school, and who I could hang out with. I spent the remainder of my high school years alone with no friends, isolated in a rural town outside of Nashville.”
A few years later, Marsel’s parents kicked him out upon learning he engaged in sexual activity with men. “They expelled me from the family home and, for many years, treated me as though I no longer existed to them. I spent the better part of a year living in my car and the rest of the time couch-surfing, relying on the kindness of friends.”
As for me: my dad served dual roles as patriarch and specter of my family. He was abusive physically and verbally, though still I tried maintaining a connection to the guy, likely fueling my attraction to mean guys but that’s another story. Despite my efforts, my father abruptly ended our relationship shortly after I came out. In our last phone call, he couldn’t even say the word gay, choosing instead “the way you are.” From there he listed everything he disliked about me, none of which was my homosexuality because these days no one admits so boldly to prejudice. Instead, they gaslight you with every other vulnerability as justification for mistreating you.
It’s been well over a decade since I’ve spoken to or even seen my father, and at this point I’m certain he’ll happily march to his grave without seeing me again. Losing a parent is always hard. Losing one because they don’t want to love you anymore, well—it’s a searing pain that rips your heart wide open. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
Sadly, stories like these are far from unique among queers, nor are they the sole trauma we experience. From living in shadows and in shame, to schoolyard bullying and alienation, to pressures of religion or toxic masculinity, to a higher likelihood of sexual violence or discrimination in the workplace, we are affronted with so many traumas they’re nearly a marker for our kind. This also doesn’t include intersectionality with other traumas, such as a growing up in America a woman, a person of color, or poor. It’s no wonder, then, that the National Institutes of Health (NIH) published a review last year declaring, “LGBTQ people are at higher risk of PTSD compared with their cisgender/heterosexual peers.”
To most queers, what I just described is neither new nor surprising. In fact, in the face of this collective trauma, queers often come together in the form of fundraisers or Pride events. Yet despite rallying around the common inputs of our trauma, we rarely discuss the outputs. That’s right — emotional trauma has outputs, as neuroscience has proven, and when left untreated those outputs emerge as toxic traits in our adult lives.
To illustrate, let’s take it back to Marsel. While he hoped to leave his past behind in Tennessee, that wasn’t the case. “For things I hadn’t fully processed or dealt with, my past trauma would bubble up to the surface in the form of emotional triggers, which would inevitably spark my anger. My anger manifested in various ways, and I would often find reasons to justify my behavior. I was angry about my relationships, angry about my body, angry about my career – basically, I was angry about everything. And the root of all that anger was the unresolved trauma I hadn’t properly addressed.”
I couldn’t relate more. I tried to be tough and pretend I didn’t care that my father abandoned me, but the thought still crossed my mind and crushed me every time. Then I took that pain and subconsciously projected my anger everywhere — onto friends, onto other gays, onto myself, but especially onto my relationships, where I’d swing like a pendulum between states of hyperattachment and hyperdetachment with almost no in-between. Steadily, my unresolved trauma chipped away at my self-worth, and once that goes, self-destruction is inevitable.
Since the path to self-destruction is riddled with more trauma, the downward spiral only gets steeper. “My most impactful and lasting piece of trauma occurred two days before my 25th birthday,” Marsel told me. “The summer of 2013 I had been more than reckless with the frequency of my sexual encounters. I had often done pretty dangerous and wild things in regard to meeting up with guys. Then, on Dec. 10, 2013, I found out I was HIV positive.
“At the time it was quite Earth-shattering news because I knew no one who was positive and had no idea what this would mean for me. I was pretty hard on myself for being reckless, and it took a bit to pick myself up, but over time I used it to inspire me to live my life fully and authentically.”
Often it takes Earth-shattering events to serve as a wakeup call for change. When my PTSD transformed into social anxiety, it was easy to suppress at first with sex, drugs, and most often alcohol, which inevitably led to the occasional outburst, or the loss of a friend. Yet still I’d go out, even more anxious I’d run into newly formed enemies, so I’d drink more, at times pre-gaming by myself before pre-gaming with others before eventually stumbling into the bars. Naturally this facilitated more outbursts, cost me more relationships, and once landed me a night in jail. The further I unraveled, the more I numbed it with heavier drinking, darker sex, harder drugs, until finally — it pains me to write, but for the sake of honesty I must — I was contemplating, threatening, and attempting suicide.
Sorry to get heavy, but it’s important to dissect why and how queers experience emotional hardship. We don’t struggle simply because we’re queer but rather due to the trauma thrust upon us by a world that still fears queers. As a result, normal events — such as a breakup or losing a job — can feel insurmountable, like proof that those who rejected us were right all along.
Thankfully, queers can rely on each other for support, right? Sounds nice in theory, but in practice we D.C. gays are pretty fucking mean to each other. Sure, we find our friends, but often our community is itching to judge us at every corner. We throw insults, ostracize those deemed “crazy,” and constantly seek validation from people we (Instagram) deem perfect. And no, I am not above this. I’ve been a narcissist. I’ve burned bridges with glee. Looking back, it was my inner turmoil bursting at my seams.
Marsel summarized our behavior well: “Everything is a trauma response. That mean gay you see at the bar – trauma response. That gym obsessed muscle queen – trauma response. That career-driven type-A Capitol Hill gay – trauma response. Most of the time I find when people are treating me a certain way, it has little to do with me and everything to do with their own trauma.”
So, we find ourselves amid a queer trauma cycle in which hurt queer people hurt more queer people. Sounds bleak, but the good news is we also have the power to change that. And we must, for a recent survey by the Trevor Project found a staggering 41 percent of LGBTQ+ youth aged 13 to 24 considered suicide in the last year alone. Queer trauma isn’t going away, so it’s on us to avoid bestowing our trauma to younger queers and instead provide a safe community not only to thrive but to experience inevitable lows as well. That may seem like a tall order, but based on what I’ve learned from Marsel, two measures can move us closer.
First is simple self-reflection, for when trauma goes unnoticed it grows steadily like mold, potentially upending your behavior without you even noticing. “As I moved through different stages of my life,” Marsel explained, “I began to see how this unprocessed trauma and anger influenced so many aspects of who I had become. It colored my reactions to conflict, my relationships with others, and even my relationship with myself.”
The only way to process trauma is to excavate your mind and dissect underlying memories and feelings, which can be accomplished in many ways including journaling, art, or my personal favorite: therapy. While I didn’t start therapy until my 30s, taking that leap became a life-changing, and potentially lifesaving, decision. “Through therapy,” added Marsel, “I was able to uncover the reasons why this trauma continued to follow me throughout my life and how it manifested.”
It all sounds so simple: get therapy, and you’ll get better. However, therapy only goes as far as you let it. Progress is never linear and brutal honesty is a must; as a result, not everyone gets there (no judgment though, for I’m not all the way there myself). In fact, my hardest step was admitting I needed therapy at all, for seeing a therapist is often treated like spotting a UFO — no one wants to admit it out of fear of looking insane. However, often the fear of appearing crazy leads to the most toxic behavior, as I’ve witnessed in D.C. time and time again.
To heal requires dissolving the ego. While tough, it’s truly the first and most important step.
As for the second measure: we need to cut each other some slack. No, this doesn’t mean excusing terrible behavior, but it does mean holding the belief that others — including and especially your queer enemies — can grow. If not, then tell me: who’s supposed to believe in your growth if you don’t believe in the growth of others? And if your response is you don’t need to grow, you likely have the most growing to do.
Writing off one of us is writing off all of us, and if we keep burning each other at the stake for every flaw, we’ll grow weaker as a community. Besides, the rest of the world already does that to us. Why do it to each other as well?
My hope is for more queers to see each other the way Marsel and I do. Not because he and I are perfect — if anything, we’re far from it. Instead, in between inside jokes, we share our mistakes, our hardships, and the work we’re putting in toward self-love and improvement. That feels rare in a city obsessed with perfection, but that’s also why it feels genuine.
And genuine feels worlds better than perfect ever could.
Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer and barback.
Commentary
History of D.C. Pride: 1995-2007, a time of growth and inclusion
Rainbow History Project plans expansive WorldPride exhibit
In conjunction with WorldPride 2025 the Rainbow History Project is creating an exhibit on the evolution of Pride: “Pickets, Protests, and Parades: The History of Gay Pride in Washington.” In “Freedom on America’s Main Streets,” we discuss how during the 1990s the LGBTQ communities became more prominent across all areas of American life, the circumstances of moving official Pride activities to Pennsylvania Avenue, and the origin of the name “Capital Pride.”
Throughout the 1990s, LGBTQ visibility increased significantly in American society. The LGBTQ community’s presence extended beyond news coverage of AIDS activism, with members participating in various social movements. Gay Black men joined the Million Man March in 1995, carrying banners and signs proclaiming “Black by Birth, Gay by God, Proud by Choice.” Lesbians led abortion-rights rallies, LGBTQ Asians joined Lunar New Year parades, and LGBTQ Latinos marched in Fiesta DC.
Once again, financial difficulties around Pride activities led to the dissolution of the Gay and Lesbian Pride of Washington as an organization and the gay arts and culture non-profit One in Ten took over organizing Pride. One in Ten’s mission was not solely Pride planning, but rather year round activities, including an attempt to make an LGBTQ history museum. Due to the explosion of activities, the crowd sizes, and the growing concerns around feelings of exclusion brought on by the neighborhood’s identity as a primarily gay white male space, in 1995, One in Ten moved the Pride parade and festival out of Dupont Circle to Freedom Plaza on Pennsylvania Avenue.
Although the struggle for bisexual visibility had successfully added the B to the 1993 March on Washington, the push to add Trans and Queer identities to Gay Pride’s name was not yet successful; Pride was reborn as The Freedom Festival. Two years later, in 1997, the Whitman-Walker Clinic became not just a sponsor but also a co-organizer to alleviate some of the organizational and financial challenges. It was during this time that the event was officially renamed Capital Pride.
The name change sparked debate within the community. Frank Kameny, who had organized the 1965 pickets, harshly criticized the new name, arguing that it “certainly provides not an inkling of what we really mean: Pride that we are Gay.” He lamented that the name change “represents Gay shame.” However, others celebrated the inclusivity of the new name. L. A. Nash, a self-identified lesbian, wrote, “Gay is good—Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender is far better.” Elke Martin further supported the change, stating, “A name is your identity, it gives you legitimacy and a seat at the table.” Capital Pride’s official name was now “Capital Pride Festival: A Celebration of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered Community and Friends.”
In April 2000, the Millennium March on Washington highlighted divisions within the gay civil rights movement. Unlike previous grassroots marches organized by local activists, this event was orchestrated by national organizations like the Human Rights Campaign. However, its Millennium Pride Festival was by far the largest event with major headliners performing, including Garth Brooks and Pet Shop Boys. Critics argued that these events represented a corporatization of activism that sidelined political demands and local groups struggling for recognition.
In 2001, Capital Pride events were attracting 100,000 attendees. The festival was held on Pennsylvania Avenue with the U.S. Capitol in the background of the main stage. This location, often referred to as “America’s Main Street,” symbolized a significant visibility boost for the LGBTQ community. However, the Washington Post failed to cover the event beyond a simple listing in its events calendar. The outrage that ensued led Capital Pride director Robert York to state: “This is the biggest and best Pride we’ve had, and it is important to see it covered other than in the gay press.”
It wasn’t until 2007, however, that SaVanna Wanzer, a trans woman of color and Capital Pride board member, successfully established Capital Trans Pride. “The transgender community needs its own event,” Wanzer stated, “rather than just using us as entertainment. That’s all we’ve been allowed to do.” Trans Pride’s creation was a significant step toward greater inclusivity within the LGBTQ community.
Our WorldPride 2025 exhibit, “Pickets, Protests, and Parades: The History of Gay Pride in Washington,” will be installed on Freedom Plaza on May 17 to coincide with DC Trans Pride. We need your help to make it happen.
Commentary
On this Transgender Day of Visibility, we can’t allow this administration to erase us
All people deserve to have our experiences included in the story of this country
By KELLAN BAKER | Since 2009, the world has observed Transgender Day of Visibility (TDOV) each March 31. The importance of ‘visibility’ feels especially significant this year, not only as a trans person but for me as a researcher whose career has been centered on equity and inclusion for transgender people. My work over the past 16 years, which has focused on advancing fairness, access, and transparency in health care for gender diverse populations, could not have prepared me for the speed and cruelty at which the Trump administration has worked to literally erase transgender people from public life.
From banning transgender people from serving openly in the military, blocking access to best practice medical care, and making it all but impossible for us to obtain accurate identification documents that match our gender, the impact of these attacks will be felt for years to come. As a scientist dedicated to fostering the health and wellbeing of diverse communities, I am particularly devastated by the intentional destruction of the federal research infrastructure and statistical systems that are intended to ensure the accurate and comprehensive collection of data on the full diversity of the U.S. population.
The importance of data cannot be understated. This makes the efforts by the federal government to remove survey questions, erase variables from key data sets, and stifle research even more alarming. By simultaneously removing access to existing datasets, removing gender (and other key measures, such as sexual orientation, race, and disability) from key surveys, terminating federal funding for research projects that include trans people, and censoring research projects at federal data centers, this administration’s goal is to erase the lived experiences of trans people – with the idea that if we don’t exist in data and in research, the federal government can claim that we don’t exist at all.
Just in the past two months, we’ve seen a rapid decimation of the inclusion of transgender people in federal research and their visibility in the federal statistical system.
Data sets that included gender measures have disappeared from federal websites. Critical data sets used by federal and state policymakers, public health staff, and researchers, such as the Youth Risk Behavior Surveillance System (YRBSS), were removed from the CDC website in response to a Trump executive order that made it the policy of the administration to recognize only two sexes, male and female. Although some datasets have been put back up, gender variables have been removed.
Surveys that had asked about gender identity no longer do. Claiming that the removal of gender identity measures from key national surveys such as the American Housing Survey, Household Pulse Survey, and National Health Interview Survey were “non-substantial,” the Trump administration has essentially skipped the extensive notice and public comment process that is required to make these types of changes—the same process that were used to add gender identity (and sexual orientation) measures.
In addition, attempts to exclude trans people and other communities facing disparities from surveys will result in a lack of large enough sample sizes to conduct quality data analysis, while reducing any chance of analyzing racial and ethnic differences among trans people.
Hundreds of grants supporting inclusive research have been terminated. The unprecedented move of the National Institutes of Health (NIH) to terminate research grants that include transgender people is just one example of this administration’s rush to eliminate funding from active scientific projects. In many cases, similar agencies are also now required to remove gender identity measures from federally supported surveys. Prominent trans health researchers have watched as their research portfolios are halted, work stopped, staff laid off, and participants left without care.
At the Institute for Health Research & Policy at Whitman-Walker, for example, we have already had seven studies terminated, with a financial impact that exceeds $3 million. One of these cancelled grants was a multi-year, longitudinal study in partnership with the George Washington University to explore the impact of structural racism and anti-LGBTQ bias on HIV risk among young queer and trans people of color nationwide. The notices of termination for this and other awards clearly spell out the administration’s disdain for groundbreaking research that seeks to understand and address health disparities related to LGBTQ populations, particularly trans people.
Censoring research. As seen with recent changes implemented by the CDC, the censorship of gender-related terms on federal websites and scientific publications is intended to further the erasure of evidence detailing the disparities faced by LGBTQ people.
On a day dedicated to honoring the lives and contributions of trans people, the impact that these egregious actions will ultimately have on the health and wellbeing of trans and nonbinary people is chilling. Without access to this knowledge, researchers will not be able to examine the repercussions of the harmful policies put forth by this administration and many states across the country, including bans and restrictions that negatively impact trans people’s physical and mental health, economic security, and educational outcomes.
Although there has been an effort by non-government entities to collect and store previously collected data prior to the Trump administration’s purges, state surveys, private research firms, and academics cannot fill the void left by the federal government’s decision to halt data inclusion. Ensuring that public entities and researchers can continue to use these datasets is only one piece of the puzzle being taken on by groups such as the Data Rescue Project and repositories like Data Lumos. Work also continues thanks to the efforts of the U.S. Trans Survey, the California Health Interview Survey (CHIS), and the important research and analysis of both Gallup and The Pew Research Center. Yet, gaps still exist due to threats of federal funding cuts to organizations committed to safeguarding inclusive data assets in the wake of the administration’s continued assault on trans rights.
This administration suggests that removing one of the only tools available for identifying an entire population of people is a “non-substantial” action. This not only questions the intelligence of the American people but is a direct insult to trans folks everywhere. All people deserve to be counted and to have our experiences included in the story of this country. Transgender people have always been a part of this country, and even if our nation’s surveys choose to exclude us, we continue to exist—authentically, unapologetically, and forever visible.
Kellan Baker, Ph.D., M.P.H, M.A., is executive director of the Institute for Health Research & Policy at Whitman-Walker.
Commentary
Children of American service members defend Pentagon DEI policies
Students protested Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth during Germany visit
“And a little child shall lead them.” (Isaiah 11:6)
Since the new U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth began his assault on diversity, equality, and inclusion in the U.S. armed forces, hundreds of students at U.S. military schools in Europe and Japan — the children of American servicemembers stationed overseas — have staged walkouts and other demonstrations to protest the new policies.
When Hegseth visited Stuttgart, Germany — the headquarters of U.S. European Command and U.S. Africa Command — on Feb. 11, more than 50 students from the Alexander Patch Middle School held the first of these protests when they left their classes and gathered in the school’s courtyard for an hour-long protest meeting.
More than a hundred students at the Nile Kinnick High School in Yokosuka, the children of Navy parents and Defense Department employees based at Yokosuka, Japan, the headquarters of the U.S. 7th Fleet, walked out of classes and held a protest in the school’s courtyard on Feb. 21, chanting and carrying banners.
“I love this school; I think one of its strengths is its diversity,” said Kinnick High School senior Chase Hassell, president of the student council and leader of the walkout. “I think we have such a great multicultural community, and I think that it’s important for the development of all children — not just us — to have experience with different people of different beliefs and backgrounds,” Hassell told Stars and Stripes after the demonstration.
And on March 6, hundreds of students participated in demonstrations at Humphrey High School at Camp Humphreys, South Korea, and at Ramstein High School and Kaiserslautern High School in Ramstein, Germany, and Wiesbaden High Schools in Wiesbaden, Germany, carrying signs that proclaimed “Solidary in Diversity,” “Censorship is Un-American,” “Our Classrooms Are Not Your Ideological Battleground,” “This Affects People of Color, LGBTQ+, Woman, and Everyone,” and “More Books, Less Bigots!”
There’s a great deal of anger around the country about what the Trump administration is saying and doing. But anger is not enough. These students are not just angry, they’re actually doing something to fight back. Maybe we all have something to learn from them.
Daniel Volman is the director of the African Security Research Project in Washington, D.C., and a specialist on U.S. national security policy toward Africa and African security issues.
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