Finding Strength in Asking for Support: Self-Care During the Holiday Season as an LGBTQ+ Individual

by Natalie M. Olbrych, MSW

The holiday season can be a time of joy and connection, but for many LGBTQ+ individuals, it can also bring stress, anxiety, and even fear. As a social worker specializing in trauma care and trauma-informed practices, I feel driven to emphasize how important it is to approach this time with intentional self-care, especially when navigating challenges unique to our community.

This year, the stakes feel even higher. Post-election tensions have heightened feelings of uncertainty and fear, especially as anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric continues to rise. For many of us, this tension compounds the challenges of stepping into spaces—whether family gatherings or social events—that may feel alienating or even unsafe. Being queer in predominantly straight spaces, or facing family who may not fully accept or understand our identities, can make us feel like we’re carrying a heavy burden, one that is both personal and political.

Navigating Straight Spaces with Intention

Straight spaces, especially those filled with family and longtime friends, can come with unspoken expectations about how we present ourselves. There’s often pressure to “tone down” our identities or avoid topics that feel controversial. This kind of masking is exhausting and isolating, particularly when the values and politics of those around us clash with our own.

If you find yourself in such a space, it’s okay to set boundaries to protect your energy. This might look like taking breaks during gatherings to reset, finding a supportive friend to text when things feel overwhelming, or even planning an early exit if the environment becomes too difficult to navigate.

The Complexity of Family

Family dynamics during the holidays are often layered with unspoken tensions, unaddressed histories, and the hope (or expectation) of shared celebration. For LGBTQ+ individuals, these dynamics are further complicated by the reality that not all families are affirming or even understanding of who we are.

Remember that you don’t owe anyone an explanation or a performance of your identity. If your family is supportive, lean into that love and connection. If they’re not, you still deserve to honor yourself. This could mean finding ways to affirm your identity privately or seeking solace in your chosen family—the people who see and celebrate you fully.

Acknowledging the Current Climate

This post-election season has created a unique and fraught environment, particularly for LGBTQ+ individuals. With anti-trans legislation, rising political polarization, and harmful rhetoric permeating public discourse, the weight we carry as queer people can feel heavier than ever.

It’s okay to feel exhausted, angry, or afraid. These emotions are valid, and they reflect the resilience you bring to navigating a world that often marginalizes us. But your beautiful resilience doesn’t mean you have to carry this weight alone. It’s not a weakness to ask for support—it’s a testament to your strength.

Finding the Strength to Ask for Support

One of the most radical acts of self-care is recognizing when you need help and reaching out for it. I acknowledge how difficult this can be, especially for those of us who have internalized the message that we must be self-sufficient or silent about our struggles. But as perspectives shift, we’re starting to understand that seeking support is not a sign of weakness—but a true reflection of our courage and self-worth.

This holiday season, consider:

• Leaning on your community. Whether it’s chosen family, close friends, or an LGBTQ+ support group, your community can be a source of strength and affirmation.

• Seeking professional support. Therapists, social workers, or crisis hotlines can provide critical care and perspective, especially if you’re navigating trauma or heightened stress.

• LGBT National Hotline: Call 1-888-843-4564 for peer counseling, information, and local resources. This hotline is available Monday through Friday from 4 PM–12 AM ET and Saturday from 12 PM–5 PM ET. 

• The Trevor Project: Call 1-866-488-7386, text START to 678-678, or chat online for free, 24/7 crisis support. This hotline is for LGBTQ+ youth ages 13–24. 

• Trans Lifeline: Call 1-877-565-8860. This hotline is staffed by transgender people for transgender people. 

• SAGE LGBT Elder Hotline: Call 1-877-360-LGBT (5428) to connect with friendly responders. This hotline is free and available 24/7.

• Practicing self-compassion. Give yourself permission to rest, say no, or step away from situations that harm your well-being.

Creating Spaces for Joy

Amid the challenges, remember that the holidays are also an opportunity to cultivate magic and joy on your terms. Whether it’s going to or organizing a queer-friendly holiday gathering, indulging in solo traditions that bring you peace, or simply taking a moment to reflect on your growth, joy is a form of resistance and healing.

This season, I challenge you all to commit to honoring yourselves and each other. By leaning into community, setting boundaries, and finding the strength to ask for support, we can navigate the holidays with resilience and grace. You are not alone in this journey—your experiences are valid, your story matters, and your well-being is worth prioritizing.

Take care of yourself this holiday season—you deserve it.

Natalie Olbrych, MSW  (she/her) is proud to be the Administrative Coordinator for SpeakOUT. She holds a master’s degree in social work with a specialization in trauma and violence and also serves at The Center for Violence Prevention and Recovery at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. A trauma-informed Reiki practitioner and Tarot Lady, Natalie combines her expertise and intuition to create healing and affirming spaces for those she supports.

The Power of Visibility: A Body That Feels Like Home

By Heath Umbreit

As a trans/nonbinary person who uses they/them pronouns, I've been thinking a lot about the concept of visibility lately. Visibility is such a complex, fraught topic for trans people; being visibly trans can be emotionally draining, exhausting, and even dangerous. All we have to do is look at the commentary in the news and at the laws being passed around the country to see why. I don’t want to ignore that the struggle for rights and the difficulties of marginalization are as fundamental an aspect of visibility, of seeing, of being seen, as the other parts are. But visibility can also be celebratory, and in that spirit I want to talk about why I choose to move through the world as a visibly trans person.

The first time I visited my parents after coming out, my mother confronted me in tears. In the midst of an hours-long questioning, of wondering what she and my dad had "done so wrong" to end up with a trans child, and of trying to convince me to reconsider, she asked me to promise I would never start hormone replacement therapy (HRT). At the time, it was an easy promise—I genuinely didn’t think it was something I wanted or needed. What didn’t occur to me was that, really, my mother was asking me to promise I would never seek to become visibly trans.

As time passed and I continued my transition, the tension between who I am and how other people perceived me heightened. I had changed my pronouns, name, style of dress; but pronouns and names aren’t visible, and clothing is, realistically, gender-neutral. External observers were still putting me into one of two boxes—man or woman—depending on their individual criteria of what a man or woman looks like.

Simultaneously, I came to understand the fallacy inherent in our thinking about what it means to live in a cisgender body versus what it means to live in a transgender body. The assumption is that trans bodies are worse and less natural than cis bodies, and therefore trans bodies—visibly trans bodies—should be avoided. This is also a way of saying that defying easy categorization for other people should be avoided—because people assign you a gender based on how they perceive your body, and if your body is untranslatable to them, they won’t know how to categorize you. And so I realized that, for me, starting HRT would accomplish exactly what I wanted: it would complicate categorization for other people, it would make other people have to look again, listen again, and maybe still not know how to parse my gender. It would make other people have to consciously make a decision.

In that sense, HRT has allowed me to exercise my own agency, by taking control over how I am perceived in a way that was previously denied to me. The benefits to my mental wellbeing have been immeasurable. I love being trans, and I love my trans body, in spite of everyone and everything suggesting I should feel otherwise. For me, that’s the power of visibility: the chance to be a full-fledged person in a body that feels like home. And I would encourage everyone reading this to consider, as you go forward, how you can shift the way you look at others to make space for and celebrate and really see them for who they actually are—not just who you think they are, or should be, or appear to be at a glance.

Heath Umbreit (they/them) is trans/nonbinary and genderfluid. In their work as a librarian, they study information systems and advocate for trans inclusion. They have been a proud SpeakOUT volunteer since 2022. You can learn more about them at: www.heathumbreit.com.