
Roger-Luc Chayer (Image : Pixabay)
Each year, in many countries and cities around the world, LGBTQ+ Pride events take place to celebrate the diversity, inclusion and journey of these communities, in a positive and festive spirit. Yet, a large number of people react poorly to these celebrations, without always understanding why.
Some experience this period as a surge of anxiety or the onset of a kind of seasonal depression, but in the middle of summer. For some, isolation then becomes a way to get through a time that stirs emotions too intense to bear. These people, who are also part of the LGBTQ+ communities, deserve that we pay attention to their reality and try to support them whenever possible.
What triggers these feelings?
These sometimes painful reactions have their roots in intimate and complex realities. For many, Pride season reopens old wounds, feelings of exclusion or the sense of not fitting the proud, joyful image that these gatherings project.
Others feel pressured to display a joy and freedom they do not live or no longer feel, which can heighten a sense of disconnection or loneliness.
There are also those for whom these celebrations highlight the absence of support networks, estrangement from loved ones or fear of judgment, even within their own community. Finally, the constant exposure to images of pride, celebration and solidarity can paradoxically amplify the unease for those who still live with the fear of rejection, the grief of lost family ties or an identity still fragile and hard to assert in everyday life.
Behind the colorful flags, there is therefore a hidden side that must be acknowledged, so as not to leave alone those whom Pride quietly wounds.
Noah’s Story
Noah, twenty-three years old, looks out the window of his small downtown Montreal apartment, where the first rainbow flags are already waving, announcing the arrival of Pride. For several days now, he has felt that familiar tension building inside him, a mix of dull anxiety and weariness that he struggles to explain to his friends when they invite him to join the festivities. He wishes, like them, that he could let himself be carried away by the music, the laughter and the colors, but his body refuses, his mind too. He feels an overwhelming anxiety that he cannot explain or express.
Noah still remembers his first Pride marches, when he was seventeen and believed that everything would be resolved once he dared to walk proudly, hand in hand with a boy he loved a little too much. He thought self-acceptance would come like fireworks, bright and final. Yet, each year, he realizes that the visible pride does not erase the inner scratches.
In the crowd, he sometimes catches glimpses of looks, smiles, oversized flags, but also, in the shadows, the loneliness that clings to him when he comes home alone after smiling too much for nothing.
Since leaving his family home—where his father will never understand and his mother pretends not to know—Noah lives between two worlds. The one he shows on his social media, filled with party photos and nights out with friends, and the one he hides, full of doubts and heavy silences. Each summer, that crack reopens. He feels almost guilty for not feeling the expected joy, for not managing to rejoice in what is meant to be a celebration for everyone.
In his living room, the TV plays, as it does every year, a news report about the big parade happening just a few blocks away. Noah turns off the sound.
Unfortunately, Noah does not really understand what lies beneath these emotions, nor the source of this seasonal mourning that seems to have no clear cause. He has already spoken to a social worker at his local CLSC (Local Community Service Centre), but after the five free sessions he was entitled to, he had only scratched the surface of his family history, without ever getting to the heart of the matter, or finding any relief.
Yet there are resources
For an LGBTQ+ person who feels emotional distress, especially during Pride season when discomfort can intensify, there are many resources—often complementary—that can offer listening, support and, in some cases, more structured follow-up.
In Quebec, many people start by turning to their CLSC, which offers initial psychosocial support free of charge, sometimes with a social worker or community worker. When one-time help is not enough, some CLSCs can refer people to psychologists or community support groups. They know these resources well and keep a directory.
Several community organizations exist specifically for LGBTQ+ realities, such as Interligne, which provides a 24/7 listening and referral service by phone or text and can connect people with other services. There are also groups like Projet 10, which focus particularly on LGBTQ+ youth aged 14 to 25, offering listening, workshops and individual or group support. For those experiencing isolation, discussion groups or drop-in cafés can create a space to break solitude and share with peers who understand. A simple Google search lists dozens depending on the region of the world.
Some people choose to consult a private psychologist or psychotherapist specializing in sexual and gender diversity, when financially possible, or to explore virtual resources like discussion forums, helplines or even support apps.
There is even increasing talk of psychological support through ChatGPT, which can assist someone free of charge and confidentially—an interesting first step for artificial intelligence.
Finally, when the distress becomes unbearable or turns into a crisis, one should never hesitate to contact an emergency service such as Suicide Action Montréal, the local suicide prevention center, or as a last resort, dial 911 if there is an immediate danger.
Beyond these formal resources, some find comfort in talking to a trusted friend, a community member or a supportive ally, because sometimes, it is in the space of a simple conversation that a first sense of relief can appear.
Regularly, at Gay Globe, as the person responsible for communications for the media, I receive emails from people asking for help for these reasons. I always make sure to reply the same day, to offer initial support and possible solutions to those in distress. That too is part of the role of a media outlet that serves LGBTQ+ communities.
What about resources in English-speaking Canada and Europe?
In the rest of Canada and Europe, LGBTQ+ people facing this type of emotional distress, especially during Pride season, can find help through many well-established networks, often free or low-cost, and adapted to a wide range of needs.
In English-speaking Canada, a well-known organization is The Trevor Project, which, although originally American, also offers virtual support accessible in Canada for LGBTQ+ youth. For a Canadian helpline, Talk Suicide Canada (formerly the Canadian Suicide Prevention Service) provides bilingual support 24/7. Major cities also have their own networks: Toronto Pflag and LGBT YouthLine in Ontario, for example, offer listening, information and support groups for youth and families. Community centers like The 519 in Toronto or the Centre for Sexuality in Calgary often offer individual counseling and support groups. Many university campuses also have LGBTQ+ resource services for their students.
In Europe, what is available varies by country, but several national or local organizations play a key role. In France, SOS Homophobie has a helpline and supports victims of discrimination or violence, while organizations like Le Refuge help LGBTQ+ youth rejected by their families. Networks like the Switchboard LGBT+ Helpline in the UK have provided phone and text support for decades. In Belgium, the RainbowHouse in Brussels and the Maisons Arc-en-Ciel in various regions offer a welcoming space, guidance and group meetings.
In some countries, public health systems also fund LGBTQ+ centers with psychologists, social workers or support groups free or at low cost, often through subsidized associations. Throughout Europe, the European emergency number 112 remains an immediate option in crisis situations.
Beyond emergency lines, more and more young people are also turning to anonymous support apps or moderated forums, like TrevorSpace or Discord groups run by associations, to break isolation. Even from a distance, these spaces can sometimes be a first step to share a burden that feels too heavy to carry alone.
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