I’ve been out for years, so why do I still edit myself?
You've done the big bit. You've told your family. You've told work. Maybe you've been out ten years, maybe you're married.
And yet someone at work asks what you got up to at the weekend, and before you've even thought about it, "my husband" has turned into "we".
Nobody asked you to. Half the room wouldn't care either way. You did it anyway.
If that sounds familiar, you're in good company. Loads of queer people still do this years after coming out, and it makes a lot more sense once you look at where it comes from.
What editing yourself looks like
Mostly it's small stuff, done so often you stop noticing:
Letting go of your partner's hand when a group of lads walks past.
Dropping your voice on the phone to the bank, or the plumber, or your dad.
Standing in front of the mirror asking "is this too much?" before a work do or a family wedding.
Not correcting someone who assumes you're straight, because it's easier than the conversation.
Laughing along at a joke that wasn't funny.
Walking into a new room and working out who's safe before you've taken your coat off.
Each one is tiny. Do it all day for years and you end up knackered. Plenty of us don't realise how tired we are until we land somewhere we can stop.
Why it happens
Most of us learned to read a room before we had the words for who we were. As a kid you work out fast which bits of you get a laugh and which get a look. Keeping the second lot to yourself kept you safe, and it was smart.
The trouble is the habit doesn't switch off when you come out. Coming out keeps happening, too. A new job, a new neighbour, a taxi driver asking if you've got a girlfriend, and there's that split second where you weigh it up again.
Psychologists call the weight of all that minority stress: the extra load you carry living in a world that wasn't built with you in mind. Carry it for years and it takes a toll, even when life's going well.
And honestly, a bit of caution makes sense. Some rooms aren't safe, and you get to choose when you share. What matters is whether you're choosing, or doing it on autopilot in rooms that should feel safe, with people who love you.
Authenticity isn't being the same in every room
I'm not the same person at work as I am at the gym, or on a night out with my friends. Neither are you. Does that make any of those versions less real? I don't think so.
For me, authenticity isn't being the same person in every room. It's knowing I feel safe enough in myself to cope, whatever the room throws at me.
I'm the only out gay man in my community. When I go to community events and family weddings, I take my husband with me and introduce him the same way every time: "This is my husband, Graeme." Some rooms are easier than others. But I'm not walking in wondering which bit of me to leave at the door.
When I do adapt, I'm choosing it. That's what I mean by being intentional. I know I'm safe in myself, so I get to decide how much of me each room gets. If you'd like to know more about how I got here, here's my story.
How therapy can help
LGBTQ+ affirmative therapy starts from one idea: you aren't the problem. The structures around you are, the workplaces, families, faiths and systems that never had queer people in mind.
Navigating them every day is what wears you out. In therapy you don't have to defend who you are or explain what chosen family means, and you don't have to brace yourself before you mention your partner.
I work in a person centred way, so I won't tell you who to be or hand you a plan. We go at your pace. Together we look at where the editing happens, where it started and what it's protecting you from. You might keep some of it because it's useful. You might be ready to put some of it down.
For a lot of my clients, the biggest change is having one place, for an hour a week, where they don't have to edit at all. You can read more about how I work with queer clients.
Something to try this week
Start by noticing. Then get intentional about it.
Catch the moment. Next time you swap a word, drop your voice or let go of a hand, clock it. No judging, "ah, there it is".
Ask who it's for. Was that for your safety, or someone else's comfort? Both answers are allowed.
Notice the after. How do you feel walking out of that room? Fine? Flat? Wiped out? Your body tends to know before your head does.
Find your easy rooms. Who do you never edit around? Spend more time with them.
Choose one room. If it feels safe, pick one place this week where you say the whole sentence on purpose. "My husband." "My girlfriend." "My partner, they." See how it feels.
If this brings up more than you expected, that's worth talking about.
Talk to someone who gets it
If you're tired of editing yourself and want somewhere to work through it, I offer a free 15 minute call. You can ask me anything and see whether we'd work well together.
I see clients online across the UK and abroad, or in person in London and Essex. You can book your call from my queer therapy page.
