Queer, Sensitive, and Still Here: Life as an HSP in 2025

We Know You’re Hurting – Trans Solidarity from France 2025 PAINT

The Video That Broke Me Open (Hey America)

A few nights ago,I watched a short video made by LGBTQIA+ folks in France called "Hey America." It hit me in the gut. Person after person held up handmade signs in the colors of pride flags: “We know you’re hurting.” “Stay strong.” “We know Trump wants to take away your rights.” “Don’t give up.” “We are in this together.” “You are not alone.” And finally, the last sign — simple and steady — “You got this.”

I didn’t expect to cry. But something about being seen from across an ocean—somewhere that feels a hell of a lot safer than this place—hit me right where the fear lives.

In some ways, seeing that video from France made everything more real. I wasn’t imagining this. The grief and fear I’ve been carrying, quietly, internally, suddenly had witnesses. I saw queer couples hugging, trans folks holding hands with lovers, families laughing in the streets like they weren’t terrified. That kind of ordinary joy? It felt like a gut-punch reminder of how much has been ripped away from us—the freedom to just be without explanation or fear.

When Visibility Feels Like a Risk (Especially for HSPs)

Visibility sounds empowering on paper. But for many of us—especially those of us who are Highly Sensitive People (HSPs)—it comes with a cost.

When you’re highly attuned to your environment, rejection stings harder. Aggression feels more threatening. Microaggressions don’t roll off your back; they lodge in your chest.

It doesn’t help that being straight-passing (hello, bi+ life) adds another layer of erasure. You’re told to speak up, be proud, come out—again and again—to prove you exist. But doing that takes energy you may not have, especially when the world feels actively hostile to your identity.

And here’s the kicker: passing can bring up guilt. It’s a double-edged sword. There’s safety in invisibility, yes—but also grief for the parts of yourself you tuck away to feel that safety. And always, the ache and the weight of knowing others don’t get that choice.

I can always slip under the radar. I live under the radar.
They can’t. It shouldn’t be this way.

It’s a fact: passing makes me safer. That doesn’t make it fair—or simple.

Sometimes I catch myself feeling ashamed for not being more visible—like I’m not doing enough. But then I remember: safety isn’t cowardice. It’s survival. And survival, in this climate, is no small feat. Still, the guilt lingers. The feeling that you should be doing more. Should be louder. Braver. Queerer.

But that guilt? It’s a trap. It doesn’t protect anyone—it just burns you out faster.

What Is a Queer HSP, Anyway?

You’ve probably heard the term Highly Sensitive Person (HSP). But being a queer HSPis its own thing entirely. You’re not only attuned to emotions, energy, and subtle shifts—you’re also navigating a world that misreads or erases your identity. It’s like having the volume turned up on everything, while also walking a tightrope of visibility, safety, and belonging.

It’s not weakness. It’s not fragility. It’s a nervous system that’s alert to danger because—historically—danger has been real. Add in cultural pressure to “be proud” or “speak up,” and it can feel like you’re failing no matter what you do.

Queer Identity Is Political—Even If You're Not Yelling

I keep writing political blogs, and sometimes I wonder if that turns people off. But then I remember: being queer is political.

Our lives are up for debate in state legislatures. Our relationships are questioned. Our pronouns spark outrage. Even our healthcare is treated like a moral issue instead of a human right.

So yeah, I’m going to keep writing.

You don’t have to march or scream to make your queerness matter. Living openly, loving who you love, and existing without apology? That’s resistance, too.

And therapy? That's resistance, too. I work with clients who tell me, in one way or another: "I just want to live my damn life. Without having to defend why." They don’t want a performance. They want peace. They want to date, cook, raise kids, build community, have quiet weekends—without being interrogated about it.

Visibility, boundary-setting, and even resting—all of that is resistance when your very existence is being politicized.

What It Means to Be Seen Without Burning Out

HSPs aren’t wired to be loud all the time. We feel things deeply, and we notice everything. That means activism can be overwhelming, and even visibility can feel like too much.

But being seen doesn’t have to mean being on all the time.

Sometimes, being visible means not shrinking when someone assumes you’re straight. It might mean correcting pronouns, or not. Wearing your favorite queer-coded hoodie to the grocery store. Or letting someone see the rainbow sticker on your water bottle at work.

Small things count.

You get to choose your pace. You get to protect your energy. You get to step back without disappearing.

Rest is not retreat. It’s emotional pacing. It’s honoring the cycle of grief, rage, hope, and fatigue. It’s knowing that showing up looks different depending on the day. And that includes showing up for yourself.

How This Shows Up in Therapy

In therapy, I hear variations of the same quiet confessions, over and over:

• “I’m exhausted when I watch the news, but it’s hard to tune it out.”

• “Sometimes I feel guilty for not doing more—but I’m already stretched thin.”

• “I need to rest. But part of me thinks I’m just disengaging.”

These aren’t dramatic thoughts. They’re survival thoughts. They come from people who are trying to care—deeply—without collapsing. People who are doing their best to stay awake and present, but who are scared that it might not be enough. And honestly? That fear makes sense right now.

Some clients tell me they’re starting to feel hopeless—not just about politics, but about the future of therapy, gender-affirming care, basic medical access. They worry about losing support systems they fought hard to build. That worry lives in their bodies. It shows up as chronic exhaustion, shutdown, or a quiet sense of futility.

But showing up in therapy—even when it feels like everything is fraying—is a form of hope. You don’t have to be loud or certain or brave every moment to deserve support. Sometimes, just saying “this is too much” out loud is where the healing begins.

Why Trauma Makes Visibility Harder

For many queer HSPs, especially those with complex trauma, visibility isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s wired into the nervous system as unsafe. If you’ve spent years hiding or downplaying your identity to stay protected, coming out or standing up might feel less like empowerment and more like threat exposure.

That doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means your system learned how to keep you safe. Therapy isn’t about forcing visibility—it’s about giving you the tools to decide how you want to show up. On your terms, in your time.

You Don’t Owe the World Loudness, But You Do Deserve to Exist Fully

This part is important: you don’t owe anyone your loudness.

You don’t have to justify how queer you are. You don’t have to educate your co-workers, attend every protest, or argue with bigots on the internet to prove your worth.

But you do deserve to exist fully.

You don’t owe anyone a performance of your queerness. But you do owe yourself a life you can recognize.

You deserve to take up space in your own way. To write weird poetry, be the quiet one in queer community, or only come out to people who’ve earned your trust. You deserve softness. Safety. Joy.

And visibility? It can look like all of that.

Shame makes us hide. But hiding too long starves our connection. Therapy can help you make sense of that—so you can choose visibility on your own terms, without apology or collapse.

You Got This. We Got You.

If you feel overwhelmed, shut down, or unsure whether it even matters to stay visible—I get it. Some days, I want to disappear, too. But then I think of that video. I think of those signs. I think of all of us trying to stay soft in a brutal world.

We don’t all show up the same way. But we’re still here.

Sensitive. Seen. And absolutely still here.

Disclaimer: This blog shares my reflections on mental health but is not a substitute for therapy. The advice is general and may not fit everyone. If you're struggling, please seek support from a licensed mental health professional.