A Holiday Heart, Held in Quiet Hands: Navigating the Season Alone as an LGBTQ+ Person
The holidays can be complicated for anyone, but for many LGBTQ+ people, that complexity carries extra layers. Some of us are celebrated by our families. Some of us are tolerated. And some of us are kept at a distance—physically, emotionally, or through silence that hurts more than words ever could. So when the holidays arrive and you find yourself alone, it can stir a very specific kind of ache: the kind that comes from wanting connection while also wanting to protect who you are.
But even though this experience is common in queer communities, the feelings behind it are universal. Longing, loneliness, heartbreak, healing, hope—these belong to everyone. And your feelings this season matter, no matter who you love or how you identify.
Let Yourself Feel What Comes Up
Maybe you’re grieving a holiday you never had. Maybe you’re mourning a family that refuses to see you fully. Maybe you’re simply exhausted from performing happiness in spaces where you don’t feel safe. And maybe you’re also finding quiet comfort in creating a space that finally belongs to you.
Whatever you feel today—joy, sadness, peace, anger, nostalgia, confusion—it’s real. It’s valid. You don’t have to hide it, minimize it, or make it pretty. This is your heart, speaking honestly.
Redefine the Holiday on Your Terms
Queer people have always been experts at creating chosen families, reinventing tradition, and finding joy in unexpected places. That same creativity applies when you’re spending the holiday alone.
You can honor the day in whatever way feels healing. Cook a dish that reminds you of childhood, even if those memories are complicated. Watch a movie that once made you feel seen. Put on music that makes your body feel like home. Light a candle for who you’ve been, who you’ve lost, who you’re becoming.
This day doesn’t need to mirror anyone else’s celebration. It can simply be yours.
Reach Toward Connection, Even If It’s Small
Many LGBTQ+ people know the feeling of building their own circle from scratch. If you have someone in that circle—even one person—you can reach out. A short call, a message, a “hey, I’m thinking about you” can dissolve the heaviest part of the day.
And if your circle is still forming, or if you’re protecting yourself from people who don’t honor your identity or your peace, connection can take quieter forms. A memory. A song. A journal entry. A moment of prayer. A walk in the cold air. A reminder that you’re still here, still growing.
Let Solitude Become a Space for Healing
For LGBTQ+ people, alone time isn’t always emptiness. Sometimes it’s safety. Sometimes it’s a moment to breathe without shrinking yourself. Sometimes it’s the first time you’ve had room to ask:
Who am I becoming?
What do I need next year?
What do I deserve that I haven’t been giving myself?
Stillness can offer answers you can’t hear when you’re surrounded by noise.
Your Worth Isn’t Determined by Anyone’s Acceptance
If someone chose not to invite you, welcome you, or celebrate you this season, that is a reflection of their limits—not your value. You are not less deserving of love because someone else cannot see you clearly. You are not less worthy of warmth because someone else is uncomfortable with your truth.
This message resonates far beyond the LGBTQ+ community, because everyone knows the sting of wanting love from places that cannot give it.
Offer Yourself Grace and Gentleness
If today hurts, let it. If today feels peaceful, let it. If today is a mix of both, you’re not alone—many people, queer and not, are sitting with that same blend of emotions right now.
Wrap yourself in softness tonight. Make your favorite dish, even if it’s just for you. Turn on a movie that feels like a hug. Wear something that makes you feel like yourself. Rest without guilt.
You have survived a world that hasn’t always made room for you, and still you’re here—whole, hopeful, and worthy of love in all its forms.
