Chronic Shame and Queer Trauma — Let’s call it what it is

So often, queer people are told that everything’s fine now — that equality has been achieved and the fight is over. But the truth is, many of us still carry the emotional legacy of growing up in a world that said we were wrong. In this post, I reflect on Adam James Cohen’s Psychology Today article about chronic shame as complex trauma, and why naming it is a vital step towards healing.

When I came across Adam James Cohen’s Psychology Today article, Chronic Shame: A Complex Trauma for LGBTQ+ People, it stopped me in my tracks. It put into words something I’ve felt for a long time and reminded me that I’m not alone in seeing it this way.

Cohen describes chronic shame as a kind of complex trauma — not one single awful event, but the long-term emotional impact of growing up and living in a world that tells you there’s something wrong with who you are. Over time, those experiences shape how we see ourselves, what we expect from others, and even how we love.

That framing really resonated with me. It validates the truth that LGBTQ+ people often carry deep emotional wounds that don’t always fit the traditional idea of trauma. So often we’re told that unless something ‘really bad’ happened, we can’t call it trauma. And if we dare to name it, we’re told we’re being dramatic.

“Everything’s fine now” – or is it?

In therapy spaces, I still come across the idea that “everything’s fine now” for queer people. We’ve got rights, we can get married — so what more do we want? There’s a sense of “you got what you asked for, now be quiet.”

But while laws may have changed, the emotional legacy of growing up in a world that systematically marginalised us hasn’t vanished. And in many ways, it feels like things are shifting backwards. The growing hostility toward trans people, the culture wars over identity, and the drip-feed of anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric in politics and media all send a chilling message: you’re still not safe here. For many queer people, that message rekindles old fears and reinforces the shame that never really went away.

If we don’t name that, the risk is huge. Many queer people internalise the idea that they should just be over it. They don’t realise that what they’re feeling — the anxiety, shame, perfectionism, self-doubt — might actually be the long shadow of trauma. Without that awareness, they don’t know that healing is even possible.

Complex trauma doesn’t have to mean catastrophe

The word trauma can feel heavy, even frightening. I use it carefully in therapy because it carries weight — and not everyone relates to it. But as Cohen points out, complex trauma isn’t about a single catastrophic event. It’s about the ongoing impact of living in a heteronormative world — the messages, silences and subtle rejections that build up over time.

When clients begin to understand that, something often shifts. It’s not about pathologising their experience, but recognising it as real and valid — and beginning to explore it with compassion rather than shame.

How chronic shame shows up

Chronic shame takes many forms. In myself, it can show up as perfectionism — the constant need to be liked, to get everything right, to control how people see me. For others, it can look like overworking, over-gymming, drinking, drugs, endless hook-ups, or getting lost in social media. None of these are moral failings; they’re often survival strategies — ways of coping with pain that has never been named.

Therapy offers a space to unpack that. To go back and gently revisit early experiences, to see them through a kinder lens, and to build a new relationship with ourselves. Self-compassion is key — learning to hold yourself with the same care you’d offer a younger relative who had been through the same things.

The key is finding a therapist who truly understands and can hold space for your experiences without judgement.

Moving forward

For me, understanding my own patterns has been freeing. I still catch myself falling into them, but I’m able to pause, notice, and meet myself with more grace. That’s what recovery looks like — not perfection, but awareness and kindness.

Cohen’s article gives us a language to talk about something many of us have lived but never named. Chronic shame is a form of trauma, and naming it matters. It opens the door to healing — for individuals, communities and culture.

The next step is collective: sharing our stories, amplifying queer voices, and creating spaces where we can exist without shame. Healing doesn’t mean we stop fighting; it means we fight from a place of self-love and connection. And that’s where real change begins.