Internalised queerphobia is a force many of us carry, often without realising it. It isn’t just about personal shame—it’s about the messages we’ve absorbed over time from families, communities, and institutions that have told us, directly or indirectly, that something is wrong with us. And when you add religious beliefs into the mix, that internalised shame intensifies, becoming a heavy burden that’s hard to shake.
Absorbing The Messages Early: Queerphobia & Faith
Being in a religious community, queerness wasn’t just seen as “different”—it was seen as sinful. From a young age, I was taught that certain kinds of love, certain expressions of identity, were wrong in the eyes of God. It’s a lot to carry as a kid when your whole world revolves around your faith and the people who share it.
You trust them to tell you the truth, and when that truth says your very identity is a problem, you start to believe it.
In religious communities, the messages about queerness can feel all-encompassing. It’s not just about hearing that being gay is a sin, or that loving someone of the same gender is unnatural. It is very subtle, also. It’s in the way people pray for “healing” or “deliverance” from queerness. It’s the way sermons weave in themes of purity and righteousness that exclude anyone who doesn’t fit the narrow mold of heterosexual, cisgender life.
At first, I didn’t question these things—I absorbed them. I internalised them, because when everyone around you is telling you that queerness is wrong, you begin to believe it must be true.
The Added Layer Of Shame
The shame that comes with internalised queerphobia in a religious context is its own unique beast. It’s not just about societal rejection—it’s about spiritual rejection. It’s one thing to feel different or wrong in the eyes of society, but to feel that you’re wrong in the eyes of God? That hits deeper. It tells you that not only are you unworthy of love and acceptance from people. Also that you are unworthy of love from your Creator.
This kind of rejection feels all-encompassing because it isolates you from your community, your family, and, in some ways, from yourself. There were times when I felt like I was at war with myself. Trying to silence the parts of me that were queer because I wanted so desperately to be loved, to be accepted, to be “good.” But the thing about internalised queerphobia is that no matter how hard you try to push those parts of yourself down, they never really go away. They just get buried under layers of shame, self-hatred, and fear.
The Isolation
One of the hardest parts about being queer in a religious community is the feeling of isolation. If you stay, you’re often forced to choose between your identity and your belonging. If you leave, you’re left navigating a world that feels unfamiliar and unsafe, with no community to fall back on.
I remember feeling so deeply conflicted about my place in my faith. On one hand, my religion was the foundation of my life—it was my community, my source of comfort. But on the other hand, it was also the source of some of my deepest pain. There was no space for queerness in that world, and yet, I didn’t know how to exist outside of it either.
It’s an impossible choice—stay and suppress, or leave and grieve.
For me, that sense of isolation became overwhelming. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere—too queer for the church, too spiritual for the secular world. It’s a kind of loneliness that sits heavy on your chest. Making it hard to breathe, to move forward, to find any sense of peace.
Finding My Way Back To Myself
Unlearning internalised queerphobia is a process. It’s one that takes time, especially when you’ve grown up in a religious community. For me, it began with questioning the beliefs I had been handed—both about myself and about God. I had to untangle the idea that queerness was wrong from the idea that I could still have a spiritual life. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight. Slowly, I started to see that my queerness wasn’t something I needed to heal from. It was something I needed to embrace.
Leaving the church didn’t solve everything, either. The shame, the guilt, and the rejection still lived inside me long after I walked away. That’s the thing about internalised queerphobia—it sticks around, even when the external sources are gone. But surrounding myself with queer voices, queer community, and queer spirituality began to help me heal.
Therapy was also a critical part of that healing journey. Sitting with someone who could help me unpack all the layers of shame, all the years of internalised rejection, was transformative. I had to learn that my queerness wasn’t incompatible with love—divine or otherwise.
Reclaiming Queerness & Spirituality
What I’ve come to realise is that my queerness and my spirituality are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they inform one another. I’ve learned to reject the narrow boxes I was forced into. Instead embracing a more expansive version of both faith and identity.
If you’re someone who has experienced internalised queerphobia, especially within a religious context. I want you to know that you are not alone. The shame and rejection you’ve felt are real, but they do not define you.
Your queerness is not a problem to be solved—it is a beautiful, integral part of who you are. And you are worthy of love, acceptance, and community, exactly as you are.
The Healing
Healing from internalised queerphobia, especially within a religious framework, is hard work. It involves unlearning years of conditioning and finding new ways to connect with yourself and the world around you.
But it’s possible. It’s possible to reclaim your queerness, to find spiritual spaces that affirm who you are, and to live a life free from the shame that once weighed you down. The road isn’t always easy, but it’s one worth taking—because on the other side is the freedom to exist, fully and unapologetically, as yourself.
Reach out if this is something you would like to explore and start unpacking.