The Psychological Cost for LGBTQ+ Kids of Their Lives Being Debated
Personal Perspective: What to do when children become controversies.
Posted September 19, 2025 | Reviewed by Gary Drevitch
In my small New Jersey town of 12,000 residents, the school board recently debated a policy that currently protects the rights of LGBTQ+ children who attend public schools in the district. This was brought to my attention by a resident who shared a post on Facebook which encouraged those who support this policy to show up in solidarity with these young people in order to keep the protections in place as they are. However, as the post appeared in on my timeline, it included commentary from the resident about how this act of solidarity would be “ridiculous” and that attendance would be “targeting” the school board.
The central topic of debate was a particular protection under which a child can choose to express their gender and utilize pronouns at school, without the school informing the parents that they are doing so, and these adults spoke about trans and non-binary students as though they were political problems rather than actual children.
Moments like this are happening across the United States, in towns just like mine, and they carry a quiet yet devastating psychological cost. For many LGBTQ+ people, identity isn’t just something one discovers; it remains something they have to defend, again and again and again, against systems built to erase it. Messages of rejection begin to accumulate like static, and embed themselves in the nervous system . The toll begins to show up everywhere, in higher rates of depression , anxiety , and trauma among queer and trans communities—not because of who we are, but what we are forced to endure.
When we talk about queer and trans kids as if they are political talking points, we teach them that they are problems to be solved rather than people to be loved. For a young person still forming their sense of self, belonging isn’t just comforting; it’s biologically essential. Adolescence is when the brain wires its social circuits, building the foundations for identity, trust, and emotional regulation . When the adults around them dispute their existence, kids internalize the message that who they are is up for public debate.
In psychology, we call this minority stress — the chronic strain of living in a world where your identity is stigmatized. It doesn’t just make kids feel sad; it changes how their nervous systems develop. Research shows that LGBTQ+ youth who experience rejection or hostility have higher levels of cortisol (a stress hormone ), more symptoms of depression and anxiety, and are several times more likely to attempt suicide than peers who feel affirmed. Policies like the ones in place in New Jersey recognize the value of creating safe spaces for children during this period of development, and acknowledge that not everyone finds them at home.
Framing these young people's existence as “controversial” further isolates them. It signals to their peers that they are safe to mock or exclude, and it forces queer kids to carry the double burden of self-protection and self-advocacy at an age when they should be focused on growth. Instead of wondering who they want to become, they are left wondering if they are allowed to exist. Children exploring their gender identity through the clothing they choose to wear, the utilization of various pronouns, and other forms of self-expression are ostracized for the choices they make.
When identity becomes a debate topic, empathy erodes. Teachers hesitate to offer support, or even name what is happening, for fear of backlash. Classmates learn to see difference as danger. A climate of suspicion forms, and children—who should be free to explore and belong—learn that love can be conditional and unsafe. That’s why this matters. Because what adults call “political” children experience as survival.
This is why understanding the psychology of oppressing the LGBTQ+ community matters so deeply. It reveals that the harm is not random nor is it personal: It is patterned, predictable and preventable. The resulting stigma does not only shape public policy and public opinions; it rewrites how people (including children) see themselves, how safe they feel in their bodies, and how fully they believe they deserve to exist.
To untangle this harm it is necessary to name the forces that create it, from the rise of Christian nationalism to the political weaponization of religion, to historical myths that the Bible has always condemned queerness. The category of “ homosexuality ” itself didn’t exist until the late 19th century, when sexologists in Germany coined it as a medical term. Only in the 20th century did it become a moral and political label, and only in 1946 did the word “homosexual” first appear in an English Bible translation. That single linguistic choice — translating ancient Greek terms about exploitation and sexual violence as “homosexual” — helped sanctify anti-queer sentiment, fueling decades of moral panic.
For much of Western history, same- sex love and gender variance were not seen as fixed identities. Across the globe, ancient cultures embraced and even honored gender diversity: Consider the Two-Spirit roles among many indigenous nations, gender-variant shamans in Siberia, and androgynous deities in Greek and Mesopotamian mythology. Even within Europe, queerness was treated as a behavior and not an identitiy; it was simply something people did.
This shift to seeing queerness as an identity, and to marking it for condemnation, changed everything. Once people were taught to see LGBTQ+ identity as an essential flaw, stigma became embedded not just in religion and law, but in the psyche. Children grew up absorbing the message that being queer was shameful, unnatural, even dangerous—and many LGBTQ+ people internalized that message as self-loathing . Psychologists call this internalized stigma , and it can be a major driver of depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation among queer and trans people.
The mental health disparities we see in LGBTQ+ communities aren’t innate. They are the echo of centuries of fear, moral panic, and politicized theology—fear that resurfaces every time a school board debates whether these kids belong.
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Whitney Coulson, LCSW, is a New York-based psychotherapist and founder of Moodlab, offering a radically affirming lens on mental health and identity.
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This article is part of the Bringwise Psychology Journal — daily insights on human behavior, mental health, and personal growth.