Wellbeing | Perspectives from LGBTQIA+ People of Colour
Every year, World Mental Health Day offers an opportunity to reflect on mental health issues and the services available to support us. We might feel it in the air, as conversations begin to amplify around us. These conversations matter. But, as with this day and many other special days, what happens beyond the moment matters more. What we do consistently, and how we sustain care, support and meaningful change over time, is what matters most. For instance, ensuring equitable access to mental health support (and general healthcare) for all.
For many LGBTQIA+ people of colour in Aotearoa New Zealand, mental health cannot be separated from the worlds we live in. It is connected to family. Community. Culture. Faith. Migration. Racism. Sexuality. Gender. Work. Housing. Healthcare. Pre-emptive distancing. Language. Ethnicity. And the profound feeling that we belong somewhere.
When these parts of our lives are treated separately, something vital to our wellbeing is lost.
Through my work with Adhikaar Aotearoa since early 2021, I have listened to many LGBTQIA+ people of colour, particularly South Asians, speak about their lives. Their stories are different. Yet, similar questions appear again and again. Where can I be fully myself? Who will understand me without requiring an explanation? Where can I go when I need help? Will seeking support make things better, or will I have to defend my culture, my sexuality, my gender, the way I speak, the way I look, or my family before I am even heard?
These are mental health questions too.
We often speak about LGBTQIA+ inclusion as though the existence of an inclusive policy, rainbow flag, or service means that everyone will feel included, and that the complex nuances within and between communities will somehow be understood instantly. It does not always work that way. A queer space can still be racist. An ethnic community space can still be queerphobic or transphobic. A health service can say it welcomes everyone and still lack the knowledge to understand the person sitting in front of them.
People then learn to move between spaces carefully. They decide what to share, what to hide, when to speak, and when silence may be safer. This constant negotiation can be exhausting.
We also need to be careful about how we understand “coming out”. For some people, being open about sexuality or gender can bring freedom. For others, disclosure may carry the risk of losing family, housing, cultural connections, financial support, or community. For some, it is life-threatening, too. Choosing privacy is not necessarily shame. Sometimes it is care. Sometimes it is survival. Sometimes it is a way of holding relationships together while finding another way to live authentically.
There cannot be one model of wellbeing for everyone.
My work across various sectors has repeatedly reminded me that community is not simply something people have. Community can itself become a form of care. When people find others who understand the complexity of their lives, something shifts. They do not have to translate themselves all the time. They can laugh, eat, create, disagree, share stories, and just be themselves.
I have seen this through community conversations, research, and intervention programmes. Sometimes healing happens through a counselling room. Sometimes it happens while sitting around a table. Sometimes while stitching fabric, sharing kai, hearing someone else's story, or realising for the first time, “there are people like me here”.
This is why I think we need to move our mental health conversations beyond the discourse around resilience.
LGBTQIA+ people of colour are often described as resilient. Of course, there is strength in our communities. There is creativity, resistance, care, humour, knowledge and an enormous capacity to build new worlds. But people should not have to continually demonstrate resilience because the systems around them refuse to change.
The responsibility for wellbeing cannot sit only with the individual.
Within South Asian contexts, cultural responsiveness cannot simply mean celebrating Theepavali or Diwali. Culture needs to be understood beyond its most visible or simplified expressions. We also need to ask whose version of culture is treated as dominant, who gets left out, and how histories of colonisation, patriarchy, cisheteronormativity, and other forms of power continue to shape what is considered culturally acceptable.
We need workforces that reflect our communities. We need families and communities to have better tools for difficult conversations. We need ethnic spaces that are safer for rainbow people, and rainbow spaces that actively address racism. We also need housing, workplaces, schools and public services where people do not have to divide themselves into acceptable pieces before receiving care.
Most importantly, we need to listen.
Communities have been sharing what helps them feel safe, connected and well. They have also been sharing what does not work. We need to treat that knowledge seriously.
For me, this is where the conversation about mental health must go next.
Not only: how do we help people when they are struggling?
But also: what kinds of families, communities, services and systems are we building around them?
Mental health is not only about surviving difficult circumstances. It is also about having the freedom to imagine a future.
A future where we can belong.
A future where we will be safe.
A future where we can find joy.
A future where we do not simply survive, but thrive.
Dr Cayathri Divakalala, Adhikaar Aotearoa
