On November 13, National Caregiver Appreciation Day recognizes the estimated 53 million Americans who provide unpaid care to family, friends and neighbors. For the LGBTQ community, healthcare often has specific patterns and challenges. As the threats of anti-LGBTQ efforts loom ahead of a new Trump presidency and conservative control of the House of Representatives and the Senate, concern is more urgent than ever.
For many LGBTQ people, acts of care often carry different weight. Whether it’s a nice meal, holding a partner’s hand in the park, a listening ear or even change, these moments can be life-changing. For queer, trans, and non-binary individuals navigating a world that may bring harm or danger, showing care can be a matter of survival.
Prior to the elections, this year saw unprecedented anti-trans legislation 664 bills introducedof which 45 passed in 16 states. Despite the unique challenges the LGBTQ community faces, providing care is simple: offering acceptance, acknowledging struggles, and being humble.among others.
While National Caregivers Appreciation Day traditionally focuses on those who care for elderly or sick family members, the LGBTQ community often expands these roles — according to the Center for Health Care Strategies, LGBTQ people are 3.5 times more likely to provide care to friends and chosen family. A large portion (55%) of LGBTQ healthcare providers provide support to chosen family memberswhile only 5% of non-LGBTQ caregivers do so and 45% LGBTQ caregivers are under 35 years old. In August, an AARP survey found that nearly 80% of older LGBTQ adults worry about support as they grow older.
The financial consequences are also significant. LGBTQ healthcare providers spend an average of $11,000 annually on healthcare costs, according to a National Alliance for Healthcare Provision 2023 Report. They are also 41% more likely to report difficulty accessing resources and support services compared to non-LGBTQ caregivers.
But amid these challenges, stories of resilience and mutual aid are emerging. From financial assistance to emotional support, LGBTQ caregivers are finding creative ways to support their communities. In honor of the holiday, Consider shares a collection of vignettes from LGBTQ people about the seemingly ordinary acts of care that changed their lives in extraordinary ways.
Healthcare and crisis support
In addition to medical emergencies, emotional support during vulnerable moments can leave a lasting impression.
Alynda Segarra (she/them), Chicago, Illinois.
When I was 19, I needed an abortion, and my best friend paid for it. She flew me from Louisiana to New York City, helped me make a doctor’s appointment, and I crashed into the feminist punk house where she lived with four other friends. I was totally broke at this point in my life, homeless and making money playing on the streets. My only lifeline was my friends. She came with me to the procedure and held my hand. Then she enjoyed fresh blueberry pie from a fancy bakery on the Upper West Side, and we ate it together, crying on the couch.
I stayed in that apartment for a few months and came back from a day of busking on the subway to write songs and record my first EP on a borrowed laptop. It was difficult for me to accept the care she so eagerly gave me. I used the shame I felt about needing help to fuel my writing process, hoping that the songs I created could express my infinite gratitude.
Mitchell Kuga (he/him), Honolulu, Hawaii
This summer, while wandering alone along the coast of Playa Zipolite on a day where it was 90 degrees and more humid, I started seeing double. Palpitations. A shortness of breath. Panic realizing I got a D in Spanish. I had reached the end of the coast, to that fancy hotel where every gay man in New York says you MUST stay, and thought I was going to collapse. I sat on a shady edge near the hotel bar and frantically texted my friend, who was resting in our room on the other side of the shore: Help, I think I have heat stroke. He was sick and doubting his ability to make it in this heat, and instead summoned his lover – the one he had met on the cruise beach two nights earlier and who was staying at the yoga spot around the corner. He arrived twenty minutes later and kept me company at the bar for two hours, making me laugh as I pressed ice to the back of my neck while the weight bar looked at me suspiciously and felt my heart slowly return to its natural rhythm.
Emotional support and recognition
For many in the LGBTQ community, acceptance manifests itself in everyday gestures of recognition.
Rachel McKibbens (she/her), Rochester, NY
It was after a poetry reading of mine to a packed room in Albuquerque, NM, 2005. After the summer, the air conditioning could barely keep the room below 80. I ended my set emotionally exhausted and motherless. The room emptied into the cool night, except for one woman. She took my hand in hers, looked me straight into my tear-stained face and said, “I would be so proud to be your mother.” I’ve been wearing that jewel for almost twenty years.
Amy Nakamura (she/her), Washington, DC
When I was 19, I studied abroad in France for a semester. I struggled not only with the language, but also with the culture that was so different from my home country of Hawaii. The people there had this coldness. Angry looks were so common, and I hated that I was starting to get used to them. I kept feeling stupid for wanting to go to a place I was so afraid of.
One night, while catching the train back from class, I got into a huge fight with the person I was seeing. The distance was difficult and I felt like I was holding them back. Then it all started to dawn on me. I felt so completely alone in a place that didn’t seem to want me either. So I started sobbing. At a certain point I just couldn’t hold back anymore. Snot, tears and mascara ran down my sweater when a man tapped me on the shoulder. He handed me a tissue (he looked very worried, by the way). It was so small, but the kindness of that one stranger really helped me through that one moment of panic.
John (she/them), Atlanta, Georgia.
I’ve never been able to choose a favorite nun; there are just too many. Maybe it’s because they were my first teachers. Or maybe it’s because they have a powerful way of subverting gender norms. Or maybe it’s because I’m obsessed with examining habits—worn and hidden. One of my favorite nuns (don’t make me choose) approached me in a park one day when I was trapped in my grief. I didn’t know her, but somehow she “knew” me and said it’s okay to sit with those feelings as long as it’s just for a visit. “And if someone tells you to put on a happy face and smile, tell them to fuck off.” (Okay, maybe she’s my favorite). I often return to this random act of caring and sit with it on days when I feel sad, lost, and confused. But just for a visit.
Gender affirmation and identity
Sometimes care means providing practical support when bureaucratic systems create barriers.
Judge Ameer (xe/xem/she/her), Providence, RI
My father is old-fashioned. Teaching his young boys how to be men meant opening the car door for their mother. Men help women in and out of the car. They are on the street side of the sidewalk. They keep the doors open for passersby. Out of respect, out of duty. It took some listening and learning for my father to understand what it meant for his youngest son to grow into his youngest daughter. But I know he learned it because I don’t touch the car door anymore. He opens the door for me as he does for my mother, as he does for the other women in our lives. Even if he stumbles over the words, he never stumbles over his actions. He is a father who sees his child as he raised her and who she has become because of him.
Community and practical support
While emotional and medical support can be transformative in times of crisis, the LGBTQ community often faces ongoing practical challenges that require long-term care. From overcoming bureaucratic hurdles to building neighborhood networks, these stories show how seemingly mundane forms of assistance can coalesce into sustainable support systems.
Jess Kung (she/them), Washington, DC
Between a non-legal name change, driving across the country, and a global pandemic, I found myself buried in red tape. My car’s tags are expired and my landlord has repossessed it several times. Some very kind acquaintances offered up their driveway for over a year while I battled brain fog to get my paperwork in order. They said they weren’t using the space anyway. I still don’t think I thanked them enough.
But that’s not all. When I was finally ready to drive it home, the battery was dead. I wanted to cry. But that didn’t work, I had plans to buy something from a local colleague and I arrived too late. I walked up to this stranger, and eventually he had a portable jump starter handy – he offered a ride back and gave me the jump. He said it was no problem. I have never been so relieved.
Ariel Friedlander (she/them), Brooklyn, NY
My neighbor became a companion through informal care. We met when I first moved in a few years ago, when we started small, probably when I first asked if I could pet his toothless, elderly chihuahua, Belinda Carlisle. But we got close the day I got dumped out of the blue. I had a busy afternoon, but the last thing I wanted to do was sleep that night on a bed that smelled like my ex. So I knocked on his door and told him. He immediately invited me to lie on his bed and let it out. He then helped me change my sheets before I had to run to my meeting. After that, we really started doing each other favors, from pet sitting to moving furniture around the neighborhood. When I saw an election flier hanging on his doorknob, I invited him to volunteer with me to Philly on Election Day to get out. We drove down and shared a hotel and everything! I love my neighbors. And this is what community looks like to me.