For many who come out as LGBTQI+ later in life, the closet isn't just a metaphorical space—it’s a tightly wound existence where you're both present and absent in your own life. As a late-in-life lesbian, the experience of living in the closet can feel like being trapped between two worlds—one that others see, and another that is your truth, hidden away for fear of rejection, judgement, or loss.

For years, I lived what felt like two entirely different lives. There was the life that everyone saw—the one filled with family gatherings, work events, friendships, and conversations about everything but who I really was. I played the part, wore the mask, and smiled through the suffocating weight of it all. From the outside, I looked like I was doing everything “right”—living a life that fit within society’s expectations.

But beneath the surface, there was another life—one filled with longing, confusion, and, most of all, loneliness. That part of me that knew I was a lesbian was buried deep, pushed aside to maintain the façade. It was like trying to fit into clothes that never really felt right, but you wore them anyway because it’s what was expected. Every day felt like a performance where I was playing a role that wasn’t mine, and the energy it took to maintain that act drained me of any real sense of self.

Living in the closet creates an overwhelming sense of isolation. You can be surrounded by people you love and still feel utterly alone because you're hiding the most fundamental part of yourself. Even in a room full of friends, the truth you carry becomes this ever-growing, invisible barrier that keeps you from fully connecting with others. You can't be vulnerable, because being vulnerable means risking exposure. And the fear of what could happen if you're exposed is paralysing.

For me, the biggest fear was that if I came out, everything would change. The relationships I had built, the life I had constructed—all of it felt like it could come crashing down. I worried about what people would think, what they would say, and whether I would still belong. So instead of risking that, I stayed trapped in the closet, carefully curating my life to avoid the truth. But the longer I stayed hidden, the more suffocating it became.

There’s something uniquely exhausting about living two lives—about pretending to be one person while secretly yearning to be another. Every interaction, every decision is weighed down by this hidden truth, and after a while, it starts to chip away at your spirit. You feel like you're drifting through life without ever really living it.

Over time, the mental and emotional toll of staying closeted becomes immense. It’s as if you're holding a part of yourself captive, denying it air and space to breathe. You tell yourself you’re doing it for everyone else—for your family, your children, your friends—but in reality, you're slowly suffocating your own happiness. 

The weight of this secret grows heavier each day. You start to question who you really are. Am I really the person everyone thinks I am? Will I ever be able to live as my true self? The gap between the person you present to the world and the person you know yourself to be feels like an ever-widening chasm. The more you suppress your true self, the more trapped you feel.

But there comes a moment—a moment when you realise that living this dual life is no longer sustainable. For me, that moment came when I realised the cost of hiding was greater than the fear of coming out. The pain of denying myself was far worse than the potential fallout of telling the truth. I wasn’t living; I was surviving. And that was no longer enough.

Choosing to come out is terrifying, but it’s also liberating. It’s the moment you decide that you deserve to live as your authentic self, no matter the consequences. When I made that decision, it felt like stepping off a cliff, unsure if there would be anything to catch me. But what I discovered is that the act of coming out—of finally being honest with myself and the world—was like finally breathing after years of holding my breath.

The day I came out, the weight of the world didn’t instantly fall away, but the sense of relief was immediate. There was freedom in finally saying the words out loud, in no longer hiding or pretending. For the first time in years, I felt like I was in alignment with myself—like I was no longer at odds with the person I was pretending to be. 

Coming out isn’t just about telling the people in your life that you're a lesbian; it's about reclaiming your own story, your own identity. It's about choosing to live authentically, even if it means risking relationships, career stability, or societal acceptance. But what you gain is priceless—you gain the ability to finally live for yourself. The freedom of coming out isn’t just about sexual identity; it’s about emotional freedom, mental freedom, and the freedom to stop living a lie.

Living in the closet for years meant that I lost so much time—time spent pretending, time spent alone, and time spent feeling disconnected from the world around me. But coming out allowed me to reclaim that time. It allowed me to rebuild my life on my terms, to surround myself with people who knew and accepted the real me.

There’s a misconception that coming out late in life means you've missed your chance, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Coming out, whenever it happens, is the first step toward living fully and authentically. And the freedom that comes with it—the freedom to be your true self—is worth every moment of fear and uncertainty.

For anyone who feels trapped in the closet, afraid to step into the light, know this: freedom is possible. It’s not easy, and the path may be messy, but once you start living authentically, you’ll wonder how you ever survived living any other way. The peace that comes with owning who you are and the connections you can make when you're no longer hiding are life-changing. You deserve that freedom. You deserve to live as your full, unapologetic self