Not Gay Enough

I was ecstatic to receive an email that I was finally accepted into the outpatient mental health program I had been eagerly waiting for. Little did I know the person assigned to help me would ultimately shatter my sense of identity.  

I approached the Toronto clinic with a sense of hope, eager to find some meaning in my personal struggles. The workers were friendly and pleasant and guided me to the therapy office from the waiting room. 

"What brings you in today?" she asked, her voice warm and gentle.

"I feel hopeless and lost," I said. "I was hoping you could give me some guidance."

For the next month, we met weekly. I shared intimate details about my life, relationships, and career. Things I had not shared with anyone before. She was easy to talk to; her soft, kind voice and genuine compassion made life easier. I liked this therapist a lot. She listened attentively, nodded, and asked helpful questions—everything we were taught to do in school and training. I felt like my thoughts mattered, and that meant a lot to me.

As I shared, I contemplated how to bring up something I'd struggled with for years, my queer identity—a source of immense shame and fear. 

Our therapy sessions became like a testing ground, a safe space for me to prepare myself for that difficult conversation. 

However, things took a turn when I discussed diversity, equity, and inclusion in the hiring process.

“I know some companies seek out LGBTQ individuals for diversity, but I am not sure how I feel about getting hired that way,” I said. 

"You don't qualify for that anyway," the therapist boldly stated.

Her comment threw me. How can she be so sure? Then it hit me: I had never told her about my past. 

Finally, I worked up the courage.

"There is something I have been meaning to tell you; I might be gay, or at least questioning, I’m not sure," I said. 

She paused. Silence filled the room. She raised her eyebrow with skepticism.

"But Kevin, you're not gay."

I was shocked by her audacity. Who is she to tell me I'm not gay?

"I've used gay dating apps. I've even dated a trans woman in the past," I said.  

"The timing is strange. We were talking about difficulties finding work, then diversity hiring, and now you are telling me you are gay," She said. 

Her tone made it clear what she was thinking: that I was trying to get preferential treatment in the hiring process and was taking advantage of the system. 

It was as if time had stopped; I could feel my throat getting dry. I felt as though my world was shattered, like my struggles, my identity, and all my past experiences were illegitimate because I did not fit into her idea of queer identity.  

"I struggled with my sexual identity long before I knew diversity hiring was a thing." I asserted. 

Her look of disapproval conveyed a great deal. "But you were just experimenting; that doesn't count."

"How does that not count? I did all those things of my own volition," I said.  

"What pronouns do you use?" she asked. 

"He/him," I said.

"Well, then you aren't LGBTQ," she stated. "They usually go by they/them."

I have never heard someone say something so wrong with such confidence. 

I clenched my fists, I could feel my face turning red, and my heart beating faster. 

What I felt was more than rage; I felt deceived. Here I was talking about how caring this person was, how they made me feel seen and heard. I felt like an idiot. 

"I don't need to justify myself to anyone; my identity is my own. It's certainly not up to you to determine if I'm "gay enough" to count," I asserted. 

As you can imagine, I did not finish the program. 

My interaction with the healthcare system was overwhelmingly negative, but it also lit a fire within me. I feel inspired to make a difference through LGBTQ advocacy. I don’t want someone else to have to experience what I went through. 

My story is a real-world example of something we hear often in healthcare: LGBTQ individuals experience systemic barriers to care. The extent of the problem never truly dawned on me until I experienced it firsthand, and I’m deeply motivated to make some genuine changes.  

Queer identity is not a checkbox or a technicality; it's fluid, and we’re each on our journey of discovery. I am still questioning and still learning, and that's valid. 

I hope my story inspires others to share their experiences accessing care in Canada. I am happy to share that I have since connected with a diverse and inclusive community where I feel heard and respected. I hope that with time, effort, education, and advocacy, we as Canadians can work towards achieving health equity for all.