Kānaka Māhū (LGBTQIA+) and Grief

It's the most tender part of queerness - how we've all lost so much family, when we find people we call family, we'll do almost anything to not let go.

~ Andrea Gibson ~

unique differences in grieving LGBTQIA textured community

Grief touches every community, yet it does not touch us all in the same way. Within the LGBTQIA+ community, grief often arrives layered with experiences that are already emotionally demanding. Many LGBTQIA+ individuals move through the world carrying the weight of societal stigma, discrimination, and an ongoing search for acceptance in a predominantly heteronormative society. For Kānaka māhū in particular, these experiences are shaped by cultural erasure and misunderstanding, making the emotional terrain even more complex. As a result, higher rates of depression, anxiety, and other mental health challenges are not simply responses to loss, but often part of a lifelong backdrop against which grief unfolds.

For some, love itself is not always recognized or honored. LGBTQIA+ relationships may be dismissed, hidden, or invalidated by societal norms, leaving partners without the collective acknowledgment that so often supports mourning. When a loss is not openly recognized, grief can feel lonely, disorienting, and unresolved, carried quietly, without witness.

Many LGBTQIA+ individuals also live with strained or estranged relationships with their families of origin. When a death occurs, this distance can mean being excluded from funerals, rituals, or family gatherings that are traditionally meant to hold grief with care. These moments, funerals, memorials, celebrations of life, can be vital opportunities to say goodbye, to remember, and to be held by community. Being denied access to these rituals can interrupt the natural rhythm of grieving, leaving sorrow without a place to land.

Grief becomes even more complicated when the relationship with a loved one was fractured before their passing. In these moments, individuals may grieve not only the person who has died, but also the loss of what never was, the hope of reconciliation, acceptance, or healing. Old wounds may resurface, and the pain of past rejection can intertwine with present loss. When this grief goes unrecognized or unacknowledged, it can deepen and intensify, carried silently alongside a sense of invisibility.

After losing someone within their chosen family or broader community, many LGBTQIA+ individuals struggle with feelings of shame or the belief that their grief is somehow “less valid” or unwarranted. This societal invalidation can make it difficult to seek support, even when it is deeply needed. And when support is sought, there is often a limited understanding of LGBTQIA+ experiences within professional or medical settings. Without culturally attuned care, grief support may feel inadequate or misaligned, leaving individuals feeling misunderstood and further isolated.

We believe that grief deserves to be met with compassion, affirmation, and understanding, especially in communities that have so often been asked to carry their pain alone. Here, there is space for your loss, your love, and your story. You do not have to justify your grief. You are not grieving “wrong.” You are allowed to mourn fully, openly, and in your own way.

Grief does not follow a straight line, nor does it ask to be resolved. It lives in the body, in memory, in love, and in the spaces where belonging has been fragile or denied. For many LGBTQIA+ individuals, grief carries layers - of loss, longing, resilience, and unfinished stories.

Your grief does not need permission. It does not need to be justified, explained, or compared. Love is enough. Loss is enough. What you are carrying is real.

There is no correct way to grieve here, only your way. Whether your sorrow feels heavy or distant, tangled or tender, it is worthy of care and gentleness. Even when words fall short, even when recognition has been absent, your grief remains valid.

May this be a place where your grief is allowed to exist without judgment or expectation. Where remembrance, pain, love, and survival can quietly coexist. And where, in time, there may be moments of softness, breath, and connection, held in your own rhythm.