Growing Up with Silence and Shame
I grew up in a part of London where everyone — apparently — was straight. Except maybe the woman who captained the rugby team, and even she got stick for it. Being queer wasn't just unusual — it was unsafe. Anyone who stepped outside the narrowest definition of "normal" got labelled, ridiculed, or worse.
That was the culture. No room for conversation, just a lot of shame dressed up as banter.
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A Personal Discovery That Changed Everything
Years later, during one of those "mum's had a few bottles of wine" type of evenings, I was blindsided with a chat about how the man I thought was my dad, wasn't my biological father — and that he was also gay and neurodivergent. (And is now dead). Which ruled out any chance of closure, but did explain a lot: the silence, the awkwardness, the distance.
Personally, I'd say I sit around a 1.8 on the Kinsey scale — mostly straight, but not rigidly. Heteroflexible, if we're putting names to it. For me, connection has always meant more than categories, and I've definitely felt emotional closeness that didn't care about gender lines. That probably explains why this post hit as hard as it did.
Why This Matters as a Dad
I'm a dad of five, in a house full of neurodiversity and big feelings — and I want my kids to grow up in a world where they never feel the need to hide who they are.
Jeff's story below hit me harder than I expected. It's honest, vulnerable, and full of practical advice for dads (and mums, and everyone else who grew up learning not to talk about this stuff). If you're a parent who wants to do better — even if you're not sure how — you're in the right place.
What Happened When I Came Out to My Dad
By Jeffrey Ingold, Interim Director of Communications at Just Like Us
When I came out to my parents, my dad said nothing. There we were, sitting at the family dinner table in silence with my news hanging in the air, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement. My mum quickly reassured me that she loved me and was proud that I finally felt able to tell them I was gay. I looked at my dad, who got up and left the table.
A few (excruciating) hours later, my dad came over, gave me a pat on the back and mumbled that he was happy for me. I immediately felt a rush of relief – it was like I could finally exhale properly.
Now did my dad have the perfect reaction to my coming out? Clearly not. Do I believe he did the best he could with what he knew at the time? Yes. Since then, my dad has come leaps and bounds in his acceptance of me being gay. There was a time when he really struggled to even have conversations about me dating men. But luckily for me, those days are long gone.
I wanted to share this part of my story because it's important to talk about the special role fathers can play in supporting LGBT+ young people. While every family is different, dads can play a pivotal role (for better or worse) in how LGBT+ young people come to understand and accept themselves.
Just Like Us' research shows that a third (33%) of UK parents have never had a conversation with their child about what LGBT+ means, but dads are even less likely to do so (38%). There are so many reasons that this could be the case – fear of saying the wrong thing, discomfort because of homophobia or views on masculinity they grew up with, or simply feeling that the conversation isn't relevant to their family.
But we also know that talking openly about LGBT+ people, from an early age, creates an inclusive and safe environment for young people, whether or not they turn out to be LGBT+ themselves. In an effort to support parents in having these conversations, Just Like Us recently released our LGBT+ Guide for Parents and Carers.
The guide was produced following consultation with more than 100 parents and LGBT+ young people who shared their experiences, and one of the most striking takeaways was this: Your children are not looking for perfection.
Fears around language and "getting it right" are completely understandable, especially for dads, who often face pressure to be the "fixers" of the family. But the young people we worked with on this guide were clear that imperfect conversation is always better than silence. Silence creates a sense of shame, the idea that LGBT+ lives are taboo.
Casual conversations that involve LGBT+ topics and people show your children that they would be accepted, were they ever to come out. So dads, please don't let a fear of saying the wrong thing get in the way of letting your children know that being LGBT+ is nothing to be ashamed of.
Showing a willingness to learn can be incredibly powerful and many LGBT+ young people have told us that this parental approach transformed their relationships with their families. For some, this learning process may take longer than for others, and may even involve reassessing previous comments or situations.
Many LGBT+ young people we work with remember vividly the times that their parents made negative, throwaway comments about the LGBT+ community, and say that it increased their feelings of shame or fear of coming out. However, those whose parents acknowledged their mistakes, apologised and made it clear that they believe being LGBT+ is something to be proud of, their relationships strengthened and they felt closer than ever.
One of the most common questions dads have is what to do if their child comes out to them. While every coming out moment is different, the young people involved in creating our guide made suggestions around three themes: express that you love them unconditionally, acknowledge the courage required to reveal something so personal, and ensure communication remains open going forward.
For all dads, whatever your children's identities, it's vital to show that you care enough to learn, including from your mistakes. Your own vulnerability and honesty will show them they can be open and honest too.
Read Just Like Us' LGBT+ Guide for Parents and Carers now
Why Dads Matter in Creating LGBT+ Inclusive Homes
Just Like Us' research shows that a third (33%) of UK parents have never had a conversation with their child about what LGBT+ means — and dads are even less likely to do so (38%).
There are loads of reasons this might be the case: fear of saying the wrong thing, discomfort due to ingrained views on masculinity, or the assumption that "it's not relevant" to their family.
But here's the truth: kids don't need you to be perfect. They just need you to show up and try.
Why Silence Is More Harmful Than Imperfection
Fears around getting the language wrong are totally valid — especially for dads who've grown up being told to "fix things" and never show weakness. But the research is clear: imperfect conversation is better than no conversation.
When dads avoid the topic entirely, it creates a sense of taboo. But casual, open chats that include LGBT+ people as part of normal life? That shows your kids that they'll be accepted — whoever they turn out to be.
Your Words Have Power (Even the Throwaway Ones)
Many LGBT+ young people remember offhand comments their parents made — and how those words stuck.
On the flip side, the parents who acknowledged past mistakes, said sorry, and learned out loud? Those are the ones whose kids felt safe enough to come closer.
What To Say If Your Child Comes Out
There's no perfect script. But the themes that matter most are:
- Unconditional love
- Acknowledging their courage
- Keeping the conversation open
You don't need all the answers. You just need to care enough to keep learning — and keep showing up.
From Silence to Support: A Dad's Reflection
I had this conversation with my wife — or as I like to refer to her, "my absolutely smoking hot, whimsical, magical, beautiful, artistic goddess of a woman" — recently about sexuality. The kind of conversation that, growing up, I couldn't have imagined having. She's a fiercely open-hearted pansexual woman who, as she puts it, falls in love with souls, not genders. And truthfully? Her honesty, her curiosity, and her unwavering ability to hold space have changed my life.
Over the years, she's gently helped me unpick the beliefs I inherited without even realising it. She's challenged me, not with judgement, but with love — making it safe for me to question my own identity, my own preferences, and why I used to cling so tightly to labels like "straight" as if anything else was too dangerous to name.
She's been the one person in my life who's made it feel genuinely okay to explore and speak without fear. No awkward silences. No side-eye. No "we'll talk about it later." Just presence. Compassion. And the occasional reminder that David Attenborough is still at the top of her celebrity crush list. Fair play.
What we've built together — as partners, as neurodivergent parents, as people trying to raise kids with emotional intelligence and freedom — is the kind of environment I wish I'd had growing up.
And that's the point of this whole post. Not to shout about being perfect, or having it all figured out. But to show that with the right support, the awkward, shame-filled silence we grew up with can be replaced with something better.
If we want to raise emotionally healthy, kind, and confident kids — whether they're LGBT+, questioning, or still figuring it all out — then we've got to hold space for them. Even when it's hard. Even when we're still learning ourselves.
If you're lucky, someone will hold space for you too — just like my wife did for me.
What we've built together — as partners, as neurodivergent parents, as people trying to raise kids with emotional intelligence and freedom — is the kind of environment I wish I'd had growing up.
That's the point of this post. Not to say "we've nailed it" — but to say it's possible.
If we want to raise emotionally healthy, kind, and confident kids — whether they're LGBT+, questioning, or still figuring it all out — then we've got to hold space for them. Even when it's hard. Even when we're still learning ourselves.
And if you're lucky, someone will hold space for you too — just like my wife did for me.
