Zoe Mazdon explains how LGBTQ+ identities intersect with grief following the loss of her parents.

My name is Zoe (she/her). I’m 31, married to the most incredible human, Han (she/her), and before I turned 30, both of my parents had died. This blog explores how my LGBTQ+ identity and my grief are intertwined and if that connection feels surprising, I hope this helps you understand why it matters.

Grief is about more than the person who died

Grief is never simple. But for many LGBTQ+ people, grief carries extra layers that often go unseen, unspoken, or unacknowledged. It’s not just the loss itself, it’s everything that loss touches: identity, belonging, safety, family history, and the stories we never got to tell. For many LGBTQ+ people, grief isn’t just about the person who died. It’s also about the conversations that never happened, the truths that never got shared, and the versions of ourselves we didn’t get to show them.

My Dad died when I was 15. I didn’t really know I was queer at this point – I grew up in a small town and didn’t have much representation. When I eventually did discover myself, my anxiety around telling my Mum was short lived because she was amazing. She in fact questioned why I was crying so much and told me that she would love me always.

A double layered grief

I know I am actually very fortunate in this situation because for many LGBTQ+ people, this is where the grief can begin, an almost double layered grief. Many folks are forced to either grieve their true selves to keep others happy or live life as their authentic selves but grieve their family/friend relationships.

The only question I am left with is – what would my Dad have actually thought? Most of my family and friends have reassured me that he wouldn’t have cared but a few comments over the years have planted doubt. So there is always that little voice in the back of my head saying what if? This is a question I will never get answered though, there will always be a piece of me that wonders. What I am confident in is either way, Han would have won him over- she’s amazing.

Finding a space that is right for me

Something that I have struggled with through my grieving journey, especially since 2024 when my Mum died, is finding a grief space that felt right for me. Many grief spaces are unintentionally exclusive. They use language like “grieving girlies,” or “mums who mourn,” “men talk grief” which can feel alienating or even erasing for LGBTQ+ people. This can create barriers such as:

• Feeling unsure if your identity will be respected
• Worrying you’ll have to “come out” again in a vulnerable moment
• Not knowing if your relationship or loss will be recognised
• Feeling like you don’t fit the mould of who the space was designed for

Grief is already isolating and exclusionary language can make that isolation even sharper. Inclusive grief spaces matter because they allow people to show up as their whole selves, without shrinking or translating their identity to fit in. It’s important to know that group members are also inclusive. You cannot create an affirming space if not everyone holds respectful values. If you have never had to question your safety in spaces like this, you won’t completely understand the impact but uplifting LGBTQ+ voices in this space is important- I have heard many times “oh just go don’t worry- its 2026, nothing will happen” and this is not a reality.

Disenfranchised grief

While this isn’t my personal experience, it’s something I’ve seen in the LGBTQ+ community repeatedly. LGBTQ+ people can experience disenfranchised grief, grief that society doesn’t fully acknowledge. This might happen when a relationship wasn’t publicly known, their family don’t accept their identity or your role in someone’s life is not fully understood or appreciated. All grief is very valid and heavy and when you feel like you’re having to do it in secret, this can carry all levels of additional pain.

Chosen family is a lifeline for many LGBTQ+ people, the people who see you, affirm you, and love you without condition. Losing someone from chosen family can feel like losing a piece of home. And when biological family isn’t safe or supportive, chosen family often becomes the primary source of comfort, ritual, and remembrance.

Grief is not one emotion. It’s a landscape. And you deserve to move through it without hiding any part of who you are. Your identity belongs in your grief story fully, safely, and without apology.

Zoe Mazdon

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