What happens when your body begins to betray you and your identity becomes harder to carry?
That’s the reality many lesbian, gay, bisexual, and queer (LGBQ) people face when diagnosed with a chronic condition like multiple sclerosis (MS). In a recent research project, I spoke with 23 LGBQ individuals living with MS. Through interviews and self-authored photographs, they shared their stories—rich, raw, and often painful.
One theme echoed clearly: “It’s like a double whammy.”
MS Is More Than a Physical Diagnosis
MS is a neurological condition that affects the brain and spinal cord, leading to symptoms like fatigue, pain, mobility issues, and sensory changes. But beyond the physical, it changes lives in ways that can’t be seen on a scan.
Participants in my study described a profound loss of identity, especially when MS made them feel disconnected from how they used to express themselves in their LGBQ communities. A once-proud butch lesbian might no longer be able to join the hiking group. A gay man might feel unseen and undesired in spaces that focus on physicality. Some felt they had“given up” aspects of their LGBQ selves—grieving not just health, but identity.
When You Have to Come Out Again… and Again
Coming out is already a powerful and sometimes painful process. But for many participants, getting an MS diagnosis meant coming out all over again—this time with a socially “spoiled” identity of disability.
Some were afraid of how their illness would be received by partners, friends, and healthcare professionals. Others found that once their MS was visible (through mobility aids, for example), their sexual identity was suddenly erased. They became “just” a patient.
One participant described this as being “back in the closet”—but now, an MS closet.
Facing Discrimination From Both Sides
Many spoke of double discrimination—from mainstream society and within LGBQ communities. They described ableism(prejudice against disabled people) in gay social spaces, healthcare systems that assumed they were straight, and a deep sense of being “too much” for others to accept.
Imagine walking into a support group and wondering if it’s safe to mention your partner. Or showing affection in public and watching a healthcare worker withdraw. These aren't hypotheticals. They're real stories, shared with me by people who live them every day.
But There’s Also Resilience
Despite these challenges, what I saw in this research was also something deeply moving: resistance and resilience.
Participants drew on the strength they’d already cultivated through years of navigating life as sexual minorities. Many said that their past experiences coming out had actually prepared them to handle the uncertainty of chronic illness.
They sought out community, redefined what visibility meant, and, in some cases, reclaimed the narrative of what it means to be queer, disabled, and proud.
Why This Matters
This isn’t just about MS. It’s about how our health systems, social spaces, and communities often struggle to hold multiple truths at once.
You can be sick and sexual. Queer and chronically ill. Fragile and fierce.
We need to design healthcare, support systems, and communities that don’t ask people to choose which part of themselves gets seen or validated.
A Note on the Current Climate
These stories don’t exist in a vacuum. They unfold in a world where LGBQ rights are still under threat, where trans and queer people are politicized, erased, or attacked — in healthcare, policy, and everyday spaces. In recent years, we’ve seen a troubling resurgence of anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric, cuts to gender-affirming services, and the rise of cultural narratives that silence or delegitimize queer lives.
Living with MS as an LGBQ person means navigating not only a changing body, but also a society that often remains indifferent — or even hostile — to your full humanity. These aren’t just individual stories of hardship. They are symptoms of broader structural neglect.
To truly support people at the intersections of queerness and chronic illness, we must move beyond “inclusion” and toward structural accountability. That means fighting for healthcare systems that recognise the realities of marginalised lives — and centering the voices of those most often left out.
If this resonates with you—whether you're living with a chronic illness, work in health or social care, or simply want to create a more inclusive world—I invite you to sit with these stories. Ask: What might it be like to live at the intersection of identities that are often erased or misunderstood? Because understanding begins with listening. And these voices deserve to be heard.
If you’d like access to the full academic article, I’d be happy to provide a copy upon request:
Papaloukas, P., & Williamson, I. (2025). “It’s Like a Double Whammy!”: A Photo‑Phenomenological Analysis of the Experiences of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Queer People Living With Multiple Sclerosis. QualitativeHealth Research, 35(4–5), 522–538. https://doi.org/10.1177/10497323241309583
