Many LGBTQ+ people arrive in therapy carrying a long list of things they believe are wrong with them. They describe themselves as anxious, overly sensitive, depressed, hyper independent, emotionally distant, perfectionistic, people pleasing, conflict avoidant, or constantly seeking reassurance from others. Often these patterns are experienced as evidence of personal failure. People wonder why they can’t simply relax, trust others, stop overthinking, or feel comfortable being themselves.

For many years, I viewed some of my own patterns in exactly the same way. Looking back, I can see how much energy I spent monitoring other people, worrying about whether I was accepted, trying to fit in, and searching for reassurance that I was somehow good enough. At different points in my life, that reassurance came from different places. Sometimes it was tied to my appearance. Sometimes it was tied to how often I was going out with friends, how full my social diary looked, or whether people seemed to want me around. Later, it could become attached to work, achievement, money, relationships, social media, or the attention I received on dating apps.

At the time, I didn’t understand why these things felt so important. I simply assumed they reflected my personality. It wasn’t until much later that I began asking a different question. Instead of asking what was wrong with me, I began asking where these patterns came from in the first place.

That question changed everything.

THE ROOT CELLAR: WHY WE ADAPT

In another article, I wrote about the Root Cellar, a metaphor used by Carl Rogers to describe human growth and development. Rogers believed that people are naturally orientated towards growth, healing, and fulfilment, much like a seed contains everything it needs to become a healthy plant. The challenge is that growth depends upon the environment. When conditions are supportive, we tend to move towards greater authenticity, connection, and psychological wellbeing. When conditions are harsh, threatening, or depriving, we adapt in whatever ways we can to survive.

A root cellar exists to help food survive harsh winters. When conditions outside become difficult, plants and vegetables are stored somewhere protected until the environment becomes safer. They’re not thriving in the way they might during spring or summer, but they are surviving. Rogers used this metaphor to illustrate that when growth is constrained by difficult conditions, people don’t stop adapting. Instead, they find ways to endure until the environment becomes more supportive.

I often think this provides a useful way of understanding many LGBTQ+ experiences. Growing up, many of us found ourselves navigating environments that felt unpredictable, rejecting, shaming, or unsafe. Sometimes this was obvious through bullying, discrimination, family rejection, or hostility. Sometimes it was more subtle. It was the feeling of being different, the awareness that certain parts of ourselves needed to remain hidden, or the sense that belonging could be lost if people discovered who we really were.

Human beings are remarkably adaptable. When we encounter difficult environments, we don’t simply give up. We learn. We observe. We develop strategies that increase our chances of staying safe, avoiding rejection, maintaining relationships, and preserving some sense of belonging. The nervous system pays attention to what works and repeats it.

Many of the behaviours we later criticise in ourselves began as intelligent responses to difficult circumstances. The child who learns to read a room is adapting. The teenager who hides parts of themselves is adapting. The young person who becomes hyper independent is adapting. The individual who learns to seek approval, avoid conflict, strive for perfection, or monitor other people’s reactions is adapting.

Many of the behaviours we criticise in adulthood were once the very things that helped us survive.

The problem isn’t that we adapted. The problem is that many of us continue using the same survival strategies decades later, long after the environment that created them has changed. What once protected us can eventually begin limiting us, particularly when those strategies become the only ways we know how to navigate the world.

HYPERVIGILANCE: LEARNING TO SPOT DANGER

One of the most common adaptations I see in LGBTQ+ clients is hypervigilance. Many of us become experts at reading a room. We learn to notice facial expressions, shifts in tone of voice, changes in mood, and subtle signs that somebody may or may not be safe. Growing up in environments where rejection, ridicule, judgement, or hostility felt possible, these skills often served an important purpose.

For a child who is regularly bullied, paying attention to potential danger can prevent harm. For a young person hiding their sexuality or gender identity, reading other people’s reactions may help determine whether it is safe to be open. The nervous system quickly learns that paying attention to threat increases the chances of survival.

The nervous system remembers the environments that shaped it, even when those environments no longer exist.

The difficulty is that the nervous system doesn’t always recognise when the threat has passed. What once protected us can later appear as anxiety, overthinking, catastrophising, or constantly expecting something to go wrong. Many LGBTQ+ adults continue scanning for rejection even when surrounded by supportive people. The adaptation remains active because it worked for so long.

PEOPLE PLEASING: LEARNING TO KEEP THE PEACE

For many LGBTQ+ people, safety becomes linked to approval. If rejection feels threatening, it makes sense that we would learn ways of reducing the chances of it happening. One of the most common ways we do this is through people pleasing. We learn to monitor other people’s needs, anticipate their reactions, avoid conflict, and prioritise their comfort. From the outside this can look like kindness, generosity, or being easy going. While those qualities may genuinely be present, they are often accompanied by a deeper fear that being authentic could lead to disapproval, criticism, or abandonment.

Looking back, I can see elements of this pattern throughout my own life. Growing up, fitting in often felt more important than expressing who I really was. Like many LGBTQ+ people, I became highly attuned to what other people wanted, expected, or approved of. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was simply an adaptation that helped me navigate environments where standing out could attract unwanted attention. If other people were happy, then perhaps I was safe. If other people accepted me, then perhaps I belonged.

People pleasing often begins as a strategy for staying safe and maintaining connection.

The challenge is that people pleasing rarely stops at keeping the peace. Over time, it can become difficult to identify our own needs, preferences, and feelings because so much energy is spent managing other people’s expectations. We may struggle to set boundaries, find ourselves saying yes when we mean no, or feel responsible for emotions that were never ours to carry. What once protected relationships can eventually undermine them, because genuine connection requires honesty rather than adaptation.

THE PROTECTIVE FUNCTION OF AVOIDANCE

Many people think of avoidance as a behavioural challenge, but it often begins as an emotional protection strategy. If a child learns that visibility attracts criticism, vulnerability leads to rejection, or mistakes result in shame, avoiding certain situations can feel safer than risking emotional pain. As adults, this can show up as procrastination, withdrawing from relationships, avoiding difficult conversations, delaying important decisions, or staying stuck in situations that no longer serve us. The relief that comes from avoiding something uncomfortable reinforces the pattern, teaching the nervous system that avoidance works. In the short term it reduces anxiety, but over time it can shrink our lives, limit opportunities for growth, and prevent us from discovering that we are often far more capable of coping than we imagine.

SHAPE SHIFTING AND MASKING: LEARNING TO FIT IN

Many LGBTQ+ people become remarkably skilled at adapting themselves to different environments. We learn which parts of ourselves feel acceptable and which parts attract criticism. We notice what receives approval and what leads to discomfort. Gradually, often without realising it, we begin adjusting ourselves accordingly.

For some people this means changing how they speak, dress, move, or express themselves. For others it involves hiding opinions, interests, emotions, or aspects of their identity. I often think of this as shape shifting. We become slightly different versions of ourselves depending on who we are with. We learn to read the room before deciding how much of ourselves feels safe to reveal.

This adaptation makes complete sense when authenticity feels risky. As a young gay person growing up under Section 28, I learned very quickly that there were parts of myself that attracted negative attention. The safest option often seemed to be keeping those parts hidden. Many LGBTQ+ people carry similar experiences, learning that belonging sometimes depends upon blending in rather than standing out.

Many LGBTQ+ people become experts at fitting in long before they learn what it feels like to truly belong.

The difficulty is that fitting in and belonging are fundamentally different experiences. Fitting in often requires us to adjust ourselves to meet the expectations of others. Belonging requires us to be accepted as we are. When shape shifting becomes our primary way of navigating relationships, it can become difficult to know where the adaptation ends and the authentic self begins.

PERFECTIONISM: LEARNING TO EARN ACCEPTANCE

Another common adaptation involves striving. If approval feels conditional, it is easy to begin believing that acceptance must be earned. For some people this takes the form of perfectionism. We become convinced that if we can just be successful enough, attractive enough, helpful enough, accomplished enough, or productive enough, then we will finally feel secure.

Perfectionism is often misunderstood as simply having high standards. In reality, it is frequently driven by fear. Underneath perfectionism there is often a fear of making mistakes, disappointing others, being criticised, or ultimately being seen as not good enough. The goal is not excellence. The goal is safety.

I recognise this pattern in my own life. At different times, my sense of worth became attached to achievement, appearance, qualifications, work, friendships, and social status. Success provided temporary reassurance, but it never lasted. There was always another goal to reach, another benchmark to achieve, another way to prove myself.

When acceptance feels conditional, perfectionism can become an attempt to earn the right to belong.

The tragedy of perfectionism is that it moves the goalposts every time we reach them. No achievement ever feels quite sufficient because the underlying need is not success. It is acceptance. Until that deeper need is recognised, perfectionism often keeps people trapped in cycles of striving that leave them exhausted rather than fulfilled.

HYPER INDEPENDENCE: LEARNING NOT TO NEED ANYONE

Some adaptations move in the opposite direction. Rather than seeking safety through approval, belonging, or connection, we seek safety through self reliance. Many LGBTQ+ people grow up carrying experiences that teach them, directly or indirectly, that depending on other people is risky. Perhaps there was nobody safe to talk to about what they were experiencing. Perhaps vulnerability was met with judgement, dismissal, or rejection. Perhaps they learned that difficult emotions had to be managed alone because asking for support didn’t feel possible.

Looking back, I can see how hyper independence developed in my own life. Growing up with a secret meant there were parts of my experience that I felt I had to carry alone. I became used to handling things privately, solving problems myself, and keeping difficult feelings to myself. Over time, this stopped feeling like an adaptation and simply became part of who I believed I was. Independence felt safe. Depending on other people felt uncertain.

The problem is that hyper independence often looks like strength from the outside. Society tends to admire people who cope alone, who never ask for help, and who appear self sufficient. Yet beneath that independence there is often a fear of vulnerability. Trusting other people means accepting the possibility of disappointment. It means allowing ourselves to need someone. For many people, that feels far more threatening than carrying everything alone.

Hyper independence often develops when relying on yourself feels safer than relying on other people.

What begins as a survival strategy can eventually become a barrier to intimacy. Relationships thrive on vulnerability, trust, and mutual support. When somebody has spent years learning not to need anyone, those experiences can feel deeply uncomfortable. The very strategy that once protected us from hurt can leave us feeling isolated and disconnected from the people we care about most.

EXTERNAL VALIDATION: LEARNING TO LOOK OUTSIDE OURSELVES

Many LGBTQ+ people grow up searching for evidence that they are good enough. When acceptance feels uncertain, it is understandable that we begin looking for reassurance wherever we can find it. The challenge is that this reassurance often comes from external sources rather than from within ourselves.

At different points in my life, my self worth became attached to many different things. Sometimes it was my appearance. If I looked attractive enough, perhaps that meant I was valuable. Sometimes it was my social life. Growing up with relatively few friends and carrying memories of rejection meant that having a busy social diary felt reassuring. If people wanted to spend time with me, perhaps that meant I was finally accepted. At other times, my worth became attached to work, achievement, money, job titles, the size of my home, social media likes, or the attention I received on dating apps.

The common thread running through all of these experiences was not vanity or superficiality. It was the search for evidence that I mattered. Like many LGBTQ+ people, I had learned to look outside myself for reassurance because that felt more familiar than finding it within.

When self worth depends on external validation, our value rises and falls according to things we cannot control.

The difficulty is that external validation is inherently unstable. Social media likes fluctuate. Friendships change. Relationships begin and end. Bodies age. Careers evolve. Dating apps fall silent. If our sense of worth depends entirely on these things, then our self esteem becomes fragile. We find ourselves constantly chasing the next source of reassurance, hoping it will finally provide the security we have been seeking all along.

This is where the concept of locus of control becomes particularly relevant. Many people who struggle with self worth develop a strongly external locus of control, meaning that their sense of value becomes dependent on factors outside themselves. Healing often involves gradually developing a more internal locus of control, where self worth becomes rooted in values, character, relationships, and self understanding rather than external approval.

EMOTIONAL SUPPRESSION: LEARNING TO HIDE WHAT WE FEEL

Another adaptation that frequently develops in response to difficult environments is emotional suppression. When emotions are met with criticism, ridicule, dismissal, or shame, it makes sense that people learn to hide them. Many LGBTQ+ people grow up receiving explicit or implicit messages about which emotions are acceptable and which are not.

Some people learn that sadness is weakness. Others learn that anger is dangerous. Many learn that vulnerability attracts unwanted attention. Over time, emotions become something to manage privately rather than something to express openly.

This adaptation can be particularly common amongst LGBTQ+ people who grew up feeling different or isolated. If the environment already feels unsafe, revealing emotional pain can feel like an additional risk. It often feels easier to stay strong, carry on, and keep difficult feelings hidden from view.

Many people who appear strong have simply become skilled at hiding their pain.

The challenge is that emotions do not disappear simply because we suppress them. They often emerge in different forms. Anxiety, burnout, emotional numbness, irritability, depression, addictions, and difficulties in relationships can all be connected to feelings that were never given space to be acknowledged. Emotional suppression may reduce vulnerability in the short term, but it often comes at the cost of emotional connection in the long term.

WHEN THE ADAPTATION OUTLIVES THE ENVIRONMENT

The difficulty with survival strategies is that they don’t automatically disappear when circumstances change. The nervous system is designed to learn from experience, and once a strategy has proven effective it tends to keep using it. The child who learned that rejection was dangerous may still expect rejection decades later. The teenager who learned to hide parts of themselves may still struggle to be authentic even when surrounded by accepting people. The young adult who learned not to trust may still find vulnerability frightening despite having loving friends, a supportive partner, or a strong community around them.

This is where the Root Cellar metaphor becomes particularly helpful. The root cellar exists for a reason. It protects what is inside when conditions outside are harsh. The problem comes when we continue living as though winter has never ended. We remain organised around survival even when opportunities for growth, connection, and authenticity become available.

Many of the LGBTQ+ people I work with are no longer living in the environments that originally shaped them. They may have found accepting friends, supportive communities, affirming relationships, or workplaces where they can be themselves. Yet the adaptations remain active. The nervous system continues operating according to old rules because those rules once worked.

This is why healing can feel confusing. Intellectually, we may know we are safe. Emotionally, however, we still react as though the old dangers are present. We continue scanning for rejection, prioritising other people’s needs, striving for perfection, avoiding vulnerability, or looking outside ourselves for validation because these strategies once protected us.

The nervous system doesn’t respond to what is true today. It responds to what it learned was necessary yesterday.

Understanding this can be profoundly freeing. It allows us to stop viewing our adaptations as evidence of failure and start seeing them as evidence of survival. The anxiety, people pleasing, perfectionism, hyper independence, emotional suppression, and self doubt that so many people criticise in themselves are often signs of a nervous system that worked incredibly hard to protect them.

HEALING DOESN’T MEAN GETTING RID OF THE ADAPTATION

One of the biggest misconceptions about therapy is that healing involves eliminating these adaptations altogether. In reality, most adaptations developed for very good reasons. They deserve understanding rather than condemnation.

People pleasing may have helped preserve important relationships. Hypervigilance may have helped identify danger. Hyper independence may have helped somebody survive when support wasn’t available. Perfectionism may have provided a sense of control in an unpredictable world. Emotional suppression may have reduced vulnerability in environments where vulnerability felt unsafe. The goal is not to attack these parts of ourselves, the goal is to understand them.

This was one of the most important lessons I learned during my own training and personal development. For years I viewed many of my patterns as weaknesses. Gradually, I began seeing them differently. Rather than asking, “What’s wrong with me?” I started asking, “What was this trying to protect me from?” That shift transformed the way I understood myself.

Healing begins when curiosity replaces criticism.

When we approach our adaptations with compassion, something changes. We stop fighting ourselves and start listening to ourselves. We begin recognising that the patterns causing difficulties today were often creative and intelligent responses to the challenges we faced earlier in life. We can appreciate what those adaptations did for us while also recognising that they may no longer be serving us in the same way.

Over time, healing involves developing greater flexibility. Rather than relying on a single strategy for every situation, we learn new ways of responding. We learn that vulnerability can sometimes lead to connection rather than rejection. We learn that self worth can come from within rather than from external validation. We learn that boundaries can strengthen relationships rather than destroy them. We learn that authenticity often creates deeper belonging than shape shifting ever could. The adaptation doesn’t disappear. It simply becomes one option among many rather than the only way we know how to survive.

Whatever challenges you’re facing, there’s usually a reason they developed in the first place. The thoughts, feelings, and behaviours we struggle with today are often adaptations to experiences that once required us to survive, protect ourselves, or belong. Understanding those patterns with curiosity and compassion can be the first step towards lasting change.