“I’ll be home for Christmas”, we hear people croon, and the collective cultural assumption is that this is, unquestionably, “the most wonderful time of the year”.
But here’s what they don’t show you in those twinkling montages…
The gay man who hasn’t been home in years because home stopped being safe the moment he came out.
The queer person sitting at their childhood dinner table, smile frozen in place, fielding questions about their love life from relatives who still don’t quite get it.
The non-binary and trans folk bracing themselves to be deadnamed and misgendered for seventy-two hours straight in the name of “keeping the peace”
For many of us, Christmas isn’t quite the “have yourself a merry little…” that it is for some.
Complicated at best, traumatic at worst and frequently uncomfortable.
Even those of us lucky enough to have accepting, loving, warm, kind families often exist in a strange liminal space during the festive season. Your mum might like your partner, but does she really understand what it means to navigate the world as a queer couple?
Your siblings might be supportive, but can you talk to them about, and actually have them understand, the casual homophobia you experienced at the work Christmas do?
You’re welcomed, you’re loved, but you’re not entirely known. There’s an invisible membrane between you and fullbelonging, and it becomes acutely visible when you’re sitting around a table full of people who’ve never had to think twice about holding hands in public.
That’s why queer community is so important. Essential. At Pleasure Medicine, my twice-monthly connection workshop and Ecstatic Dance in East London, we are creating a community where you truly, finally feel like you belong, rather than trying to fit in. When you’re part of a conscious, caring, kind community of kindred spirits that meet regularly in a space of love, depth, joy and delight. The few brief days of the holiday season suddenly feel lighter, less heavy. Why? Because you know that just one week later you’ll be back in that beautiful space with your found, chosen family. A family who truly get you, understand you, see you deeply and celebrate the full expression of who you are.
That’s what the Pleasure Medicine community really is. It’s a place where you are guided through practices, exercises and games to melt your masks and take off your protective armour because you don’t need it here.
And then when you start to move your body, sober, in the daylight, and realise that the smiles on the GBTQ+ folks’ faces are smiles of celebration and not mockery, of love and not judgement, of upliftment, not confusion…
… your shoulders relax, your eyes soften, the breath you’ve been holding so tightly in your chest releases.
You realise you’re safe here, wanted, celebrated.
But, back to the loneliness that comes with Christmas. It’s often not a loud, obvious loneliness.
Sometimes it’s quiet, insidious, a low dissonant hum beneath the carols and the crackers. You can be surrounded by people, and yet you can feel profoundly alone. And then you feel guilty for feeling alone because, well, at least you have family.
But it’s a rational response to existing in spaces that weren’t built with you in mind. Heteronormativity doesn’t take a holiday break. If anything, it goes into overdrive, wrapped up in tinsel and tradition with a big old fairy (how camp?!) on top.
So what do we do about it?
For some of us, the answer is chosen family. It’s the queer Christmas friends dinner where everyone brings a dish, and nobody’s uncle says something appalling about trans people. It’s the found family gathering where you can be entirely, fabulously, authentically yourself without translation or code-switching. It’s coming to spaces like Pleasure Medicine.
These alternative celebrations aren’t “second best” to the traditional family Christmas. In fact, they’re often richer, more honest and infinitely more joyful because they’re built on genuine understanding rather than biological obligation.
If you’re hosting or attending a chosen family Christmas this year, lean into it. Make it camp, make it meaningful, make it yours. Light candles for the queer elders we’ve lost. Toast to the family you’ve built. Sing Wicked karaoke. Create traditions that actually reflect who you are rather than pantomiming someone else’s idea of festivity.
And if you’re spending Christmas alone? That’s valid too. I personally love Christmas Day on my own. I find it deeply relaxing. There’s a particular kind of liberation in opting out entirely, in refusing to perform for an audience that doesn’t truly see you. Solitude isn’t the same as loneliness, though the two often get conflated.
Learning to be genuinely okay alone, not just white-knuckling through it, is one of the most radical acts of self-love and confidence a queer person can practice.
Make your solo Christmas intentional. Do the things that bring you actual joy rather than the things you think you’re supposed to do. Watch Fatal Attraction and Mommy Dearest instead of Love Actually and Holiday.
Eat what you want. Wake up when you like. Do whatever. The point is you get to decide what this day means, and sometimes the most healing thing is to strip it of all the weight and expectation and just let it be a Thursday in December.
The queer experience is often about creating meaning where the dominant culture has failed us. We’ve done it with Pride, with our own language, with our art, our activism and our chosen families. Christmas is no different. Whether you’re building new traditions with your queer family, negotiating space with your biological one or claiming sovereignty over your own solitude, you’re doing something quietly revolutionary… you’re refusing to conform and perform.
The festive blues are real, and you’re not wrong for feeling them. But you’re also not without options. This Christmas, whatever it looks like for you, give yourself permission to do it your way.
The twinkling lights will shine just as brightly when you’re the one holding the switch.
Love Gary x
About Gary
- Book your ‘Pleasure Medicine’ ticket: www.pleasuremedicine.co.uk
- Learn about Slow Dating+, where you meet men without the masks and learn to date, relate and communicate.
- Get your free E-Guide ‘Stop The Scroll: Create A Dating Profile That Attracts The Right Men — the 3311 formula that creates a standout bio and makes men message’ https://www.pleasuremedicine.co.uk/bio.
Gary Albert is a therapist, embodiment facilitator, somatic sex coach, award-winning music maker, conscious DJ and writer. He’s the creator of Pleasure Medicine, a bi-weekly connection workshop and ecstatic dance for gay men in London that blends conscious movement with embodied connection. He is also the founder of the ever-growing Pleasure Medicine Whatsapp Group with hundreds of men into conscious events, connection and community. He is also the creator of The Erotic Reset: a 7-Day Journey to Unf*ck Your Sexlife by Mastering Masturbation. With over a decade of experience as a facilitator and therapist, Gary is devoted to helping gay men unlock their pleasure centres, soften shame and rediscover joy, intimacy and sensuality through dance, touch and celebratory sexuality.
He is a guest columnist for queer culture magazines and writes personal essays, opinion pieces and cultural reflections, always from the perspective of being in the waters with the reader, trying to work it all out together.
