Are My Dad's Family Avoiding Me Because I'm Gay
Sometimes the smallest online detail can hit harder than a direct argument.
A friend request that never comes. A name appearing in a mutual friend list. A profile quietly becoming visible again. Someone deleting you without saying a word. On its own, it might seem petty or easy to brush off. But when it sits on top of years of awkwardness, rejection, silence, and things said behind closed doors, it stops feeling small.
Before I get into it, I know it has been a while since my last post. Life has been a lot lately. Work has been extremely busy, I recently received a promotion, there has been plenty of training, and the long shifts have taken it out of me. I am going to try to post more regularly where I can, but I also want to be honest rather than pretend I have had endless time and energy.
Something has been on my mind recently, and I keep coming back to the same question: is part of my family avoiding me because I am gay?
I do not ask that lightly. I do not usually “throw the gay card out there”, as people often say. I do not want to assume the worst. I know families are complicated, people drift, and social media can make everything feel more loaded than it is. But when you look at the bigger picture, it becomes harder to ignore the pattern.
The Facebook situation that brought it all back
I recently found out that my dad is on Facebook again.
He had been on there before under a slightly different name, then he disappeared. Around six months ago, he appeared again with a new profile, this time using his real name. His profile is private, but I can still see some things, like his friends list and mutual friends.
That is how I found out he has added my siblings.
But he has not added me.
That might seem like a little thing to some people. Plenty of parents are not connected with their children online. Some people barely use Facebook. Some people add random relatives and forget others. I do understand all of that.
But this does not feel random.
I am his only biological child from the marriage between him and my mum. My siblings have been added, but I have not. When it is your own parent, and you can see that they are choosing to connect with other children in the family but not you, it stings.
It is not really about Facebook. Facebook is just the place where the rejection became visible.
What hurts is the choice behind it. It feels like yet another example of being left out, quietly and deliberately, while everyone pretends nothing has happened.
Then I noticed something else. My nan, my dad’s mum, is also on Facebook. At some point, she deleted me as a friend, along with the family from that side. Again, no explanation. No conversation. Just gone.
When one person does it, maybe it is nothing. When a whole side of the family seems to do it, it starts to look like something.
Why I think my sexuality is part of it
I know it is not always possible to prove why someone behaves the way they do. Unless they say it directly, you are left piecing together clues. That can be exhausting, because part of you wants to be fair, while another part of you is trying to protect yourself.
For me, this is not only about one deleted friend request or one private profile. It connects to how things felt growing up and later in life.
My nan has long been heavily involved with the Salvation Army, a religious Christian organisation. When I was a young teenager, she offered to send me to conversion therapy. My mum stepped in and made it very clear that it was not going to happen. I am grateful she did, because that kind of thing can do real harm.
That memory has never really left me.
When someone in your family sees your sexuality as something that needs to be fixed, prayed away, hidden, or treated, it changes how safe you feel around them. Even if they never say another word about it, the message has already landed.
It says:
We do not fully accept you.
We think something is wrong with you.
Our beliefs matter more than your wellbeing.
You are easier to exclude than understand.
That is a painful message to receive from anyone. From family, it cuts deeper.
I want to be careful here, because I know not every religious person is anti-LGBT. I also know many LGBT people are religious themselves. Faith can be a source of love, comfort, community, and purpose. There are Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, and people of many other faiths who fully accept LGBT people.
But there is a difference between faith and using faith as a reason to reject someone.
If someone’s religion leads them to remove a grandchild, ignore a child, or support conversion therapy, then the problem is not simply “belief”. The problem is harm.
Silence can still be rejection
One of the hardest parts of family rejection is that it is not always loud.
Some people imagine rejection as shouting, arguments, being kicked out, or being told directly, “We do not accept you.” Sometimes it is like that. But sometimes it is quieter.
It can look like:
Being left out of family updates
Not being invited to things
People talking around you instead of to you
Relatives accepting everyone else’s partner but not yours
Sudden distance after you come out
Being deleted online without explanation
Family members pretending the issue is “drama” rather than prejudice
Quiet rejection can mess with your head because it gives people an easy way to deny it.
They can say, “You are overreacting.”
They can say, “It is only Facebook.”
They can say, “We have just been busy.”
They can say, “Why do you always make it about being gay?”
And sometimes you start asking yourself the same thing. You wonder if you are reading too much into it. You wonder if you are being unfair. You wonder if you should just let it go.
But when there is a long history behind the silence, your instincts often pick up on what your brain is still trying to explain.
A pattern does not need a confession to be real.
That does not mean every single action is definitely about sexuality. It means that when people have already shown discomfort, judgement, or hostility around you being gay, it is reasonable to see later exclusion through that lens.
The strange grief of being excluded by family
There is a specific kind of grief that comes with family rejection.
It is not only grieving the people as they are. It is grieving the version of them you needed them to be. The dad who would be proud of you. The nan who would protect you. The relatives who would ask how you are, add you online, include you in photos, and make space for your life.
When they do not do that, you are left holding two truths at once.
You may still love them. You may still miss them. You may still wonder what it would be like if things were different.
At the same time, you may feel angry, embarrassed, or numb. You may feel like you have been put in a position where you have to beg for basic respect.
That is not fair.
No one should have to audition for their family’s love. No one should have to become less gay, less honest, less visible, or less themselves to be treated decently.
The online side of this makes it even stranger. Social media turns private rejection into something you can see. You can see who they added. You can see mutual friends. You can see the gaps. It is like watching a family tree redraw itself without you in it.
That can be brutal, especially when there has been no proper conversation.
What I am trying to remind myself
I do not have all the answers. I cannot read their minds. I cannot say with complete certainty that every choice they have made is because I am gay.
But I can say this: their behaviour fits a wider pattern that has already existed for years.
That matters.
I am trying to remind myself that I do not need to chase people who make me feel unwanted. I do not need to keep checking profiles that only leave me feeling hurt. I do not need to prove that I am worthy of being added, included, or acknowledged.
If they wanted a relationship, they know where I am.
That does not mean I have to hate them. It does not mean I have to close the door forever if I am not ready to. It just means I am allowed to protect my peace while they decide who they want to be.
There is also something powerful in recognising who did stand up for me. My mum refused to let my nan send me to conversion therapy. That matters. Sometimes one person’s protection can make a huge difference, especially when you are young and still trying to understand yourself.
For any LGBT young person reading this, please hear this clearly: being rejected by family does not mean you are the problem. It means they have work to do. Your sexuality is not something that needs curing. It is part of who you are.
For any religious person reading this, I would say this with respect: if your beliefs cause someone in your family to feel unsafe, unwanted, or erased, it is worth asking what kind of witness that creates. Love should not feel like exclusion with polite words attached.
Should I confront them or leave it alone?
This is the part I keep turning over in my head.
Part of me wants to ask directly. Not in an aggressive way, but plainly. Something like, “I noticed you have added my siblings but not me. Is there a reason for that?”
That kind of question would at least give them a chance to be honest. It would also stop me filling in every blank myself.
But another part of me wonders if I already know enough. If someone has shown me who they are for years, do I really need one more painful conversation to confirm it?
There is no perfect answer here.
If I did decide to contact them, I think I would need to be clear about what I want from the conversation. Do I want an explanation? An apology? A relationship? Closure? Or am I hoping they will suddenly become people they have never shown themselves to be?
That is a hard question, but it is an honest one.
Before reaching out, I would also need to think about my own mental health. If their reply was cold, dismissive, or cruel, would I be prepared for that? Would I have someone to talk to afterwards? Would it set me back?
Sometimes confrontation brings clarity. Sometimes distance brings peace.
Both are valid.
For now, I think the most important thing is not rushing myself. I can feel hurt without immediately acting on it. I can talk it through. I can write about it. I can listen to people’s thoughts. I can decide later.
What do you all think?
That is where I am with it.
My dad is back on Facebook under his real name. He has added my siblings but not me. My nan has deleted me, along with others from that side of the family. There is a history of religious judgement, including her offering to send me to conversion therapy when I was a teenager.
I do not want to assume every single thing is about me being gay. But I also do not want to gaslight myself into ignoring what seems obvious.
Maybe it is about shame. Maybe it is about religion. Maybe it is about family politics. Maybe it is about my dad avoiding responsibility. Maybe it is a mix of all of it.
Whatever the reason, the result is the same: I am left feeling excluded.
And I think that feeling deserves to be taken seriously.
FAQ
Is it fair to think my family is avoiding me because I am gay?
Yes, if there is a wider pattern of judgement, exclusion, or anti-LGBT behaviour. One small incident might not prove anything, but repeated behaviour can tell you a lot.
Should I ask my family directly why they have excluded me?
Only if you feel emotionally ready. A direct question can bring clarity, but it can also be painful if they deny, dismiss, or minimise your feelings. It helps to have support in place first.
Can someone be religious and still fully accept LGBT people?
Yes. Many religious people support and love LGBT family members without trying to change them. Faith does not have to mean rejection.
What should I do if social media is making the hurt worse?
Taking a break from checking profiles can help. Muting, unfollowing, or blocking are not childish choices. They can be healthy boundaries.
Is conversion therapy harmful?
Conversion therapy is widely rejected by major health and counselling bodies because it is linked with shame and psychological harm. Being LGBT is not an illness and does not need to be cured.
The takeaway I am holding onto
Family rejection is painful, especially when it is quiet enough for others to pretend it is not happening.
I may never get a clear answer from my dad or that side of the family. I may never receive the apology I deserve. But I can still trust myself. I can still name what hurt me. I can still choose relationships that feel safe, honest, and loving.
If people avoid me because I am gay, that says more about them than it does about me.
And if they ever want to be part of my life properly, they will need to meet me as I am, not as they wish I had been.
Comments