Coming out at work isn’t just a personal decision — it’s a professional risk. I know that because I lived it.
Back in 1993, I was hired by a recruitment agency in Hammersmith to work on a data research project for an American company. I’d been in the role for six weeks, settling in well, and felt ready to come out to the HR manager.
She didn’t see it as a problem. She was warm, professional, and gave no sense that my sexuality would be an issue. But when she passed the information on to the company’s head office in America — as part of protocol — the response blindsided us both.
She was as surprised as I was. Head office insisted that my placement be terminated. No discussion. No engagement. No regard for my performance. Their decision was immediate and final.
The HR manager was clearly upset when she told me. She cried. Not because I’d come out — that was never the problem — but because she hadn’t expected her bosses to react the way they did. It wasn’t her decision. She was caught off guard, and it was obvious she disagreed with it.
But because I was hired through an agency, I had no contract. No protections. No route to challenge what had happened. Just like that, I was out of a job. Not because of anything I’d done wrong, but because of who I am.
That moment shaped how I moved through the workplace for years to come. It wasn’t until I started my own business later in the 1990s that I finally felt safe enough to be open about who I am. That’s what it took — control over my own environment — just to be myself.
So when I talk about LGBTQ+ visibility at work, I’m not speaking in theory. I’m speaking from experience. From memory. From loss. And from resilience.
Why visibility still matters
We like to think we’ve come a long way since the early 90s — and in some ways, we have. But let’s not pretend coming out at work is easy in 2025. Or even possible for everyone.
According to Stonewall’s LGBT in Britain – Work report, 35% of LGBTQ+ employees in the UK are not out at work. Among trans employees, the figure is even higher. And it’s not hard to see why. People still worry about how colleagues will treat them. Whether it might affect their promotion prospects. Whether they’ll be quietly sidelined.
In my case, it wasn’t just a worry. It happened. That fear is not paranoia — it’s experience. It’s why so many still feel safer staying silent.
The cost of hiding
Staying closeted at work isn’t neutral. It takes energy. You find yourself dodging questions, avoiding personal details, constantly managing how much of yourself is allowed to show. It’s exhausting. And over time, it eats away at your confidence and your wellbeing.
I’ve spoken to many young people just starting out who still whisper their fears: “Can I be out here?” “Will it hold me back?” I’ve been asked more than once if being honest about my sexuality ever cost me a job. The answer is yes. It did. And it still does — for many people, in many industries.
And that’s why visibility matters. Because every time someone is visible — openly LGBTQ+, respected and thriving — it chips away at that fear. It shows that it can be done, and it challenges the idea that you have to choose between your career and your identity.
More than a rainbow
Pride Month has become a fixture in corporate calendars. Rainbow logos. Social media posts. Staff network emails. Some of it is genuine — and some of it, let’s be honest, is branding.
What matters more than a logo is what happens the other eleven months of the year. Are LGBTQ+ people promoted? Are our concerns taken seriously? Are policies up to date and actually enforced? Are leaders accountable for inclusion?
When inclusion is real, it shows. According to McKinsey, employees who feel able to be themselves at work are 42% less likely to leave their job in the next year. That’s a powerful business case — but more importantly, it’s a human one.
Representation should mean all of us
LGBTQ+ people aren’t a monolith. We’re from all backgrounds. We’re Black, brown, disabled, working class, religious, neurodivergent. When we talk about visibility, we have to mean all of us — not just the most media-friendly version.
It’s not enough to have one or two “out” people in the company who get wheeled out for every Pride event. Real representation means LGBTQ+ people are present at all levels — especially in leadership — and that they’re there not as tokens, but as contributors, decision-makers, mentors, and role models.
Inclusion can’t just be symbolic. It has to be structural.
A message to employers
If you’re in a position of influence — HR, team lead, senior exec — ask yourself this: who’s missing? Who’s being heard? And more importantly, who’s quietly staying silent?
Being “not discriminatory” isn’t the same as being inclusive. It’s not enough to do nothing wrong. You have to actively do something right.
That means:
- Updating policies to protect LGBTQ+ staff explicitly
- Making space for feedback and listening
- Supporting trans and non-binary employees
- Creating environments where people feel safe to speak up — and safe to stay
- Ensuring that being out isn’t just accepted — it’s respected
Don’t assume silence is a sign everything’s fine. Sometimes it means fear. Sometimes it means exhaustion. And sometimes it means someone is already planning to leave.
To those still finding their voice
If you’re not out at work, or if you’re still deciding whether you can be — I see you. You don’t owe anyone your story. You don’t need to explain or justify your journey. Your safety and your wellbeing come first.
But know this: when the time is right, and if you choose to come out, you’re not alone. And if you’re already out and visible, know that you’re making more of a difference than you realise.
You might be the reason someone else finds their voice.
That’s the power of visibility.
Coming out at work is never just a moment. It’s a process. For some, it’s freeing. For others, it’s frightening. For me, it was costly. But I still believe it was worth it.
Because the only thing more exhausting than being visible is being invisible.