This November 13, National Caregiver Appreciation Day, recognizes the approximately 53 million Americans who provide unpaid care to family, friends and neighbors. For the LGBTQ community, caregiving often takes on distinct patterns and challenges. As the threats of anti-LGBTQ efforts loom ahead of another Trump presidency and conservative control of the House and Senate, care is more urgent than ever.

For many LGBTQ people, acts of care often carry a different weight. Whether it’s a cozy meal, holding your partner’s hand in the park, lending an ear or even spare change, these moments can be life-changing. For queer, trans, and nonbinary individuals navigating a world that may impose harm or danger, showing care can be a matter of survival.

Before the election, this year saw unprecedented anti-trans legislation, with 664 bills introducedof which 45 passed in 16 states. Despite the unique challenges facing the LGBTQ community, caregiving is simple: acceptance, acknowledgment of struggles, and modesty,among others.

while National Caregiver Appreciation Day traditionally focuses on those who care for elderly or ill family members, the LGBTQ community often expands these roles—according to the Center for Health Care Strategies, LGBTQ people are 3.5 times more likely to provide care for chosen friends and family. A large proportion (55%) of LGBTQ caregivers provide support to selected family memberswhile only 5% of non-LGBTQ carers do so and 45% of LGBTQ carers are under 35. In August, an AARP survey revealed that nearly 80 percent of older LGBTQ adults are concerned about support as they age.

The financial impact is also significant. LGBTQ caregivers spend an average of $11,000 annually on caregiving expenses, according to a National Alliance for Care Report 2023. They are also 41% more likely to report difficulty accessing resources and support services compared to non-LGBTQ caregivers.

However, in the midst of these challenges, stories of resilience and mutual aid emerge. From financial assistance to emotional support, LGBTQ caregivers are finding creative ways to support their communities. In honor of the holiday, counted shares a collection of vignettes from LGBTQ people about seemingly ordinary acts of care that changed their lives in extraordinary ways.

Healthcare and crisis support

Beyond medical emergencies, emotional support in vulnerable times can leave lasting impressions.

Alynda Segarra (they/them), Chicago, Ill.

When I was 19, I needed an abortion and my best friend paid for it. She flew me to New York City from Louisiana, helped me set up a doctor’s appointment, and crashed into the feminist punk house she lived in with four other friends. At this point in my life I was completely broke, homeless and making money playing on the street. My only lifeline was my friends. She came with me to the procedure and held my hand. Afterward, she whipped up fresh blueberry pie from a fancy bakery on the upper west side, and we ate it together crying on the couch.

I stayed in that apartment for a few months, returning from a day of hiking the subway to write songs and record my first ep on a borrowed laptop. It was hard for me to accept the care that he so eagerly offered me. I used the shame I felt about needing help to fuel my writing process, hoping that the songs I created would express my infinite gratitude.

Mitchell Kuga (he/she), Honolulu, Hawaii

This summer, wandering the coast of Playa Zipolite alone on a day that was 90 degrees and beyond humid, I started seeing double. Heart palpitations. A short breath. Panic at the realization that I got a D in Spanish. I got to the end of the coast at that fancy hotel that every gay man in New York says you MUST stay at, and I thought I was going to collapse. I sat on a shaded ledge near the hotel bar and frantically texted my friend, who was resting in our room at the opposite end of the coast: help, I think I have sunstroke. He was sick and doubting his ability to make it in this heat, calling his boyfriend instead—the one he’d met on the beach cruise two nights before, who was hanging out at the yoga place around the corner. He arrived twenty minutes later and kept me company for 2 hours at the bar, making me laugh as I pressed ice to the back of my head while the barbell eyed me suspiciously, feeling my heart slowly return at its natural pace.

Emotional support and recognition

For many in the LGBTQ community, acceptance manifests itself in everyday gestures of recognition.

Rachel McKibbens(she/her), Rochester, NY

It was after a poetry reading of mine to a packed house in Albuquerque, NM 2005. At the end of the summer, the air conditioning could barely keep the room below 80. I finished my set emotional and without my mother. The room emptied into the cool night, but for one woman. She took my hand in hers, looked straight into my teary face and said, “I would be so proud to be your mother.” I wore that piece of jewelry for almost two decades.

Amy Nakamura (she/her), Washington, DC

When I was 19, I did a college semester abroad in France. I was struggling not only with the language but also with the culture that was so different from my home in Hawaii. The people there had this cold. Angry looks were so common and I hated getting used to them. I kept feeling stupid for wanting to go to a place that scared me so much.

One night when I was taking the train back from class, I got into a big argument with the person I was seeing. The distance was difficult and I felt like I was holding them back. Then it all started to hit me. I felt so completely alone in a place that didn’t even seem to want me. So I started crying. At some point, I just couldn’t help myself. I had snot, tears and mascara running down my sweater when a man tapped me on the shoulder. He handed me a tissue (looking very worried by the way). It was so small, but the kindness of that stranger really helped me get through that moment of panic.

John (them), Atlanta, Ga.

I have never been able to pick a favorite nun – there are too many. Maybe because they were my first teachers. Or maybe because they have a powerful way of subverting gender norms. Or maybe it’s because I’m obsessed with exploring habits—those worn and those hidden. One of my favorite nuns (don’t let me choose) approached me in a park one day, caught up in my sadness. I didn’t know her, but somehow she “knew” me and said it was okay for me to stay with those feelings as long as it was just for a visit. “And if someone tells you to put on a happy face and smile, tell them to fuck off.” (Okay, maybe she’s my favorite). I return to this random act of care a lot, sitting with him on days when I feel sad, lost, and confused. But only for a visit.

Gender Affirmation and Identity

Sometimes caring means providing practical support when bureaucratic systems create barriers.

Justice Ameer (xe/xem/she/her), Providence, RI

My dad is old school. Teaching his boys how to be men meant teaching them to open the car door for their mother. The gentlemen help the ladies in and out of the car. They stand on the street edge of the sidewalk. They hold the doors open for those who pass by. Out of respect, out of duty. It took my father some listening and learning to understand what it meant for his youngest son to become his youngest daughter. But I know he’s learned, because I don’t touch the car door anymore. He opens the door for me as he does for my mother, as he does for the other women in our lives. Even if he stumbles with words, he never stumbles in his actions. He is a father who sees his child as he raised her and became because of him.

Community and practical support

While emotional and medical support can be transformative in times of crisis, the LGBTQ community often faces ongoing practical challenges that require sustained care. From navigating bureaucratic hurdles to building neighborhood networks, these stories demonstrate how seemingly mundane acts of assistance can coalesce into lasting support systems.

Jess Kung (them/them), Washington, DC

Between an illegal name change, driving across the country, and a global pandemic, I found myself buried in red tape. My car tags have expired and my landlord has impounded it several times. Some very kind acquaintances offered their way in for over a year while I battled the brain fog to get my paperwork in order. They said they don’t use the space anyway. I still don’t think I’ve thanked them enough.

But that’s not all. Once I was finally ready to drive it home, the battery was dead. I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t, I was planning to buy something from a colleague in the neighborhood and I was late. I went to meet this stranger and he happened to have a portable jump starter on hand – he gave me a ride back and gave me the jump. He said it was no big deal. I have never been so relieved.

Ariel Friedlander (she/them), Brooklyn, NY

My neighbor became a comrade through grooming. We met when I first moved in a few years ago, starting small, probably when I first asked her to pet her elderly toothless chihuahua, Belinda Carlisle. But we got closer the day I was dumped out of nowhere. I had a busy afternoon, but the last thing I wanted was to go to bed that night in a bed that smelled of my ex. So I knocked on his door and told him. He immediately invited me to lie on his bed and let him go. Then he helped me change my sheets before I had to run to the meeting. We really started doing favors for each other after that, from pet sitting to moving furniture around the neighborhood. When I noticed an election-based flyer hanging from his doorknob, I invited him to volunteer with me in Philly on Election Day to get out. We went down and shared a hotel and everything! I love my neighbors. And to me, that’s what community looks like.