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Relationships, networks and LGBTI contexts

From international quantitative research, we know that older LGBTI people who feel they have social support and feel a sense of belonging in the LGBTI community have better health, as well as lower levels of depressive symptoms and perceived stress (Fredriksen-Goldsen et al., 2013). Studies concerning young LGBTI people also demonstrate the connection between having good relationships and well-being (Alanko & Lund, 2020; Thorsteinsson et al., 2017). Relationships and networks are not least important when it comes to having social and practical support in everyday life – as informal carers, and as support in relation to contacts with healthcare and social care. In this section, firstly quantitative studies of relationships and networks are highlighted, followed by a focus on families and close relationships, and finally a discussion of LGBTI contexts.

LGBTI relationships: General patterns

A couple of quantitative studies indicate some general patterns in older LGBTI people’s relationships and networks. In the Danish national public health study, a larger proportion of LGBTI people over the age of 60 report that they rarely or never have contact with family they do not live with compared to heterosexuals of the same age, where the figures are 6% for heterosexuals, 10% for lesbians and gays, and 25% for bisexuals. For the item rarely or never have contact with friends, the proportions for heterosexuals and bisexuals are similar, with a slightly higher proportion among lesbians and gays. Even when it comes to those who experience involuntarily loneliness at times, a slightly higher proportion of gays and lesbians report this compared to heterosexuals and bisexuals. In the Swedish public health survey, the results show how lesbian women aged 64–84 are the group where the most people (33%) reported low social engagement compared to heterosexuals of the same age and women of all ages. Even gay men in the same age group more often reported low social engagement compared to heterosexual men of the same age and younger men. (Public Health Agency of Sweden, 2014:116). When it comes to trust in most people, the numbers are slightly higher among lesbians and gays compared to heterosexual women and heterosexual men (2014:117). 
When it comes to the possibility of receiving practical support and help in case of illness, fewer gays and lesbians do not expect to receive help, compared to bisexuals and heterosexuals. When asked if they never or almost never have anyone to talk to, 4% of heterosexual responded in the affirmative, with this figure being 5% among lesbians and gays, and 9% of bisexuals (Bindesbøl Holm Johansen et al., 2015). In a Swedish context, a much higher proportion (11%) of lesbian women reported that they lack practical support compared to 3.7% of heterosexual women. Among men, the figures are more similar, being 5.7% for gay men compared to 5.2% for heterosexual men (Public Health Agency of Sweden, 2014).
When it comes to emotional support, almost half of the trans people surveyed between the ages of 65 and 94 said they lack support. Among gay men in the age group 65–84 years, the corresponding figure was 16%, which can be compared with 9–11% for lesbian women and heterosexuals in the same age group (Public Health Agency of Sweden, 2014, 2015:34). Bränström et al. (2022), who based their study on the 2018 Swedish public health survey, showed that the differences between homosexuals and bisexuals compared to heterosexuals in terms of social isolation were particularly great among older age groups. The proportion of lesbian, gay and bisexual people in their 70s who reported being socially isolated was three times higher compared to heterosexuals of the same age (Bränström et al., 2022).
In other words, the quantitative studies that exist indicate that older lesbian, gay and bisexual people are less likely to have contact with family and friends, and that they lack emotional support to a greater extent compared to the rest of the population in a Danish and Swedish context. A much higher proportion of older trans people in Sweden lacks emotional support. In the qualitative research, relationships, family and community in LGBTI contexts are often central themes.

Chosen (and non-chosen) families

In the qualitative studies where relationships with original families are discussed, experiences often differ among the participants. Some have been accepted and have good relationships with their original family, while others have struggled to be acknowledged and understood in those relationships. As discussed in the previous section, it is a common experience that family, relatives and friends have distanced themselves from you when you come out about your sexuality or gender identity. Sometimes it is the individuals themselves who have finally broken off contact as a strategy to avoid encountering homophobia or transphobia (Bromseth, 2013; Meggers Matthiesen, 2019; Siverskog, 2016). Relationships with one’s family of origin are often conditioned by heteronormative premises and interpretative frameworks for what counts as acceptable and valuable relationships (Bromseth, 2013).
Some participants in the qualitative studies have children from previous relationships. Among these, relationships with their children have been unproblematic for some, while others have had difficult relationships. As previously discussed, some have lost custody of their children because of their sexuality or the children may have broken off contact with them over the course of their life (Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:40; Siverskog 2016:93). Others maintain relationships with their children, but these relationships are sometimes conditional on not being able to be fully open.
Then things calmed down with the children, but when they married more problems arose, and the grandchildren – we can’t tell the grandchildren, it has been kept secret that I am… now and we are… now ‘we just live together’, I live with a (short laugh) female friend. (Eila, 77, in Bromseth, 2013:63)
As Bromseth writes, heteronormativity is part of the picture and influences how the person navigates everyday life and shapes their close relationships (2013:63).
Something that is frequently highlighted in the research on older LGBTI people is how chosen families are commonly seen as significant and important. This entails a notion of family that goes beyond blood ties and kinship. Often, friends are given an important role in this context. An example is Irene, a 70-year-old lesbian woman who says “my family is my circle of friends”. She also points out that blood relations can be important, but one “cannot always find kindred spirits among them” (Irene, in Siverskog, 2016:186). Vigdis, 68 years, expresses the same views:
And we usually say, Hillevi and I, that we have our own family. We have no children, and not very many relatives left, but we have a lot of acquaintances and some good friends. They are the ones who are our family. And we think that feels very good. (…) They have also been chosen by us to some extent. You don’t choose your relatives. (Vigdis, 68 years, in Bromseth 2013:53)
What Vigdis stresses, that one doesn’t choose your family of origin, becomes important to understand in light of what was discussed in the section on discrimination and openness, since many older LGBTI people have experienced that their family of origin (and others) distance themselves from the person when they came out. This is seen again in more studies:
Sometimes I think that maybe, even though I don’t have any children myself, we are in some ways more privileged because we have had to choose our lives, we have had to choose our... well, a kind of chosen family. Whether it has been through the LGBT organisation or through a mixture of all these [communities]. (Gitte, 71 years old, in Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:34)
These relationships can of course also include the person’s biological family, but as the quotes show, they are often constituted by relationships with partners and friends who provide social and practical support in everyday life. What is different here is that friends, and not infrequently ex-partners, are often reported as playing an important role and are highlighted as people that the person can count on for support and help in everyday life. Birgit, aged 69, explains that her ex-partners often remain in her life as close friends because the lesbian contexts in the 1970s were so small that it would have been too socially awkward to not get along well even if the love relationship ended (Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:33). Partners are often important of course, and sometimes these romantic relationships have been going on for several decades. Here, there can be differences between cis people in same-sex relationships and trans people, where for the people in same sex relationships, it means a shared experience of deviation from heteronormativity, where they can renegotiate norms together and share experiences and work out strategies (Siverskog, 2016:92; Bromseth, 2013:62; Eggebø et al., 2019:61et seq.). However, a person who identifies as transgender who has or has had romantic relationships with cis people cannot share experiences of being trans and deviating from cis norms (Siverskog, 2016:92).
Having a same-sex partner has not necessarily meant being acknowledged and confirmed by the environment surrounding the person. The studies show how heteronormativity creates different conditions for those who do not have relationships that conform to heteronormativity. One participant in the Norwegian study talks about how she was not seen by employers and her surroundings in her lesbian relationship: “Being treated like someone who was alone was the hardest thing. They deducted pay on the day I was going to attend my partner’s funeral” (Møllerop, 2013:287).
Even for those who have had close, supportive relationships, ageing can mean that many of them pass away (Eggebø et al., 2019; Siverskog, 2016)). Sture, a non-binary transperson aged 76, says: “You have to realise that the older you get, the more alone you are” (Sture, 76, in Siverskog, 2016:237). Another participant says:
A lot of people have died (…) And I have lost… most of my close friends. (…) Precisely those you might have talked to a lot and had a lot of contact with and been able to discuss things with that you can’t talk about with anyone else. That’s what you miss the most. (Maj, 68 years, in Siverskog 2016:237)
As Maj says, shared experiences, memories and relationships are lost when those who have previously been close pass away. As mentioned earlier, many of those who are older today were also part of the LGBTI community during the time of the HIV and AIDS epidemic that impacted gay men in particular, many of whom experienced the loss of loved ones. Aksel, 65 years, says: ”Jeg kan navngive i hvert fald 30, der er forsvundet på den konto... det tror jeg også følger en, fordi det som egentlig skulle have været netværk, de er jo væk.” (Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:55).
That period in time is marked by personal loss, fear and an intensified homophobia in the wider community. But it was also a time when fellowship in the LGBTI community collectively dealt with crises and losses through mutual support (Siverskog, 2016:180). These experiences can re-emerge in connection with needing social care and in relation to the end stage of life. One participant who is in a hospice talks about how the same people with whom he previously shared losses and political struggle are there for him now:
We lived a very social life with those who were in the fight, they are the ones who have come to see me now that I am in here. That’s been really great. Then you can also say that there are many older people who have been sick and died from AIDS and had, we have friendships that have been with them and taken care of them right to the end. So that has well, you have to say that, before it is too late, you have to get yourself social contacts, social contacts, social contacts, social contacts, social contacts, social contacts. That’s been my mantra to everyone. Then, then, then you will have a good old age. (Inge, 88 years, in Siverskog, 2016:88)
But even though many older LGBTI people are part of what they refer to as chosen families and have strong networks and relationships, far from everyone has stories of being alone, voluntarily as well as involuntarily, are present in the studies.
Many people complain that they are alone, and that they can be alone even with their partners and in all sorts of contexts. Yes, I tell them, I know that but when I get home on Friday afternoon it feels empty until Monday morning, unless I go out by myself. I mean I don’t have anyone, I don’t like that kind of thing, but just that kind of thing like going to a flea market, going to the theatre, well you know, you name it, how much fun it is when you go with someone. Just a friend. I can miss that. (Klas, 64 years, in Siverskog, 2016:200)
I don’t think I’m alone in that way. I can feel lonely sometimes, but it’s more because, as soon as there’s a holiday, everyone is suddenly away. Then they choose family and friends and children. And I am left alone. I have nowhere to go during the summer holidays, Easter holidays, Christmas holidays... and then I feel lonely. It is such a sad realisation to come to. But I know it’s true, it’s in those situations that I’m lonely. (Søren. 65 years old, in Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:55)
The feeling of loneliness can be especially acute during family-oriented holidays and celebrations. Some people have large networks, but few supportive relationships of a more personal nature. Thus it is important to look at the quality of relationships. Other factors also play a role in the nature of relationships and networks: social, cultural and financial resources; whether a person lives in an urban or rural area; and proximity to communities (Siverskog, 2016; Bromseth, 2013). Many of those with strong networks and chosen families have previously been involved in political movements, which in turn are often marked by middle-class experiences (Siverskog, 2016). Heteronormative language can also confuse and create uncertainty, for example in healthcare situations. In a Danish study, Søren explains how he would fill in a contact person in a healthcare context:
Even when it says ‘next of kin’ (banging the table anxiously) - and I can use none of them for that. And then I asked if I could write a friend there instead. It doesn’t matter - there just needs to be a phone number they can call if something happens. But yes, I thought it was a bit strange. I sat and thought, that’s how lonely people are. (Søren, 65 years old, in Meggers Mathiessen, p. 91)
Establishing new relationships in older age, finding new friends, can be perceived as more difficult (Siverskog, 2016:237). In the studies, those who live without a partner sometimes express a desire to meet someone, to share experiences and everyday life with as well as closeness and intimacy (Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:56 et seq.; Siverskog 2016:). There are also clear gender differences, where gay men are often confronted with ideals of youth in the dating world, where one’s own old age causes one to decline in hierarchy and status (Kristiansen, 2013; Meggers Matthiesen, 2019; Siverskog, 2016; Vesterlund, 2013). This is not as present among women. Although accounts of ageism in lesbian contexts do occur, the lesbian movement has often been closely linked to a feminist movement where bodily ideals are often actively problematised (Siverskog, 2016:209 et seq.). In trans people’s accounts of dating as an older person, as mentioned earlier, it is central that they should be seen as they want and wish to be seen, where previous experiences of transphobia are often a factor. Often they need to explain their trans experience and what it means (Siverskog, 2016:213 et seq.).
In legal terms, there is an additional important aspect here, as many older LGBTI people living in couples may not have entered into a registered partner or married – due to past ideals of discretion, or because they got together in times where this was not legally possible. This in turn may mean that the person’s chosen family have no legal rights if the person falls ill or dies. Instead, the person’s biological family, with whom they may not have had contact for several decades, can become involved in important decisions regarding matters such as estates, care and funeral. This points to the importance of wills and other documents that set out a person’s wishes (Alasuutari, 2020; Møllerop, 2013:291). In a Finnish study of LGBTI people’s experiences of dying, grief and rituals, one of the older participants, Reino, describes how his ex-partner passed away. Although Reino was the heir to his ex-partner’s estate, neither he nor his ex-partner’s new partner were allowed to participate in the planning of the funeral. The biological family located the funeral in the small village where they lived, instead of in the city where this man had lived his life. During the funeral, Reino and the man’s new partner were only allowed to place their flowers last of all, in the hierarchical order that reflects an imagined importance of the mourners and recognises some and not others (Alasuutari, 2020:132 et seq.).
A participant in a Norwegian life-course study talked about when her partner passed away. The interviewer asked her if she was seen at the funeral as the chief mourner, whereupon she replied that she sat far back among the friends because the family saw her as nothing but a friend, and they also distanced themselves from her after her partner passed away (Eggebø et al., 2019:53). This rendered their relationship invisible, as well as her importance as a partner and their sexuality.

LGBTI contexts and community

Given the historical context, where LGBTI identities have been criminalised, pathologised and very often not socially accepted during the lives of older LGBTI people, LGBTI contexts have often been very important for LGBTI people. These can include political groups, bar and club environments and Internet spaces – places where gender identity and/or sexuality are a common denominator for the context. They have constituted places and contexts where LGBTI people have been able to find energy, strength and community, and have been experienced as havens away from heteronormativity, as well as places for political struggle. Often these contexts have been places where one could meet friends, lovers and partners, who have sometimes become lifelong relationships (Meggers Matthiesen, 2019; Siverskog, 2016; Siverskog & Bromseth, 2019). These contexts do not cease to be important to older people. On the contrary, older LGBTI people tell us that senior contexts (without an LGBTI focus) can often be experienced as ‘hetero spaces’ where they easily feel that they are rendered invisible, and feel excluded or isolated (Meggers Mathiessen, 2019; Møllerop, 2013).
Older LGBTI people have come out during different periods – and into LGBTI contexts in different periods. For those who came out in the 1950s and 1960s, the places where one could meet others were sometimes hard to get to and sometimes required proof of identity and/or being recommended by someone who was already a member. There are stories about LGBT clubs with closed curtains, advertisements with code words in newspapers where you could apply to be contacted. But once inside these environments, there were often very important contexts that felt freeing and sometimes quite life-changing:
I just felt that ALL the doors were opened at the Femø camps. I have never experienced anything so warm. And I met real people. The people I used to socialise with, part of my family - they treated me like an object. And down there I was treated like a real human being. (Herdis, 72 years old, in Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:63)
It was like being on fire - a cultural fire. It was a feeling of happiness that I have never experienced since. When we had a pride parade, and you suddenly find yourself in the middle of all these people in the same situation. We know each other, we can say hello to each other and we can kiss each other just because we are having so much fun. (Regitze, 85 years old, in Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:63)
For many lesbians, the women’s movement has been an important context and the metaphor of finding context as synonymous with ‘coming home’ occurs in several different studies (Siverskog, 2016:173; Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:63). Metaphors that allude to family are also not uncommon. In Synnes’ and Malterud’s (2019) study of queer narratives from Norway, a 71-year-old male participant says:
One of the greatest joys I now have in life is to go to Pride weeks in Scandinavia’s capitals. What joy to see people of all ages in the parade – people who eventually become aware that underneath all this joy and fun packed antics, is a deep and serious truth about oppression and injustice – both in today’s society, and whose roots go far back in our history. These events are wonderful – heterosexuals and LGBTI friends, transgender people and others hold each other’s hands and dancing down the streets. People from all corners of the world in perfect harmony! I stand there, always with a tear in my eye. It mirrors my hard past, but also reflects the joy in what I am now experiencing ... How many good and wonderful sisters and brothers I have, from all over the world! (Paul, 71 years, in Synnes & Malterud, 2019:109)
Paul refers to brothers and sisters from all over the world, and it is not uncommon to allude to family terms which in turn challenge nuclear families and kinship. here queer generations become instead a term spanning generations, where struggle and community intertwine them (cf. Siverskog, 2016:266). Many who have found friends and networks through LGBTI contexts have retained these over decades, and for many they constitute important supportive relationships in older age (Siverskog, 2016; Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:63-64). Lisa Blackman (2011) argues that the concept of the queer family allows us to imagine the bonds and connections that bind us intergenerationally and which therefore identify contexts that circulate through time and place. These connections are not always expressed or easy to articulate. But they are embodied in complex ways, creating lines that intersect generations to reveal how affect, trauma and shame are communicated intergenerationally (Blackman, 2011). Freeman (2010:64-65) has also written about how the concept of generation does not need to be based on family, but can, for example, be associated with political work that produce shared subjectivities and experiences that go beyond family.
As Meggers Mathiessen (2019:68) points out, meeting places for LGBTI people are often commercial bar and club environments in big cities, which are not necessarily perceived as easily accessible places for an older target group. Some participants in the studies say that it can be more difficult to become part of a context when you have come out later in life, in particular for men because of the ideals of youth that often characterise those contexts (Vesterlund, 2013:133; Eggebø et al., 2019:83-84). But even women say that it can be difficult feel comfortable and at home in these contexts:
They ARE simply too young. No, I’ve been in and looked twice, but I don’t really feel comfortable. It is too much of a bar environment (Pia, 63 years old, in Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:68)
I haven’t been at the Mermaid Pride in many years, I think last time was in Copenhagen. And then I just felt “What am I doing here?” I walked there with two other ladies with grey hair and we looked at each other and then there was a lot of gay guys in spandex around us, I mean I felt I had more in common with the cops who walked there. (Kari, 65 years, in Siverskog, 2016: 211-212)
While in the first quote Pia has come out as an older person and has difficulty getting ‘in’, Kari in the second quote has been engaged in lesbian groups earlier in life, but the context that was previously important and felt like home suddenly does not feel that way anymore because of markers of age. Others feel that the contexts in which they once felt at home change over time, for example, there may have been a community around things that one fought for together – rights that are now self-evident. It can also be a feeling that the youth-dominated contexts are academic and that this in turn makes it difficult to be able to participate:
It gets lost, that class analysis, somehow. Because the feminist movement is driven by young academic women. But it is so academic! And you need to have studied gender studies for five years to participate. I mean, I’ve tried to read Judith Butler, but I can’t get through it. I don’t understand what she is saying. And I can read a page three times and not understand half of it. (Issa, 76 years, in Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:72)
Class, norms concerning age along with other structures intersect in LGBTI contexts and affect who can gain access, be seen and heard, and feel comfortable and at home. Even an ageing body and impairments can limit opportunities to participate in an LGBTI community, for example through impairments that make people abstain from rather than participate in contexts and thus make them feel isolated (Meggers Mathiessen, 2019:67). At the same time, there are accounts from older lesbian feminists about how they can feel appreciation from younger lesbians, because they have ‘forged the way’ and fought for liveable lesbian lives. Here old age becomes an asset and source of admiration, but reserved for those who have political capital (Siverskog, 2016:211).
While the research in the Nordic countries focuses primarily on gay and bisexual communities historically as well as now, there is less empirical research on older transgender people’s experiences of organising themselves and their contexts. In Sweden, the first trans associations were formed in the 1960s and there were strict demands for anonymity:
You know when they started this association, at that time they couldn’t say that they were trans. They could never show themselves, they would never go out, it was like a closed Rotary club sort of. It was a closed group. No one could get in, the doors were locked and then they sat inside talking and drinking coffee or drinking beer and so on. But today it’s different, fortunately. (Lena, 65 years, in Siverskog, 2016:164)
You should know this association, when it started in 1965, we can say then, around that time, back then it was secret and then it was hush-hush and then it was all kinds of things. And yes, it was like that, so you thought what kind of sect is this, is it the Ku Klux Klan or what is it about? It was secret addresses and secret names and so on and it was. But then we’ve seen how things have developed today, that today it’s actually... the goal is really then to dismantle this association the day when society becomes so tolerant that it does not matter what you’re like, but that takes a long time. (Lily, in Siverskog, 2016:165)
Lily talks about how the context that existed was not really in line with how she identified herself. While she perceived herself to be a woman, there were strict norms in these trans groups for identifying yourself as a man, cross-dressing occasionally, and preferably living heterosexual life outwards. Nevertheless, these contexts, and the opportunity to meet others and be seen as you want to be seen, is experienced as very important, strengthening and significant (Fabbre & Siverskog, 2019; Siverskog, 2016:165). During the 1970s and 1980s, there was a trend within LGBTI contexts as well as trans contexts to separate trans(sexuality) from (homo)sexuality (Siverskog, 2016:168). In 2001, the Swedish umbrella organisation RFSL included transgender people as part of its target group, something that was not entirely unproblematic. The older transgender people in Siverskog’s study say that they felt like they were being stared at by a lesbian, gay and bisexual audience, and that they often had to push for trans issues to be covered in their local RFSL groups. A non-binary participant says that they are careful to tell that they are heterosexual because there are “many members who believe that the lowest common denominator is homosexuality and it really isn’t any longer. The lowest common denominator today is this that you are breaking what RFSL calls the heteronorm” (Kjell, 65 years, in Siverskog, 2016:170).
There is thus a difference in the early groups for trans people compared to those for gays and lesbians. The former often assumed that deviation from heteronormativity occurred temporarily in locked rooms, and the participants were otherwise expected to live relatively heteronormative lives, while homosexual communities were based on a community characterised by metaphors of ‘finding their way home’ and ‘family’. This created different entry points to contexts and communities that are often present as people age, where stories of chosen families and strong networks are not present in the same way in the accounts of older trans people (Siverskog, 2016).
In summary, this section has shown how older lesbian, gay and bisexual people are less likely to have contact with family and friends and more often lack emotional support compared to heterosexuals of the same age. Among transgender people, there is a much higher proportion of people who say they lack emotional support compared to cis gender people of the same age. This section has also shown how heteronorms have accompanied and stipulated the conditions for LGBTI people’s relationships earlier in life as well as in older age, but how close relationships, chosen families and LGBTI contexts are highlighted as important havens from heteronormativity.
The final part of the report contains a summary of this first part and the recommendations that the studies resulted in. We summarise the knowledge gaps we have identified based on this report’s results.