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ARLINGTON, Virginia — Raised in a religious community in Atlanta, Jordan Costen grew up believing that in moments of trouble he should seek help from one of two sources: his parents or his church. But as a Black gay boy wrestling with depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts, he felt that he could turn to neither. So he said nothing.
“I kept everything private because I thought these things were shameful,” Costen, 41, told Capital B. “I knew the places that were supposed to be safe weren’t safe for me.”
It wasn’t until he went to Howard University, where he was away from the constraints of home, that he felt comfortable enough to find a therapist. Since founding Safe Space NOVA in 2011, he has helped other LGBTQ people, and especially Black LGBTQ people, find the support that he at one point couldn’t even imagine for himself. The Arlington, Virginia-based group of some dozen people fosters an accepting environment for LGBTQ youth through organizing social hangouts and providing professional development training to adult allies.
Costen’s advocacy has taken on even more urgency as the Trump administration has ramped up efforts to undermine the safety of LGBTQ Americans. From denying federal funding to hospitals that provide gender-affirming care to transgender youth to shutting down a national suicide and crisis hotline for LGBTQ youth, there are mounting concerns about the mental health of Black queer men, who face distinct pressures at the intersection of race, sexuality, and gender.
Even so, advocates see reasons for hope.
The rapper Lil Nas X revealed this summer that he has bipolar disorder, saying that being “Black, gay, and bipolar” feels as if you’re living life on “extreme hard mode.” His disclosure resulted in a wave of support from everyone from Janelle Monáe to LaKeith Stanfield to U.S. Rep. Jasmine Crockett of Texas, helping to push a typically private struggle into public view. Advocates say that such openness can chip away at stigma — and also encourage the most vulnerable to seek potentially life-saving care.
“Doing what Lil Nas X did normalizes getting help,” Costen said. He was heartened to see how the rapper’s experience seemed to generate positive discussions of mental health on social media. “It shows that obtaining a certain amount of wealth or fame doesn’t preclude you from having a mental health disorder or from needing assistance to manage it. If he can experience it, you can, too.”
According to a 2024 study of 400 Black gay and bisexual men, 28% said they had attempted suicide in the previous year. Additional research has connected suicidal ideation and depression among Black queer men to stressors related to both race and sexuality.
Increasingly, researchers also are looking at the environments that Black queer men and boys inhabit. One 2022 study of approximately 500 Black queer men and boys ages 16 to 25 found links between structural racism, anti-LGBTQ state policies, and worse mental health outcomes. This suggests that the places where Black queer men and boys live — and the policies governing their lives — can impact their mental health, too.
To Jerry St. Louis, 40, a clinical social worker in Washington, the statistics make clear just how crucial access to care is. After earning his master’s degree in Atlanta, he noticed how few Black queer men therapists there were and wanted to become that connection to care. For many of his clients, the mental health crisis starts long before they step foot into his office.
“I think that it’s mostly rooted in shame,” St. Louis told Capital B. “A lot of us Black queer people were raised in the church, raised to believe that God can fix everything. And so we would normally go there, to the church, but there’s a lot of stigma around having mental health issues. So people feel ashamed and don’t want to share, which keeps them in the closet and doesn’t allow them to get help.”
The power of being seen
For years, St. Louis was reluctant to talk about his mental health challenges. He was especially concerned about the substance abuse disorder he had developed involving methamphetamine. He noted Black queer men can be treated differently, with symptoms sometimes perceived as anger. He also grappled with a familiar refrain: “What happens in my house stays in my house.”
But when St. Louis began sharing his experiences on social media, he said Black people, including Black queer men, started reaching out to him. Some wanted to know how he had found support; others simply wanted to connect with someone who understood.
“I’ve gotten so many Black people who have messaged me saying, ‘Oh, my God, I’ve been looking for someone to talk to about this,’” St. Louis said. “Sharing our story publicly allows other people to be seen in it, and allows other people to say, ‘OK, I can get help.’”
That dynamic helps to explain why advocates attach so much significance in Lil Nas X’s disclosure. For Black queer men who have long been conditioned to keep any mental health challenge close to the vest, seeing one of the world’s most recognizable Black gay men speak candidly about his diagnosis can reveal something deceptively simple and empowering: confirmation that you’re not alone.
“Representation matters because it expands what people believe is possible,” Yolo Akili Robinson, founder and executive director of the Black Emotional and Mental Health Collective, or BEAM, based in Culver City, California, told Capital B. “When someone as visible as Lil Nas X speaks openly about living with bipolar disorder, he helps to normalize conversations that many people have been taught to keep hidden.”
But Robinson cautioned against confusing visibility with a solution. A Black queer man might see Lil Nas X, recognize something of himself, and decide that he’s ready to seek help — only to encounter the same barriers that have long made that help difficult to obtain.
“Public disclosures open the door, but they don’t remove all of the obstacles behind it,” Robinson explained.
He added that confronting those obstacles — including stigma, discrimination, and a shortage of culturally responsive care — would require, at least partly, confronting rigid expectations around masculinity and sexuality, as well as the Christian shame that can follow queer people from childhood into adulthood.
“Black queer men aren’t separate from Black men’s healing — they’re an essential part of it,” Robinson said. “Healing requires more than expanding access to therapy. It requires envisioning what our culture can be when Christian shame isn’t at its center.”
Costen also understands the shame surrounding mental health can be difficult to dislodge, particularly for Black queer men who have spent years learning to keep their struggles to themselves.
But he also believes the more people are outspoken about mental health — whether that’s a celebrity or someone closer to home — the easier it can become for others to do the same. Lil Nas X in his video statement said he now has a therapist and a psychiatrist and was “feeling better” following “rehab for a few months.” He acknowledged his diagnosis was overdue because he didn’t want to “have people think different of me.”
After years of working with LGBTQ people as a therapist and through Safe Space NOVA, Costen wants Black queer people to understand that struggling doesn’t mean that they have to struggle alone.
“There’s a lot of guilt and shame with seeking out assistance, asking for help,” Costen said. “But it can’t be emphasized enough, especially when it comes to our community: Reach out if you need it.”
