I vividly remember the moment that someone I thought was a friend began insulting my identity. But what cut deeper than his words was the silence of others. No one challenged him, no one said that being LGBT+ wasn’t wrong. That silence was deafening.
Those experiences left scars. They didn’t just make school harder; they followed me into adulthood. I carried them in the way I doubted myself, in the friendships I kept at a distance, and in the constant second-guessing of whether people would accept me. That is the power of an unsupportive school environment: the hurt lingers long after the final bell.
And that is why support from teachers and schools matters so deeply. One safe adult, one person who listens without judgement, can transform a young person’s life. It could have transformed my life. When teachers create an environment where young people feel seen and valued, it shows pupils that they are worthy of respect and belonging. Those seemingly small acts, such as using inclusive language, displaying support, or simply listening, can have an impact that stays with a pupil forever.
Now, I make it my mission to be that safe adult. I worked as a teaching assistant and led the school’s Pride Club, where the atmosphere was entirely different to what I grew up with. Sometimes conversations were serious, but more often they were lighthearted – students excitedly talking about anime, or their favourite LGBT+ characters on TV. Those moments matter. These pupils know that being LGBT+ isn’t something to hide; it’s something to be spoken about openly, even casually. That comfort and sense of safety is what real inclusion looks like.
During LGBTQ+ History Month, I worked with my school’s Senior Leadership Team to create displays celebrating people who had lived, loved, and achieved as their authentic selves. For students who rarely see themselves reflected anywhere else, that visibility matters. It gives them stories to look up to, a history and community to connect with, and proof that they too can thrive.
I also volunteer with Just Like Us, the LGBT+ young people’s charity. I visit schools across the country, speaking with pupils from Year 7 to Year 13. I talk openly about being both Muslim and LGBT+, answer their questions, and reassure them that they are not alone. The relief on their faces when you tell them it’s okay to be themselves is unforgettable. Sometimes you can see the weight lift from their shoulders at that very moment.
That is the difference a teacher, a school, or a single conversation can make. I know what it is like to feel rejected, but I also know the healing power of support. Schools cannot erase every challenge that LGBT+ young people will face, but they can provide safe spaces, affirming words, and role models who show them they are valued.
I can’t change what my younger self went through, but I can fight for something better for the next generation. A future where every young person grows up in schools where inclusion is the norm. Where teachers don’t hesitate to stand up for them. Where being LGBT+ is seen not as a burden, but simply as part of who someone is.
We cannot rewrite history, but we can transform the present. And teachers choosing inclusion is a great place to start.
Rayyan Aboobaker is a volunteer with Just Like Us, the LGBT+ young people’s charity.
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