Coming to terms with one’s gay
identity has never been easy. For many of us—whether we served in the Marine
Corps or performed on a chorus line—the process demanded our energy and
courage, especially in the years before the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT) policy,
when being openly LGBTQ+ came with even greater risks.
Netflix’s original series Boots
attempts to portray the challenges faced by many gay service members before the
implementation of the DADT policy. Unfortunately, many of these struggles still
persist for LGBTQ+ individuals serving in the military today. In fact, we are
living through a regressive period in which hard-won rights are once again
being questioned and challenged.
Homophobia is a major reason why
coming out can be particularly difficult for gay members of the military. It
can prevent queer individuals from living authentic lives and, when
internalized, can foster a deep sense of inferiority. To cope with or compensate
for these feelings, many victims of homophobia push themselves toward external
accomplishments and strive for exceptional success. For example, Sgt. Sullivan,
portrayed by Max Parker in Boots, exemplifies such a high achiever. His
drive to attain the pinnacle of “manhood” by becoming an elite Recon Marine was
an attempt to silence his inner shame about being homosexual. Adopting toxic
masculinity as a survival strategy was only one layer of his tragic life, which
ultimately could not shield him from the consequences of institutionalized
homophobia.
Based on my training and research
in somatic psychotherapy and the functioning of the autonomic nervous system
(ANS), I have come to understand that no amount of external achievement can
erase deeply rooted feelings of inferiority—especially when experiences of
shame have left lasting imprints on a person’s physiology. Chronic stress, such
as that caused by homophobia, can repeatedly activate a person’s stress
response. When this activation is unresolved, it can become “bound” in the body
as trapped energy, manifesting as trauma symptoms. In the case of Sgt.
Sullivan, the fear of being discovered for his sexual relationship with Major
Wilkinson, played by Sachin Bhatt, took a significant toll on both his mind and
body. The ongoing stress of living in a hostile, homophobic environment, coupled
with his internal struggle around his sexual identity, kept his nervous system
in a state of dysregulation and hyperarousal. His habitual rage in response to
triggering situations exemplifies a nervous system stuck on “high.”
Homophobia set the stage for Sgt.
Sullivan to live a tormented life, denying him the opportunity to fully engage
in a loving relationship with Major Wilkinson. His need for self-protection
outweighed his ability to allow himself to be loved. The safety he deserved—to
embrace love with another man—was systematically denied, and that is a tragedy.
For someone like Sgt. Sullivan, self-love is profoundly difficult when he
cannot allow himself to receive love from another. The famous quote by RuPaul,
“If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?”
can be particularly challenging to apply in his case. For Sgt. Sullivan, being
loved by Major Wilkinson could have provided the very foundation he needed to
begin loving himself. For many in the LGBTQ+ community, allowing ourselves to
be deeply loved by another person can be even more challenging than learning to
love ourselves. Many of us have been rejected by those who were supposed to
love and protect us. We may have mastered the practice of self-care through
routines ranging from daily pilates to weekly Infrared saunas, yet when it
comes to letting love in, we often keep our walls firmly up.
Another heart-wrenching story in Boots
is that of Cameron Cope, a bullied gay teen played by Miles Heizer. Growing up
in a world that did not honor his queer essence, Cameron endured years of abuse
without adequate protection. The absence of support was made painfully clear
when his narcissistic mother, Barbara, played by Vera Farmiga, admitted to her
friend June, played by Joy Osmanski, that she had neglected her son when he
needed protection from bullies. Each time Cameron was violently attacked at
school, he felt powerless and internalized the belief that he was weak. Cameron
was not weak; he was simply outnumbered. His nervous system was responding as
it was designed to: when faced with a threat, it evaluates the best course of
action for survival, choosing among fight, flight, freeze, or fawn responses.
In Cameron’s case, his body determined that freezing or shutting down was the
safest option. To label himself as weak does not accurately reflect his
experience; it was instead a humiliating and deeply unjust interpretation of
his body’s survival response.
Cameron joined the Marines to
free himself from self-loathing and escape his unfulfilling home, defined by
his mother. In one scene in Boots, Cameron’s mother tries to pressure
him to leave the Marines, telling him, "This is not who you are," to
which Cameron responds, "It is now." At first, viewers might
interpret this as a moment of individuation, a step toward becoming his own
man. However, he is merely exchanging one form of oppression for another.
Joining a homophobic institution that trains him to “kill, kill, kill” will not
heal the trauma he experienced growing up queer in a world that denied him the
fundamental right to be treated with dignity and respect.
One way Cameron’s history of
being bullied affected his nervous system is evident in a scene involving a
combat exercise with his new friend Jones, played by Jack Cameron Kay. Watching
Boots, we learn that as a bullied child, Cameron was often unable to
fight back. As a result, a great deal of survival energy that was never
expressed remained trapped in his body. For many abused queer youths who had to
shut down or dissociate to cope with homophobic mistreatment, there is often a
“volcano” of rage waiting to erupt. In Cameron’s case, that rage surfaces when
Jones betrays him during a combat exercise by calling him the f-word. The
violent scene illustrates how the sudden release of thwarted or incomplete
fight-or-flight responses can result in uncontrolled displays of rage.
When it comes to healing from
trauma, it's important to recognize that trauma is both a biological and
physiological response to overwhelming events—not just a psychological one. As
Dr. Bessel van der Kolk explains in The Body Keeps the Score, “Trauma
lives in the body’s memory, not in the moment that caused it.” Similarly, Peter
Levine notes, “Trauma is not what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the
absence of an empathetic witness.” In my training on the impact of trauma on
the nervous system, I learned that many queer individuals with a history of
trauma often experience a persistent sense of threat, even in the absence of
actual danger. This ongoing state of a perceived threat is a key component of
anxiety. They may become stuck in a chronic fear response, which can manifest
as a prolonged state of fight, flight, or freeze. Supporting the nervous system
in completing the responses it couldn’t at the time of the trauma can help
deactivate this stuck fear response and promote healing.
Perhaps if Cameron had access to
somatic healing therapies, these dormant, incomplete responses to years of
homophobic mistreatment could have been released in a gentler, titrated way.
Using titration methods, he could process his trauma narrative without having
to relive every detail and risk re-traumatization. By addressing small portions
of his painful memories and gently revisiting bodily sensations while staying
grounded in the present moment, Cameron could avoid becoming overwhelmed. By
creating a safe space and using titration, he could allow his body to release
stored trauma energy—through crying, shaking, trembling, or other natural
responses—allowing him to renegotiate and integrate past traumatic experiences.
In addition to discharging stored
trauma energy from his system, Cameron’s healing journey can involve
identifying resources that helped him to get through many difficult years of dealing
with a narcissistic mother and homophobic mistreatment at school. It is
important to help a trauma survivor like Cameron to feel safe. I would ask
Cameron questions that could guide him toward cultivating a sense of safety. I
would begin by helping him identify what was—and still is—supportive in
relation to being queer. By recalling and tuning into the felt sense of moments
when he experienced safety growing up, he can approach trauma with more care
and compassion. I would inquire from Cameron: What helped him cope with such
overwhelming stress of dealing with bullies? How did he make it through? Who
showed him kindness during that time? Naming what helped Cameron survive not
only honors his resilience but also supports the process of gently shifting out
of a stuck threat response.
A major resource in Cameron’s
life was his “only friend” Ray, played by Liam Oh. Another valuable resource
that helped him get through many challenging moments was his own resilience. In
a somatic therapy session with Cameron, it is important to identify resources
and let him track the pleasant sensations he might notice in his body as he taps
into such resources. Embodying such resources and tracking the accompanying
pleasant sensations is a contradiction to the experience of his traumatic upbringings.
Not everyone who grew up queer or
joined the military experienced trauma or mistreatment, and it's important to
recognize that. However, for those LGBTQ+ individuals with more positive
upbringings, it’s worth exploring how witnessing the mistreatment of other
queer youth—whether directly or indirectly, through media, community, or shared
stories—might have affected them. Additionally, being raised by loving,
supportive parents who assumed their child was straight can create a subtle but
meaningful disconnect. Even in caring households, that underlying assumption
may feel at odds with a person’s authentic sense of self. Many LGBTQ+
individuals have found it helpful to process these experiences with a trained
professional—especially one who is also a member of the community and has done
their own personal work around similar dynamics.
As queer people, many of us grew
up surrounded by heterosexual indoctrination. Regardless of what caused our
trauma, we have the right to heal. Life is meant to be an opportunity to grow,
to love, and to experience joy—not a constant reliving of unhealed pain. My
hope is that in the next season, Boots will also portray the struggles
of LGBTQ+ people of color who joined the Marines and faced even greater
challenges—not only because of homophobia and transphobia, but also due to
racial trauma. My hope is that we continue honoring the stories of LGBTQ+ members
of the military and their sacrifices to serve this country by ensuring their
voices are heard, their contributions remembered, and their service met with
the dignity, equality, and respect they have always deserved.
© Payam
Ghassemlou, MFT, Ph.D., SEP, is a psychotherapist (www.DrPayam.com), Somatic
Experiencing Practitioner (www.SomaticAliveness.com), and artist (https://SomaticAlivenessArt.etsy.com)
Licensed
Marriage and Family Therapist
