Content warning: Discussion of domestic violence
Today, buildings across the country will be lit up in rainbow colours to mark “LGBTQ Domestic Violence Awareness Day” – a national day that aims to highlight abuse in LGBTQ+ relationships and push for more recognition, understanding and support for LGBTQIA+ victim-survivors of domestic and family violence.
The rainbow light displays across the country are a show of solidarity, serving as a powerful reminder that domestic and family violence can affect anyone – regardless of sexuality or gender identity.
Research paints a confronting picture: over 60% of LGBTQIA+ people say they’ve experienced domestic or family violence (Private Lives 3 Report, 2020). But many LGBTQIA+ victim-survivors still face barriers when trying to access support. Services are often unavailable, lack understanding, or don’t feel safe – especially in regional and remote areas where visibility and resources can be extremely limited.
This “LGBTQ Domestic Violence Awareness Day”, we interviewed Jazmeen Payne – a powerful queer, second generation migrant and victim-survivor of domestic violence. Her own lived experience as a survivor of domestic violence has shaped her passion for advocating for safer, more equitable communities, particularly for LGBTQIA+ people from diverse backgrounds. Here’s what she had to say.
How did being part of the queer community, and being a second-generation migrant, shape your experience of seeking support or safety?
For many of us who are queer, there’s often already a lot of subconscious internalised shame, especially if, like me, you also come from a Muslim migrant background and are the first in your lineage to come out. Shame can become ingrained through what we see in the media, pop culture and the patriarchal systems that reinforce white, cisgendered heterosexual experiences.
For me, there are also the cultural expectations, the off-handed remarks made by the people around us growing up. LGBTQ+ people from non-western migrant backgrounds fight so hard to overcome our own unique underpinnings of shame, only to face yet another layer if intimate partner violence enters the picture.
As queer relationships have historically been pathologised or invalidated post colonisation, recognising you’re in an abusive relationship can feel like you’re feeding into the stigmas we are up against. The intersection of queerness and migrant identity can be a massive barrier, but it’s also why culturally informed, queer-inclusive support services are a non-negotiable.
Did you ever feel erased or overlooked because your experience didn’t match the “typical” narrative of domestic violence?
Across our different communities, and in the wider public, domestic and family violence (DFV) is something we talk about as perpetrated by a heterosexual cisgender man against a heterosexual cisgender woman. And rightly so. Women are murdered by cisgender heterosexual partners almost every single week in this country. But DFV has completely flown under the radar in LGBTQ+ communities. No, we are not immune from absorbing the harmful dynamics of the cisheteropatriarchy and as a result, using violence.
This dominant narrative has a knock-on effect for frontline services. Throughout the abusive relationship, I was unfortunately let down by services who perhaps did not have the education and resources to know better and to do better for me as a victim-survivor.
One of the types of abuse I experienced was coercive control, my abuser convinced me I was the problem and that I needed help. This is very common with coercive control. The abuser will gaslight the victim to create self-doubt and confusion. It erodes the sense of self and confidence over time. This can be very difficult for services like doctors, therapists, counsellors to identify, unless they know what to look for.
Coercive control is already difficult enough to identify in cisgendered heterosexual dynamics, let alone in LGBTQ+ dynamics – where it is one of the most common experiences of abuse.
What needs to change in our systems to ensure that LGBTQIA+ victim-survivors are truly seen, heard, and believed?
First, we need to start having honest, informed conversations, out loud and in every setting. Domestic and family violence in LGBTQ+ relationships exists, and for many it often compounds with racism, gender identity, migration stress, disability or faith-based stigma. Until we normalise talking about those intersections, people like me will keep slipping through the cracks.
Second, education has to reach the frontline. Doctors, psychologists, social workers and court staff need mandatory, LGBTQ+-inclusive DFV training that goes beyond the dominant narrative. They must learn to spot coercive control, recognise chosen-family dynamics and understand how racism or trans-misogyny can affect how people seek support. It’s not enough to hand out a rainbow lanyard; we need culturally informed practice embedded in policy and frontline services.
Finally, commit to doing better, publicly. Organisations should discuss targets for LGBTQ+ engagement, partner with specialist organisations, and utilise resources like See Hear Believe, so every survivor is met with a service that says, ‘We see you, we hear you, and we believe you, exactly as you are.’
In 2025, you were appointed as a Lived Experience Advisor on the Victim Survivor Voice Project with Women’s Health Matters. Can you share a little bit why lived experience is so key to policy making?
Policies that are written in an office can look flawless on paper and still fail spectacularly on the ground. Lived-experience advisors can help close that gap.
Having a seat at the table allows me to bring the messier truths that rarely make it into spreadsheets such as how coercive control can hide within a ‘perfect’ and ‘happy’ queer relationship, how being from a racially marginalised background shapes whether someone even feels safe dialling a helpline, how a single dismissive remark from a doctor can send a victim-survivor straight back into silence.
Those stories do three things. First, they flag blind spots the data alone doesn’t capture. Second, they can test proposed solutions in the real world – if it won’t work for a queer migrant woman like me, it won’t work for many others. And third, they keep urgency in the room – lived experience turns abstract statistics into reality. Victim-survivors come from many different backgrounds and are not always the ‘perfect’ victim.
Good policy needs evidence, but great policy listens to the people who have walked the journey. That’s how we move from ‘well-intentioned’ to effective.
Healing is not linear, and never simple. How do you take care of yourself today, and what has supported your healing?
Taking care of myself and healing looks different every day. Sometimes I still look through my safety blanket of ‘evidence’ or talk to my specialist therapist to remind myself it was real, and to stop gaslighting myself because I was gaslit for so long. I’m also healing by pushing for change in any small way I can, working with frontline services and organisations. My goal is to make sure everyone understands that DFV in LGBTQ+ relationships is a very real issue. And, if we create safe spaces to talk about it, to acknowledge it, to provide appropriate, evidence-based support, we can help stop it.
I am endlessly grateful to the LGBTQ Domestic Violence Awareness Foundation for giving me the opportunity to contribute to See, Hear, Believe for Communities and Workplace. Providing my experience as part of a wider holistic training has emboldened my sense of purpose and helped me to heal.
Most importantly, I have taken care of myself by reclaiming the queer friendships I was not allowed to have, being more connected than ever to my community, as well as reconnecting with my incredible, relentless family, who never, ever gave up on me.
Finally, what gives you hope? And what do you want people to remember – not just today, but every day?
For LGBTQ+ people who have experienced violence themselves, I want them to remember: You are not alone. Your experience of domestic violence IS valid. Just because it doesn’t look like how it is often portrayed in the media and society based on white cisgender heterosexual relationship dynamics, does not mean it is not real. You deserved better, you deserve to be safe and loved, always.
What gives me hope is that there are incredible services available and so many passionate people who exist within them, and in the broader community who are dedicated to providing you with the safe and informed support you deserve.
Finally, we all have a role to play in stopping domestic and family violence in LGBTQ+ communities and the first step is to start talking about it.
If you or anyone you know is affected by domestic, family or sexual violence and needs support, please call 1800 RESPECT.
There is also support available through QLIFE on 1800 184 527. QLIFE is a free telephone and web-based counselling, referrals and support for LGBTQ+ people and their families.
Top photo source: Supplied
