"I'm gay, but I have a wife and kids. Nobody knows. If it got out, I'd lose everything," says a man who secretly signs up for gay dating sites and lives a double life
I go on dating apps more out of curiosity than to find a partner. I'm fascinated by how it reflects the reality of queer life, its diversity, but also its loneliness. Grindr, the most widely used gay dating site, is the best proof of this: alongside open profiles full of photos and confidence, there are also anonymous accounts without faces, often with vague descriptions like "discreet" or just "fun".
One evening I came across a profile called straight top. No photo, no exaggerated language. Just a few words, "Married, discreet." It sounded more like a boundary than an invitation. Out of pure curiosity, I wrote. I didn't expect a reply.
He replied within a few minutes, "Hi. I'm gay, but no one knows it. I live with my wife and kids."
I was taken aback by his reply. Not by what he wrote - stories like this are not that rare - but by how calmly and matter-of-factly he communicated it. Just a simple statement of fact. I wrote to him to see if he wanted to tell me more about his life. He agreed, but only on condition of complete anonymity. "If it got out, I'd lose everything," he said.
A double life
He is in his 40s, works in corporate, has two children and a wife of over ten years. On the face of it, a perfectly normal family life.
"Even in high school I felt attracted to boys, but I completely pushed it out then. It was still very taboo in the 90s. When I met my wife, I felt like I had conquered that, that I was 'normal'. I wanted to fit in, have a family, a house, just everything that was expected of me," he says.
He and his wife met in college, and the wedding was soon after. The first child came within a year. "I was happy, or so I told myself. For a long time, I didn't admit anything was wrong. But the feeling of wanting something more just kept coming back."
The moment he couldn't hold it in
He describes that around the age of 30, he couldn't suppress it any longer. "I started meeting men who stood up for themselves. And suddenly I saw that it was possible. That they weren't 'other' people, but completely normal guys. It's just that I already had a family back home."
He describes his first experiences with men as both euphoric and terrifying. "I found someone through an app. It was more of an experiment, but I felt a huge sense of relief after meeting him. And at the same time, terrible guilt. I came home, the kids were asleep, my wife was watching a TV show, and I felt like a terrible person. I've since stopped fighting it, but I've learned to hide it."
I ask him if he ever thought about coming out. "Every day," he replies without hesitation. "But I can't imagine how it would turn out. My wife is great, but I know it would cost me everything. My family, my home, maybe even my kids. I don't want to hurt them. So I'd rather carry the burden alone."
To tell or not to tell?
So he lives on as a husband and father while having an anonymous online life. He says he's on Grindr more for the feeling that he can be himself, if only for a while. "I don't need dozens of meetings, I'd rather write, be in touch with someone who understands me. Sometimes I feel like even that little relief helps me survive."
He describes a paradox known to many men in a similar situation. He laughs in public with his family, in the evening he quietly texts strange men on an app. "It's a strange schizophrenia. And the more I hide it, the more it suffocates me."
He says he once texted a work friend whom he suspected might also be gay. "It was a mistake. He didn't say anything, but there's been a strange tension between us ever since. I've realised how thin the line is between normality and losing everything. I've been even more cautious since then."
A fear that is not easily named
Many people living in "straight" relationships hide their homosexuality. The reasons tend to be similar - fear of the reaction of those around them, financial dependence, children, religious values or simply the pressure of a society that still sees heteronormativity as the only right way.
Psychologists often speak of so-called internalised homophobia, a condition in which a person takes on the negative attitudes of others towards homosexuality and turns them against him or herself. The fear of exposure then becomes not only a fear of losing relationships, but also of one's own identity.
A man I spoke to says: "The worst thing is not that I have to hide something. The worst thing is that I sometimes catch myself being ashamed of who I am. And yet I know I shouldn't. But after so many years of playing a different role, I don't even know what it would look like to live fully."
What remains unspoken
At the end of the interview, I ask him what he wishes he could do if he could start over. "I guess I wish I had the courage. To say it sooner, to not hide. But at the same time, I wouldn't want to lose my children. That's the biggest paradox - being on my own means losing everything I love."
