Progress, With Caveats
- Feb 4
- 5 min read
In a personal reflection for LGBT+ History Month, David Smithson-Rudd considers his experiences as a gay business owner and why psychological safety matters for the LGBT+ community.
February marks LGBT+ History Month in the UK. It was first held in 2005, which makes this the 22nd year it has been marked. The theme for 2026 is science and innovation.
I’ll be completely honest: I’ve struggled to know how to engage with it this year. Not because there’s anything wrong with the theme, but because I don’t pretend to have the answers about the next big technological breakthrough, nor do I have extensive knowledge on the LGBT+ people who have succeeded in this field.
What I am focusing on is the improvement of what already exists. For me, that means focusing on psychological safety for LGBT+ people, both in the workplace and in wider society. If there is innovation still needed in 2026, I believe a great deal of it sits there.
I’ve also been questioning how I feel as an LGBT+ person in 2026. There is so much to be positive about and to acknowledge, but there are still challenges. I want to reflect on where we are now, particularly through the lens of being an LGBT+ business owner.
There has unquestionably been progress. So much has changed since I first entered the workforce. Things feel fairer. People generally have more knowledge and awareness than they once did. There have been real efforts to ensure that products, services, and leadership styles are more inclusive of LGBT+ people, which is genuinely encouraging.
We’ve also seen important legal advancements, such as the Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act 2013, which have helped move things forward. I’ve noticed that overtly difficult, reluctant, or openly prejudicial behaviour has reduced significantly over time, and that really does matter.
But some things still linger.
I still occasionally worry about entering a room and what that might mean for me. If I’m walking into a space made up solely of men, I find myself assessing the dynamic I’m stepping into. Most people now recognise that many all-male groups can operate very differently from mixed-gender groups.
I also remain aware of my mannerisms. Will I be perceived as “too effeminate”? Could that unconsciously switch some people off, particularly in situations where I need to build relationships, establish credibility, persuade, or impress? That additional layer of awareness can sometimes feel like a blocker, or a hurdle I must jump.
I’ve noticed that in some groups of (outwardly) heterosexual men, there can still be an element of performative masculinity, where individuals egg each other on to avoid appearing anything other than traditionally masculine. In those situations, men who present differently can be subtly othered or excluded.
Unfortunately, I have a recent example from 2025. Alongside running this business, I also help run a small pub in South West London. One evening, a football team came in. While serving one of the players, I accidentally spilled a bit of his drink, and we laughed it off.
Another teammate then called across the room, loudly, “Oh look, he’s flirting with the barman!”
This was an LGBT+ friendly venue and I was wearing an Amnesty International rainbow bracelet. It would (or should) have been fairly obvious that I was either LGBT+ myself or at least visibly supportive of the community. It was later established that the man supposedly flirting with me was straight and married to a woman, as was the person making the comment.
On the surface, it was clearly a joke, but moments like that change the dynamic instantly. They can make an LGBT+ person feel conspicuous and uncomfortable, even in spaces that are intended to be safe. In some situations, you can comfortably laugh it off. In some cases, it can feel incredibly awkward. In this example, the idea that he might have been attracted to another man was used mockingly, inferring that there is something inherently wrong with such a possibility.
Similar dynamics play out in professional settings. When meeting new people, particularly at networking events, I’m still aware that I effectively have to come out repeatedly if conversations turn to personal lives. I don’t do that by announcing my sexuality, I do it by mentioning my husband, Hugh.
I like that approach as it humanises things. It’s gentle and matter of fact. While I’ve never experienced overt prejudice in those moments, I have noticed conversations occasionally shift very quickly away from personal topics once it is established that I’m married to a man.
All of this comes at a cost. I don’t always consciously notice the background risk assessments I’m making anymore, but I do notice the impact. It can be cognitively and emotionally tiring.
A diversity consultant I once worked with in the public sector described this perfectly. She spoke about good days and bad days. On good days, when we feel psychologically grounded, we have the capacity to manage those moments without conscious effort. Should someone say something well-intended but incorrect, we have the energy to educate and respond calmly, ultimately helping someone leave a conversation better informed.
On bad days, it’s different. That doesn’t mean bad behaviour; it means we may not have the same psychological reserves. We might retreat, or respond more directly, or more forcefully. While education and dialogue are important, I also firmly believe that LGBT+ people have the right to defend themselves against comments or behaviours that are incorrect or prejudiced.
From a business leadership perspective, this constant self-awareness matters. I’m a strong believer in authentic leadership. When we are unable to fully embrace who we are, there is a real risk that we don’t perform at our best. Energy spent suppressing or diluting parts of ourselves is energy diverted away from leadership, creativity, and impact.
So, when we talk about the future, I believe one of the most important goals is creating psychological safety for LGBT+ people, particularly those who are brave enough to start and lead businesses. People need to be able to lead, sell, negotiate, and socialise without running a constant internal calculation about how much of themselves is acceptable in that moment.
On a personal note, I know how fortunate I am. I have a loving husband, supportive family, wonderful friends, and a safe, warm home. I don’t worry about where my next meal is coming from. I have a life that brings me a great deal of happiness.
That isn’t true for everyone. LGBT+ people continue to experience higher rates of mental health challenges, addiction, homelessness, and certain health inequalities than the heterosexual population. I’m very aware of the privilege and protection I have, and I think it’s important to acknowledge that.
It would also be wrong not to acknowledge that transgender people are facing a far more challenging set of circumstances. The ongoing public discourse around transgender lives is incredibly damaging. It fuels hostility, prejudice and fear in a way we haven’t seen for some time, and all LGBT+ people should be concerned about that. We need to do a much better job of looking after transgender people in this country (and believe it or not, this conversation is not just about which toilet someone uses; the issues run far deeper than that).
This article shouldn’t be taken as a complaint. I live in the UK and I benefit from strong legal protections. This is simply a snapshot of how it feels for one LGBT+ business owner in 2026.
I don’t speak for all LGBT+ people, and there will even be some who have no such worries. Others have faced far greater challenges than I ever have. Calling out the grey areas matters, because while we’ve come a long way, there is still work to be done.
