This is a genuine question and not a rhetorical one, because every January 1st, I wake up, check the news, look at the weather, remember the price of butter, and think, right then, let us begin the annual endurance event.
Surviving another year in the UK as a lesbian is not about bravery in the traditional sense, it is about stamina, mild dissociation, a strong sense of humour, and knowing when to log off. It is about finding small moments of joy between policy announcements and conversations that begin with, I am not homophobic but.
And yet we persist.
We persist by loving women, by making art, by going to live shows, by wearing boots that are not practical for the weather, and by repeatedly explaining that no, we are not just good friends.
This is a guide, not in a practical checklist sense, but in the way people pass down folklore, half advice, half warning, half joke, and mostly survival strategy.
Accept that January is an emotional prank
January in the UK is not a real month, it is a waiting room with frost. As a lesbian, January is when you are most likely to question every decision you have ever made, including the haircut you got in 2014 and whether you should have gone into ceramics.
This is where lesbian art becomes essential, not as decoration but as evidence. Evidence that other people like you exist, have existed, and have also stared at a grey sky wondering if joy was cancelled. Surrounding yourself with work by a lesbian artist is not indulgent, it is preventative care.
I keep my own work around me for this reason, partly because I made it, partly because it reminds me that my brain does sometimes produce things other than anxiety. If you are the sort of person who needs proof, you can find examples of my work here
https://www.caffersart.co.uk/collections/lgbtq-art-prints
Find structure, but make it bendy
The UK loves structure, queues, rules, timetables, while also being deeply unserious about following them. This is an environment lesbians are strangely well suited to. We like routines until we do not, and then we reinvent ourselves quietly and tell nobody.
Surviving the year means creating rituals that anchor you without trapping you. This might be a weekly walk where you look at other people’s dogs, or a commitment to making something visual even when you do not feel inspired. This is where being a lesbian artist, or identifying with queer art more broadly, becomes a lifeline rather than a job title. Making art in this context is not about productivity, it is about having somewhere to put the feelings that do not fit neatly into conversation.
Queer artists have always worked like this, creating images and moments that hold the unsayable. You do not need a gallery, you need a surface and permission, preferably self granted.
Learn when to disengage from the discourse
At some point every year, usually when the clocks change or when a headline uses the phrase common sense, the discourse will find you. It will attempt to invite you into a debate about your own existence.
You do not have to attend.
One of the most important skills for surviving another year in the UK as a lesbian is knowing when not to respond, not to explain, not to educate, and not to click. This is not apathy, it is energy conservation.
Instead, put that energy somewhere useful, like into sapphic art that is tender or funny or gently furious. Supporting a sapphic artist does more for the culture than winning an argument in a comment section ever will.
If you need a starting point, my own sapphic leaning work lives here
https://www.caffersart.co.uk
It exists because I needed it to exist, and sometimes that is the most honest reason there is.
Build a cultural calendar that includes joy
The UK calendar is heavy on obligation and light on delight unless you actively intervene. As a lesbian, you are allowed to curate your own highlights. This year, one of mine is seeing Sue Perkins live. This matters not because she is famous, but because she represents a specific type of survival, the kind that is funny, clever, visibly queer, and still standing.
Going to see someone like Sue Perkins live is not just entertainment, it is a reminder that there is a future version of you who is confident, articulate, and deeply unbothered by nonsense. You need these reminders. We all do.
Add things to your calendar that make you feel part of a lineage of LGBTQ artists and thinkers, even if that lineage is informal and mostly communicated via vibes.
Treat weather complaints as community bonding
Complaining about the weather is one of the UK’s most reliable social technologies. Use it. It is safe, universal, and deeply queer in its own way, a shared understanding that conditions are bad but we are coping together.
Long walks in inappropriate shoes and fogged glasses are where conversations happen. This is where ideas form. Many pieces of lesbian art have begun with someone saying, well this is miserable, followed by a thought that felt important.
Do not underestimate how much creativity comes from mild discomfort and a good coat.
Keep your humour dry and your expectations damp
Humour is a survival tool, especially the dry, sideways kind that does not beg for laughter. Being funny as a lesbian in the UK is less about punchlines and more about timing, understatement, and letting things be odd without smoothing them out.
This is the tone queer artists have mastered for decades, the ability to say something important without announcing that it is important. Let your humour do the same.
Not everything needs to be inspiring, sometimes it just needs to be accurate.
Remember that art is a form of record keeping
Lesbian art, queer art, LGBTQ art, these are not genres so much as archives. They record how it felt to live through a particular moment, in a particular body, under particular conditions.
By making work, supporting work, sharing work, you are contributing to a collective memory that says, we were here, we noticed, we laughed, we carried on.
As an LGBTQ artist, even informally, you are part of this process. Your sketches, your photographs, your half finished ideas count, even if nobody ever sees them.
Choose community carefully and generously
Community is essential, but it does not have to be loud or large. One person who gets it is worth more than a room full of people who tolerate you. Surviving another year in the UK as a lesbian means choosing spaces that do not drain you, conversations that feel reciprocal, and friendships that allow silence. This includes online spaces, where queer artists often find each other, share work, and quietly validate one another’s existence. Curate these spaces with care.
Plan for rest as if it matters, because it does
Burnout is not a personal failing, it is a predictable response to prolonged nonsense. Rest is not something you earn, it is something you schedule.
This might mean time away from social media, time away from news, time away from even thinking about being perceived. As an artist, you are allowed to disappear for a bit and come back with nothing to show for it except being intact.
Finally, remember that survival can be quiet
Surviving another year in the UK as a lesbian does not have to look like resistance at all times. Sometimes it looks like staying in, eating pizza, watching The L Word, and trusting that this too is part of the work.
Lesbians have always known this. Survival is not always loud, sometimes it's funny and deeply human.
And if you need proof that you are not doing this alone, there is art everywhere, quietly saying, me too.
And if you are reading this while already surrounded by my artwork, or at least aware that it exists somewhere nearby on this website, then this is me quietly acknowledging that. The prints, drawings, and images here are part of the same survival strategy, made during weather like this, under headlines like those, by someone who also needed proof that being a lesbian in the UK could look thoughtful, funny, and occasionally quite nice. Think of the art not as decoration but as documentation, small visual notes that say, yes, this happened, yes, we noticed, and somehow, against expectations, we are still going.