The first time I experienced baby gay panic, I felt like a deer caught in headlights, except the headlights were a cute girl’s cheeks blushing, and I was about to implode. My brain went blank, my palms turned clammy, and suddenly, I was twelve years old again. I froze, and for the life of me, I couldn’t even muster words. I left kicking myself, replaying it a thousand times in my head, wondering why I couldn’t just act normal.
This, my dear baby queers, is baby gay panic: that overwhelming rush of emotions we face when stepping into queer romance for the first time. It’s sweaty palms, shaky knees, and racing thoughts like, “Is she flirting? Is she even queer? Does she know I am?” It’s feeling like you’re fumbling your way through a middle school crush while grappling with something much bigger: your own identity and the flipped social norms that come with it.
Why It Happens
Straights get all sorts of representation from an early age, starting with Disney cartoons to just the whole hetero world around them. They’re spoon-fed a lifetime of cultural blueprints for flirting, love, and relationships. Queer people? We’re left to cobble together our understanding of love and attraction from crumbs of subtext, whispered recommendations of queer books, and now Lesbian TikTok.
While for some, queerness feels obvious early on, like masc-presenting lesbians who fit stereotypes since childhood. But for others like femmes, late bloomers, or those raised in conservative environments, it can take decades to unlearn compulsory heterosexuality. The deeply ingrained belief that straightness is the default can leave you existentially questioning your every past thought, attraction, or feeling. And even when you figure it out, there’s the added challenge of being seen: femmes often feel invisible in queer spaces, unsure if their crushes will recognize them as queer, while masc-presenting queers hesitate to make a move for fear they’re hitting on someone straight.
Baby gay panic is all these factors colliding. You want to flirt, but you don’t know how. You want to make a move, but you freeze. You’re stuck between the fear of not doing enough and the terror of being way too obvious. You also don’t know lesbian culture norms, so how the heck were you supposed to know that she was actually wearing lesbian symbols?
I once spent months pining for a girl at work because I didn’t know if she was gay (she clearly was but I didn’t know how to spot gays back then) and I was too scared to tell her how I felt (looking back, we were both laughing and blushing around each other). I was so overwhelmed I cried on my way home.
Baby gay panic is like being plagued with social anxiety times a thousand.
How to Survive Baby Gay Panic
So, how do you survive it? First, lean into the embarrassment. Baby gay panic isn’t something to avoid. It’s something to embrace. The only way to get through it is to accept that it’s going to be messy, awkward, and sometimes downright mortifying. You will fumble. You will overshare. You will freeze. You might even want to bolt for the door out of sheer terror when someone cute brushes your arm. And that’s okay.
When I first started going on lesbian dates, I had to make a deal with myself: “I have to throw myself in and swim through the choppy river of embarrassment to reach the other side of clarity and growth.” And guess what? Each stumble taught me something. Even the hey-mamas I met taught me so much. Like a video game, I would make it up levels with each encounter (both good and bad) until eventually, when I met a girl I liked, and instead of dying internally, I could actually be myself: funny, excited, fearless. But it took 2,388 gay panic social fumbles to get there. So, just get ready to jump in and swim!
Humans put so much weight on social interactions. For many of us, particularly in community-oriented cultures, the worst thing you can do is embarrass yourself. Since we are tribal/social creatures, wired to care deeply about connection, embarrassment feels like rejection and failure. So add the ambiguity of queer culture, and the stakes are amplified, making the fear feel almost unbearable. But remember: embarrassment is temporary. Growth is forever!
Second, immerse yourself in queer culture. Watch lesbian movies, follow sapphic creators on TikTok, read WLW books, and listen to queer podcasts. Learn about queer women in history, watch TV shows like I Kissed a Girl or Queer Ultimatum (ASAP), and let yourself soak in the nuances of this community. The more you familiarize yourself with queer culture, the less lonely and alien it will feel.
Third, dive into queer spaces. Queer community is pivotal but not the easiest to find (it’s harder than romance when you’re 30+) but don’t give up. Community events on the LEX app are great, so are queer book clubs, volunteering, and especially queer sports clubs to meet people regularly to build friendships. If you’re a woman/NB, look up “queer” meet-ups, I’ve noticed that they’re more women/NB-friendly than “gay” meet-ups which end up being 99% men.
Remember not all queers are the same, it’s okay to not vibe with everyone, find your people within your people.
Fourth, when it comes to approaching dating without spiraling, start small. Use the apps and go on video dates at first. If there are no queers around you, you can put the app in other places (long-distance lesbian relationships are super common). If you’re in a city, go to your nearest lesbian bar a few times a month to ease yourself in. Bring a straight girlfriend to help you out, if you’re terrified of going alone. Push yourself to go on dates, you NEED PRACTICE to overcome gay panic. Remember my river of embarrassment analogy!
Lastly, decolonize your hetero mindset. Resources like the Lesbian Masterdoc, queer support groups, or LGBTQ+ media can also be invaluable. They offer a sense of solidarity and a framework for understanding the unique challenges of queer identity.
The Dark History Behind “Gay Panic” Term
In the 1920s and 1930s, lesbianism began to flourish as a subculture in cities like Berlin, New York, and Paris, but this progress was violently curtailed by McCarthyism in the USA.
In the mid-20th century, the Gay Panic Defense emerged as a legal strategy that allowed perpetrators of violent crimes to argue that a victim’s sexual orientation or gender identity provoked them into uncontrollable violence. By invoking this defense, defendants could avoid or escape conviction altogether, framing their actions as a “natural” reaction to queer advances.
One of the most chilling examples of this defense in recent years was the 2018 murder of Daniel Spencer, a gay man whose killer claimed Spencer’s sexual advance caused him to snap. Despite the brutality of the crime, the killer received only a six-month sentence, reminding us of this ongoing homophobia in the justice system.
This defense coincided with larger societal crackdowns on queerness, such as McCarthyism’s Lavender Scare of the 1950s, which targeted LGBTQ+ people as part of a broader campaign against “subversive” elements in American society, censorship under Hollywood’s Hays Code (1934–1968) erased queer characters from mainstream media, and the rise of the Nazi regime in Europe.
Although, as of 2024, 21 states have banned the gay panic defense, it remains legal in most states. Federal attempts to outlaw it, such as the 2019 Gay and Trans Panic Defense Prohibition Act, have stalled in Congress. Advocacy organizations like the LGBTQ+ Bar Association continue to fight for its abolition.
The term also goes back even further. In 1920, Dr. Edward J. Kempf coined the phrase Homosexual Panic to describe psychological anxiety caused by repressed same-sex desires. Although he didn’t frame homosexuality as inherently pathological, his work contributed to the larger medicalization of queerness as deviant or dysfunctional. For decades, homosexuality was classified as a mental disorder in the first edition (1952) of The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) until its removal in 1973.
Conclusion
The term “gay panic” carries a dark and painful history, one I have no intention of rebranding or softening. That history deserves to be remembered for what it is: a reminder of how much we’ve overcome and the systemic injustices faced by queer people.
As awkward and mortifying as our personal moments of baby gay panic may feel, they’re worlds apart from that legacy. Until we find a better term, I’m using “baby gay panic” or “lesbian panic” to distinguish these fumbling, vulnerable, sometimes hilarious experiences from the gravity of that past. Because for all its awkwardness, baby gay panic is also a symbol of being reborn and the awkward growing pains. Going through is a natural part of navigating queer love in 2025, learning a new culture, and finding identity on our terms.
Read More Queer Resources
- Sapphic vs. Lesbian: Understanding the Difference
- Is it Okay for Straight Men to Visit Lesbian Bars?
- 43 Lesbian Questions to Connect with Your Date or Crush
- 9 Lesbian Flirting Approaches That Work
- What is Queerbaiting and Why Is It Controversial?