When my own mother told me how she wanted to die, I listened. She was clear, calm, and certain. She wants to end her life on her own terms if faced with the kind of suffering no one should have to endure. That conversation has stayed with me. If it came to it, I know I would do everything I could to support her in having a peaceful, dignified death.
That’s why I support the principle of assisted dying. For many, it offers a sense of agency, relief, and control at a time when everything else feels lost. No one should be trapped in pain against their will, and I believe people deserve to choose how their final chapter is written.
But I also know that not everyone approaches death from the same starting point. As someone involved in LGBTQ+ communities, I can’t ignore how inequality shapes our experiences right up to the end of life.
We like to imagine we live in a more equal, more accepting society. Yet for many older LGBTQ+ people in the UK, the reality is still one of profound isolation. Around 41% of LGBTQ+ people aged 55 and over live alone, compared with just 28% of heterosexual people the same age. Over a third say they wouldn’t have anyone they could rely on in a crisis.
This isn’t just about loneliness. It’s about navigating serious illness, healthcare systems, and end-of-life decisions without support, without advocacy, and too often without dignity. Nearly 30% of lesbian and gay people over 50 say they often feel lonely, with bisexual people reporting even higher levels. Many LGBTQ+ older adults fear entering care settings where their identity may not be recognised or respected.
Then there are the deeper health inequalities. LGBTQ+ people are more likely to experience poorer mental health, higher rates of smoking, alcohol use, HIV and long-term conditions, often due to minority stress, stigma and discrimination. These disparities aren’t accidental. They’re the result of systemic inequalities that affect access to care, early diagnosis, and effective treatment. In some cases, this means LGBTQ+ people are more likely to experience life-limiting or life-ending conditions, simply because the healthcare system failed to meet their needs early enough.
Layer onto this the financial pressures. More than a third of LGBTQ+ people over 50 in London live on less than £15,000 a year, and single LGBTQ+ older adults are up to six times more likely to rely on food banks than their heterosexual peers. For some, poverty, poor health, and lack of support combine to make death feel not like a choice, but the only way out.
This is what worries me. That assisted dying could become another space where inequality creeps in. That people might be led to it not by genuine autonomy but by a lifetime of exclusion. And that the same health and care systems that failed to protect their dignity in life might now offer death as the only option that respects it.
With assisted dying, I hope LGBTQ+ people do not face the same structural inequalities that already harm them throughout the health and care system. These are the same inequalities that can lead to poorer health outcomes and increase the likelihood of life-limiting conditions in the first place.
At the same time, we must protect the right to choose. My mother’s clarity about her end-of-life wishes is something I will always respect. And I know many others feel just as strongly about having control over how they die. People who are supported, safe, and informed should be able to make that choice freely and have it honoured.
The real challenge is ensuring that this right is equal.
That means designing a system where the right to die comes with the right to be protected. With independent advocates for those without family. With training for healthcare professionals so they treat LGBTQ+ people with respect and affirmation. With recognition of chosen families and safeguards that go beyond bureaucracy, ones that truly understand what it means to be marginalised and vulnerable.
I believe in assisted dying. I believe in dignity and choice. But I also believe that unless we tackle the health and social inequalities that make some lives harder and shorter, we risk offering death without ever having offered full and equal life.
We can do both. We can support the right to die while demanding the right to live with dignity, equality, and care.
Queeraeth 
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