Behind Closed Doors: Queer domestic violence

It started as a Grindr hookup in early 2022. Oliver* was new to Berlin and “especially lonely”. Nights out together quickly became the routine: drinking at bars or at his new partner’s flat. “I started noticing he would never stop at just one or two drinks, he’d drink until he was stumbling drunk,” Oliver recalls. The first assault happened after one such night. “We were sleeping on his bed, and I was jolted awake as he forced himself on me. I asked him to stop, and all he said was, ‘Come on, just take it.’” Weeks later, after what Oliver describes as his partner’s love-bombing, the violence escalated. On his birthday, his partner raped him.

Oliver blocked his partner’s number soon after but didn’t report the abuse, fearing his story wouldn’t be taken seriously as a queer man. “Honestly, I didn’t know where to go,” he says. Even friends didn’t recognise it: “My experience was sometimes brushed off with comments like, ‘Well, that’s Berlin; it’s sexual and free.’”

Cases like Oliver’s rarely appear in official data. According to the Federal Criminal Police Office, domestic violence includes physical, sexual and psychological violence between partners, ex-partners and family members. Police crime statistics from 2024, reported by Welt am Sonntag, recorded 256,942 people affected by domestic abuse – a 3.7% rise from the previous year and nearly 14% over five years. Nearly 80% of victims in partner cases were women, and three-quarters of suspects were men. But while those figures underline the scale of the problem, they remain framed in binary terms. There is still no systematic data on how domestic violence affects LGBTQIA+ people or its prevalence in queer relationships, leaving survivors like Oliver largely invisible.

The abuse you went through was not your fault, and it’s also not inherent to our queerness

“Violence in queer relationships is often less visible, especially if the constellation does not correspond to stereotypical images,” explains Chris Henzel, a systemic therapist at Schwulenberatung Berlin’s trans, inter and non-binary (TIN*) anti-violence counselling service. “Queer relationships are also sometimes under greater pressure to present themselves as … a counterbalance to society, a good and safe place. Both of these factors can make it difficult for those affected to identify violence as such and talk about it.”

Misconceptions reinforce the silence; for example, many believe that women aren’t violent. Alex, who moved to Berlin in her thirties, describes her first relationship as “your typical coming-of-age lesbian rite of passage of falling in love with your best friend”. It began when both were 15 and lasted 12 years.

Alex was gradually isolated from friends and family, financially exploited and subjected to escalating mistreatment. “She had always been physically and verbally abusive, to an extent,” Alex recalls. “But during the last two years … [it] got worse.” The breaking point came after her partner read a lighthearted exchange with a lesbian colleague about a singer being “cute”. “She stormed into the bathroom, pushed me, started hitting me and calling me names … Then she kicked me on the vulva while I was naked. It took all of me to leave this relationship, but I did it.”

Stories like Alex’s are rarely heard. For many sapphic survivors, speaking out can feel like betraying their community, with the pressure to stay silent often adding another layer to trauma. “Queer people already exist in the margins,” says Alex. “We do not need to be perceived as ideal or better or wholesome … If we don’t acknowledge [the trauma] and talk openly about it, we cannot heal.”

Even when LGBTQIA+ survivors want to reach out, systemic barriers remain: many services are still designed for cis people, making non-binary or trans survivors feel unwelcome. “[TIN*] victims can encounter barriers in various areas,” says Henzel. “Even though more services have opened up in recent years … by no means all counselling and support services or protection facilities are sensitised and accessible.”

The persistence of gendered assumptions makes it harder for queer survivors to be recognised.

Policy has also struggled to account for queer realities. Passed in February, the Violence Assistance Act (Gewalthilfegesetz, or GewHG) was considered a cross-party milestone, establishing Germany’s first nationwide framework for protection, counselling and shelters. Women affected by violence will be legally entitled to therapy and shelter space – though this will not come into force until 2032. Despite the progress, the law makes no explicit mention of queer people, nor does it mandate data collection on sexual orientation or relationship composition. The LSVD – Verband Queere Vielfalt (LSVD Association for Queer Diversity) criticised omissions like this, noting in 2023 that queer people were “once again” left out of government reporting.

At the local level, some groups are trying to fill the gap. Stadtteile ohne Partnergewalt (StoP) trains neighbours to recognise warning signs and intervene safely, with projects in Kreuzberg, Neukölln and Spandau. Each works independently, shaped by neighbourhood needs. In Spandau-Staaken, coordinator Katharina Thomé-Duong says, “Our work includes everyone … which naturally includes queer neighbours. We express our solidarity through gender-neutral language and queer-friendly stickers and flags.” In another Spandau project, coordinator Anthea Ueberholz stresses a focus on patriarchal violence, “particularly dangerous and deadly for women in relationships with men”. Queer survivors are supported where possible, but Ueberholz says the organisation is “not specialised in this area”.

Fortunately, specialised support does exist. Schwulenberatung Berlin provides multilingual counselling tailored for TIN* people, connecting survivors to inclusive therapists, lawyers and housing without fear of discrimination. “TIN* individuals are particularly vulnerable to experiencing violence,” explains Henzel, “Like all those affected, they need support services where they feel safe.” Alex credits the organisation with helping her recover from substance and alcohol addiction. “They provided the most non-judgmental and helpful space to unpack this queer trauma with a holistic understanding of how our lives and experiences don’t resemble others,” she says. Other Berlin-based resources include the BIG Hotline, Worker’s Welfare Association’s Queere Schutzwohnung, and LesMigraS counselling services.

In 2024, the Berliner Queer-Bündnis launched a citywide campaign to spotlight the “Signal for Help” – a simple hand gesture for silently indicating domestic violence. The gesture enables survivors to discreetly show they are in danger and alerts others to step in, call for help or connect them to support. It’s a tool for everyone, across queer and wider communities.

The persistence of gendered assumptions makes it harder for queer survivors to be recognised. Oliver describes how his abuse was dismissed with remarks like, “Isn’t that how gay men are?” Alex notes that even within lesbian communities, violence can be minimised or excused. These reactions reflect a broader reluctance to confront queer domestic violence and the sobering reality that anyone, of any gender or sexuality, can cause harm or be harmed.

“I never thought this could happen to me, but it can happen to anyone,” says Oliver. Eventually, he reached out to Mann-O-Meter, a Berlin support service for gay and bisexual men, which connected him with resources. “Therapy helped me process what happened and reinforced that it wasn’t my fault. I’m slowly opening up again but remain cautious.” He later adds: “I hope the queer community comes to recognise that spaces fostering genuine, gentle connections are needed. If there’s room for dark rooms and sex-themed parties, there should also be space for the gentler side of queer life.”

Alex is focusing on recovery and sobriety. “It’s fundamental for me to be able to understand my patterns more clearly … to find nourishing love, support and company through friendships and community, but above everything, building ways to find those things within my own self,” she says.

Both have a resounding message for others in a similar situation: “You are not alone, and it’s okay to ask for help,” says Oliver. And finally, Alex emphasises: “The abuse you went through was not your fault, and it’s also not inherent to our queerness.”

*Name has been changed.