All my friends think I’m a top. But I’m secretly a bottom. Why do I lie about this?

A classic Ask Jake. Plus, what I didn't say at the time…

Hi Jake,

All my friends think I’m a top, when I’m actually a bottom. And it’s not because that’s how I present, or that’s the type of energy I give off (although I do try to present as masc) — it’s because that’s what I tell them. So, yeah, I lie to everyone.

I actually haven’t even topped in a few years and am exclusively a bottom with hookups. I guess it just feels embarrassing to say that, or like they’re all going to picture me getting pounded or something, which feels weird.

I kinda feel like I’m taking it too far now, though. Like, we’ll be out, and all my friends will be like, “We need to find him a nice bottom for the night,” and I’m having to just laugh and keep up the façade.

I guess I’m curious if this is a common thing or not. Do other people do this? Is it a big deal?

The Bottom Who Cried Top

Dear The Bottom Who Cried Top,

I’m guessing that if you’re taking the time to write in, some part of this isn’t sitting well with you. Carrying around a version of yourself that doesn’t line up with who you actually are has a way of feeling heavy — a little uncomfortable, a little off.

Most queer people know that feeling well. Unless you grew up in one of those rare, fully affirming bubbles, you probably had to hide parts of yourself at some point — who you liked, what you wanted, the truth of how you moved through the world. In a way, it sounds like you’re still doing a piece of that now. You might be out as gay, but this is another layer you’re keeping tucked away.

First off, you’re not alone in internalizing “bottom shame.” A lot of gay men absorb it without even realizing it, because it’s built into the way we talk about roles. It’s that old idea that the person in the “receiving” role is somehow less powerful, less in control, or less respectable — which is really just repackaged misogyny. Straight culture taught us for decades that the “feminine” position is the weaker one, the passive one, the one used for the other’s pleasure. And even when we don’t buy into that consciously, the residue sticks.

Then you add in the way gay culture puts masculinity on a pedestal — the obsession with being dom, in control, masc4masc, the prevalence of daddy and jock culture. It creates this dichotomy where topping becomes the thing you brag about, and bottoming becomes the thing you either prove you’re “okay with” or hide. There’s this unspoken presumption that if you’re a bottom, you must be needier, weaker, more femme, or somehow less “in charge” of your sexuality. None of that is actually true (shout out to the power bottoms out there!), but it doesn’t stop the shame from creeping in.

And when all those messages mix with your own desire to be seen a certain way — masc, confident, whatever feels safest — it makes total sense that you’d hide the part that feels most vulnerable. Not because it’s shameful, but because it’s intimate. For a lot of gay men, wanting to be liked or accepted goes back to old survival habits: fitting in, avoiding attention, staying safe. Even now, those instincts flare up. So presenting yourself as “the top” ends up feeling protective, like you’re offering the version you think people will approve of, even if it’s not the truth.

The good news is you don’t have to fix this with some big announcement. You’re not required to gather your friends in a corner and “confess” anything. This is really about slowly coming back into alignment with who you actually are — and doing it in a way that feels safe.

Instead of a grand gesture, think small shifts. You stop hopping in with “I’m a top” every time roles come up. You don’t lean into the jokes quite as much. You give yourself permission to be a little quieter, a little less performative. And when it feels right, you let a bit of the truth slip in — something simple like, “I’m not as strict about that stuff,” or “I’m more flexible than you think.” That’s enough.

And try to do all of this without beating yourself up. You told the lie because you wanted to belong. That’s human. Letting the truth show up gradually can be human too. You’re not making a statement — you’re just letting go of a version of yourself that never really fit.

At the end of the day, there’s nothing “less than” about knowing what feels good for you and stepping into it. That’s the… bottom line.

Jake, Unfiltered:

I felt like this post deserved a second look. Not because it’s titillating (though that’s always fun), but because it taps into something almost every gay man deals with: shame. Most LGBTQ people grow up hiding some part of themselves, and coming out doesn’t magically end that. Even after our biggest secret is out, we still find ourselves curating who we are—deciding what to show and what to hold back so we can feel safe and accepted. It becomes a bit of a habit. And undoing that takes practice—slowly revealing more of who you are, little by little, in spaces that feel safe enough.

But what I didn’t fully say the first time is that it’s also about image. Within gay male culture, being a “top” can carry a certain social currency. So this becomes less about hiding and more about managing how you’re perceived. At a certain point, it can start to feel like a performance—holding onto a version of yourself that you think will play best. And when you’re moving through the world that way, you’re not just protecting yourself. You’re also reinforcing the very hierarchy that made you feel like you had to hide in the first place.

Even within our own community, there’s still judgment around things that should be neutral, like sexual roles. A lot of that traces back to the same old misogyny we think we’ve outgrown. The idea that being in a more “passive” or receiving role makes someone less than. It’s not true, but it lingers.

So if there’s a takeaway here, it’s not that you need to make some big declaration. It’s just to notice where you might still be editing yourself to fit a version that feels more acceptable. Because, over time, that gap between who you are and who you present to the world starts to wear on you.

If there’s something on your mind, send it to jake@askjaketherapy.com
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And if you’re looking for a queer therapist who actually understands what you’re dealing with, you can find one at LGBTQTherapySpace.com.