Eight years is a long time to be away from anything that once defined you. For Kieran Growcott, the New Zealand trampoline competitor who has qualified for the 2026 World Cup circuit in Portugal, the return is about far more than physical performance. It is a deliberate act of visibility - for himself, and for every young LGBTQIA+ person who grew up watching elite sport and never once saw someone who looked like them.
Now 33 and based on the Gold Coast, Growcott has rebuilt his preparation around full-time work, regular travel between Queensland cities to access quality facilities, and a funding campaign he is running himself. The infrastructure that supports elite performers in well-resourced disciplines rarely extends to trampoline. Growcott is doing this largely alone, and he is doing it openly.
A Career Shaped by Talent and Undermined by Silence
Growcott grew up in Christchurch inside a family fluent in gymnastic disciplines. His parents were artistic gymnasts and coaches; his siblings represented New Zealand in their own rights. He transitioned into trampoline disciplines as a child and went on to represent Canterbury across trampoline, synchronised trampoline, power tumbling and double mini trampoline - a range that speaks to exceptional physical literacy developed young.
In 2005, he won silver at the World Age Group Championships in the Netherlands. By any external measure, the trajectory was strong. Internally, it was considerably more complicated.
"Growing up, I experienced bullying and spent a long time feeling like I had to make myself smaller or hide parts of who I was just to fit into sporting environments," Growcott said. "There were times where I questioned whether I belonged in elite sport at all."
That experience is not unusual, though it remains under-acknowledged. Research into LGBTQIA+ wellbeing consistently documents higher rates of depression, anxiety and social withdrawal among young people who feel unable to express their identity in the environments they occupy daily - and competitive, performance-focused settings carry particular pressure to conform. The absence of visible queer figures in those environments does not create neutrality. It creates a message.
Stress fractures in his spine, compounding mental health struggles and the financial reality of self-funded elite participation eventually pushed Growcott out of competition entirely. He later relocated to Australia, returned briefly in 2017 - winning the New Zealand Senior International title and representing his country at the World Championships - before financial pressure forced another withdrawal.
What Visibility Actually Does
"When I was younger, I honestly didn't see many openly gay athletes, especially in male sport," Growcott said. "That absence really affected me because it made me feel isolated and different at a time where I was already dealing with bullying and trying to understand who I was."
The psychological mechanism he is describing has a well-established name in identity research: representational belonging. When people cannot locate themselves in the public figures, role models or peers of a domain they want to inhabit, the cognitive and emotional cost of participation rises. Belonging feels contingent. The question shifts from how do I get better at this to do people like me even do this.
Male-dominated performance environments have been particularly slow to produce openly gay figures at the elite level. The reasons are structural as much as personal - cultures of masculinity that have historically treated sexual identity as either irrelevant or threatening, limited institutional support for athletes who do come out, and a competitive ecosystem where sponsors and governing bodies have not always signalled that openness is welcome. Progress has been real but uneven.
Growcott's return changes, in a small but concrete way, what is visible. "Being selected to compete as an openly gay athlete on the world stage is something that honestly means more to me than medals or results," he said. "I hope younger queer athletes can see that their identity is never something that should stop them from chasing their dreams."
Voice in the Air and the Work Beyond Competition
Alongside his return to international-level performance, Growcott has established a platform called Voice in the Air, centred on conversations about mental health, identity and neurodiversity within high-performance environments. The name is apt. Trampoline disciplines are defined by time spent suspended - briefly airborne, briefly unsupported - before the surface returns. It is not an uncomfortable metaphor for what Growcott has spent much of his life doing.
"I think it's incredibly important because visibility can genuinely change lives," he said of the platform. "Sometimes just seeing someone like yourself represented can give you the confidence to keep going, and I think that matters more than people realise."
He is also contending with a rare autoimmune condition, the details of which he has not made central to his public narrative - though its presence underscores how much of this return has required negotiating a body that does not always cooperate with ambition.
To fund his Portugal campaign, Growcott has launched a GoFundMe with a target of $15,000 AUD. He is also hosting a fundraising event on the Gold Coast on June 10 - Flips, Facts & F*ck Ups - a trivia evening at Mr PP's Rooftop and Laneway, featuring drag performer Luna D'lux. It is exactly the kind of event that reflects who Growcott is: the serious and the celebratory held together without apology.
"To now be in a position where I can proudly represent my country while being completely myself feels incredibly powerful and healing," he said. That combination - pride and healing, performance and identity - is precisely what makes his return worth paying attention to.
