I didn’t realize I was bisexual until ninth grade. I’d made the discovery while staring a little too longingly at a friend in my honors history class. I had an overwhelming desire to touch her. Not even sexually, just to feel close to her, to women.
When I think of myself as a person, a few things immediately come to mind: woman, writer, lover, queer.
Most of these things are acknowledged.
But as a queer woman in a long-term relationship with a man, my identity seems to be wholly unimportant to most people. Straight people often think my identity is just a joke, that I’m desperate to be “weird” and I want a label for the hell of it. The larger queer community often thinks that since I am effectively stealth-queer, that I’m not really queer.
I can hide my queerness easily. It doesn’t have to be who I am, but, to me, it is intrinsically tied to who I am.
When my mother read my chat logs and told me I wasn’t bisexual but “bi-curious,” I believed her. I assumed she had no reason to lie to me. When I became comfortable with my identity my freshman year of college, I didn’t dare tell my mother or my family.
My friends know my identity. I’m unafraid to write it here. But I contribute to bi-erasure by not bothering to come out to my family. I wonder, “What’s the point?” At best, they’ll consider it irrelevant because I’m with a man. At worst, they’ll think negatively of me and throw the traditional, painful stereotypes my way.
“Bisexuals are just greedy.”
“So, you’re gonna cheat on your man? You want both, don’t ya?”
“Ugh, every girl your age is bisexual. It isn’t cute.”
“Yeah, whatever. You’re ‘totally’ bisexual.”
I start drowning in condescension, and just before my head goes under, I try to find some semblance of peace in who I am.
I am a queer woman. This isn’t a joke or some desperate attempt to be a member of the LGBT community rather than an ally. Loving and wanting women is intrinsically tied into how I interact with people.
This doesn’t mean I sleep around (not that I criticize those who practice non-monogamy).
This doesn’t mean I’m somehow born flaky and greedy.
It means I am attracted to people, to souls, to most variations of the human experience. I’m a bisexual with a man, but that doesn’t mean I’m in a heterosexual relationship. I prefer women, and ended up with a man by happenstance; that’s okay.
Fortunately, my identity doesn’t hinge on other people’s opinions of it. Regardless of how out of place I feel, bisexuals make up the majority of the LGBT community. We’re the largest percentage, but feel unwelcome by both the straight community and the queer community.
But we’re real; we’re here. We aren’t going away. And, if nothing else, we may fall in love with you, despite how many choices we have.
Holly Baer is a senior religious studies major from Flowood, Mississippi.
