Let’s talk about something that I don’t see expressed enough. As Pride Month ends, it’s important to remember that queer people are visible throughout the whole year, not just in June. Single, taken, closeted, out, or undecided, queer people are still valid and seen during all twelve months of the year.
Along with that, however, comes a personal struggle of mine. Perhaps you’ve felt this way as well, or maybe not, but it’s important to open your eyes to how some may feel. Whether it affects you or not, it’s always good to be aware of how others struggle.
One thing I find difficult to work through in my own life is being a Bisexual woman while in a relationship with a man. I’ve had an illustrious dating life, as I’m sure some of you may know (if you know me in real life), and that has included men, women, and everything in between. Nothing had ever stuck around quite long enough to solidify this feeling. However, something that feels harder this time, besides being 100% committed to trying this time, is that my current boyfriend is my first partner who is 100% “gendered”. Everyone else I’ve dated has had some form of gender crisis in their life, especially whilst dating me, and part of that has always sort of helped my own identity solidify. Being with someone who isn’t a “true” female or male has helped my queer identity feel valid. But, being with someone who is very sure of their masculinity and male status is a new thing for me.
The majority of my partners have been nonbinary in some form, with some being femme-leaning, some being male-leaning, and some being none at all or both. The thing about being Bisexual is that there is a stigma surrounding Bi people who date specific genders. As a man, dating a woman is a cover for being gay. Dating a man is a “fake gay”, or something to fawn over. As a woman, dating a man is a cover for being a lesbian. Dating another woman is fetishised and the other half that likes men is entirely disregarded. The Bisexual community is also one of the most hated and homophobic within the LGBT community. Queer people call Bisexuals fake, and Bisexuals act “higher” than other queer people. (I’ve been fortunate enough to not deal with this too much in my life.)
Dating a man, as a woman, can be more socially accepted and easier to navigate in certain contexts, as it aligns with conventional relationship norms. It’s certainly been much less stress, societally, being with my boyfriend. It’s easier to talk about our “connection”, rather than the “orientation” of our relationship, as with some women.
It’s hard, though, when it comes to expressing myself. It’s hard to remember that I have my own identity, being with a man. My eclectic wardrobe, dyed hair, and eccentric earring collection push the idea that I’m not heteronormative enough for him, because I don’t look like all the other straight girls I graduated with. Hell, I don’t look like some of the queer people I graduated with. I know more gay men and lesbians than I do bisexual people, and those people have a certain fashion that works for them. One of my ex-girlfriends has a style that expresses her sexuality and interests beautifully, and it fully represents her as a person without apology. She, however, is dating another queer-femme presenting person. Another one has a beautiful fashion sense, though she went through many gender trials before settling on her birth gender. She happens to be dating a man, with no inkling of liking women (she never has, besides me. I still wonder about that).
A few queer people I know aren’t in relationships at all. In a weird way, that’s always felt more affirming than my situation. As if being able to linger eyes on whoever you want, regardless of gender, is more queer-affirming than being happily in a relationship. There are some days where I wake up and wish for nothing more than to be dating a woman, instead of a man, because sometimes the internalised homophobia overshadows the love I have for my boyfriend.
A few of my closest friends are both single and queer, one out quietly and the other undecided and not out about it. The struggle of keeping your identity under wraps is not something I struggled with. In sixth grade, a girl I liked asked me out over Christmas break. That night, my dad was making frozen chicken patties, and as he took them out of the oven, I announced that a girl asked me out. Without missing a beat, he just asked me if I liked her or if I was going to go out with her. My struggle with gender has been substantially harder, and there have been many tears over it, but I still never had any real fear about coming out about it. I’ve never really “come out” to anyone else. I just wear my queer identity on my sleeve and let others digest it or not. Part of the unfortunate side effects of having an easy coming out is that I now struggle with why it was so easy. Was I lying? Was it real? Am I really queer, or was it just the cool thing at the time?
Okay, I know that last one is far-fetched. It has never been “cool” to be gay, as proven by thousands of years of hate crimes. But still. What do you tell yourself when you’ve convinced yourself that dating one man means you’re not really queer?
I should say, my boyfriend is also Bisexual. That helps some. Worst case, he might at least feel some of what I feel, too. My gender identity, however, does encompass his sexuality. I have been very open about being okay with being his “boyfriend” or “partner”, as well as “girlfriend”. But despite my non-conforming gender identity and my not-straight identity, I have experienced many microaggressions that just solidify my own internal beliefs. Have you ever been asked, “how does being straight feel?” when dating someone of the opposite sex? Fun fact, that is considered a microaggression. You may mean no harm, but it undermines the identity of the person hearing this. Another thing that I find hard to think about is the thought of “what could have been”. If I were dating a woman, would I feel different? Would my life be different right now? Probably, yes, but circumstantially, meeting anybody new would mean my life would change.
It’s hard feeling like I belong in queer conversations, as well. Being someone who is passionate about queer activism and visibility, I still feel like a fraud sometimes when I talk about it. Being to Pride Fest or other queer events is always an odd topic for me, because what if I don’t really belong there? What if I’m just a fake?
Being a bisexual woman with a straight man is a whole new trip. My Bisexuality has taken a back seat to my new “straight” persona. I feel like I can't be outwardly bisexual anymore because of the reputation people tried to force on me in recent years of being a whore, a player, and extremely non-committal (although, I won’t fully contest that one). I’m always nervous that people who know of my past dating life and my Bisexuality probably assume it was a phase that I'm now over, or that I just liked to date around for the sake of it. Despite these fears, I do still identify as Bisexual. It’s hard to remain true to my beliefs, especially when I made these decisions as a much younger person, but embracing your own sexuality, even in the face of heteronormativity, is extremely important for everyone to give a reprieve to themselves and allow for a breather every now and then.
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