All over the internet, people are coming out of the closet. Or at least, they are coming out all over my internet. It’s hard to know whether my newsfeed, tailored by Google and Facebook, is an accurate depiction of what is happening all over the world, or just in my world. Ellen Page, Connor Franta, Ruby Rose, Sam Smith, a slew of Olympic athletes, Tim Cook–it seems everyone is coming out these days. Since even The New York Times is publishing articles about bisexuality, let’s just assume that sexual identity is a big topic. Let’s assume that queer identity–in all its forms–is a big topic. Even before the Supreme Court declared that same sex marriage was legal in all 50 states, 35 states had already legalized gay marriage, and 7 of the remaining 15 were already in the process of overturning and fighting bans on same sex marriage. So, whether it’s just my feed or not, it’s something that is on everyone’s radar.
The problem with coming out as bisexual is that, depending on who you’re partnered with, you have to either continually assert your identity or bear the weight of other people’s assumptions–either you’re gay or you’re straight. So coming out isn’t as simple (is it ever?) as running down the checklist of people in your life, coming out to them all and anyone else you encounter who makes the cut, and then living “out and proud.” The same goes for you when single, as well: if you move in both gay and straight circles of friends, at times you’ll be assumed gay, and at times, straight. Add to that the
backlash against bisexuals (they are in denial about being gay, they don’t know what they want, they think they can have it all), and the label becomes even more difficult to attach to oneself. For some, bisexuality is a fluid state that feels, at times, very much heterosexual, and at others, very gay, and so coming out seems pointless unless partnered, at which point your sexuality becomes defined by your partner–at least, by the outside world.
And as your sexuality takes a back seat to other important things in your life–your job, for example, or your partnership, your marriage, your house, your kids, your writing, and a million other demands on your time and energy, you may slowly find that you’re living a life that doesn’t feel quite right, like a pair of shoes you used to love but haven’t worn in quite some time and now, years later, they seem uncomfortable, perhaps not quite the right fit, and every time you wear them they just don’t make you feel the way they used to. Of course, you’ll keep trying them on, yearning to recreate the magic they once held, to feel like the person you once were. But eventually, you relegate them to the back of the closet, only to dig them out every now and again, hopeful that they’ve come back in style or that your feet have gone back to the way they were before you had kids. And then you start to remember, maybe these shoes always pinched a little–the fit was never that great, and every time you wore them you swore you’d never wear them again, no matter how great they looked or how many compliments you got when you wore them.
This is what being a queer woman in a mixed orientation marriage is like.
You love your husband, like the shoes that have been pushed to the back of the closet, and don’t want to give up on your relationship with him. You love the partnership, the house, your kids, and everything you’ve built with him over the last ten, fifteen, twenty years. And yet, he doesn’t quite fit you the way you want him to. You don’t feel the same with him, aren’t sure of the reflection you see in the mirror. You want to be–so you keep trying. You try open marriage, you try monogamous marriage. You try indifferent marriage, you try married-with-kids-and-just-trying-to-get-through-the-day marriage. You try commiserating with other couples who are struggling. You try avoiding other couples who are struggling. You try giving up your circle of gay friends, twice.
The problem with all of this effort is, you. The problem isn’t the clothes you wear, or your husband, or who you surround yourself with. Gay people don’t make straight people gay; straight people can’t make gay people straight–although both have certainly tried. And because it’s hard to confront being gay–I don’t care who you are, how old you were when you admitted it to yourself or how old you were when you decided to come out, straight people can make being gay seem like the worst possible thing in the world. And gay people can make being bisexual seem like a fate worse than being gay.
And because you have held on to an ideal of who you are and what your life is supposed to look like for so long, you keep wearing the shoes that pinch and cause pain and make you feel unsure of yourself, because you loved them for so long, and you want to hold on to the idea that wearing those shoes is your ticket to acceptance. But when you finally buckle down and begin to clean out your closet, suddenly there is enough space to see what you need, which makes it easier to accept what no longer works. This is the moment when you start to realize that it was never the shoes that made you feel like you owned the world–it was you the whole time.
(mostly) full disclosure 