June is one of my favorite months of the year. In addition to
it being the month with the longest days, the prettiest sunsets, and
the best running weather, one of the reasons I love June is because it's
Pride month. Pride has been special to me for different reasons every year I have celebrated it. Today, I want to acknowledge one of the things I'm proud of this year.
I remember over a decade ago, wondering to myself if my attraction to women was just a phase, whether it was something I should pursue, whether it was abnormal. I can remember at that time feeling like I would never have the support I would need to give it a fair shot. I remember years later, how right it felt the first time my lips touched her lips, her hand touched my waist, my fingers touched her hair. I remember wondering how anyone would think that could be wrong. I remember standing in the capitol rotunda minutes after the state senate voted for marriage equality, chanting "love is louder" and rejoicing knowing that regardless of the gender of the person who I would some day love, that love could be legally recognized. I remember kissing a woman in public and being approached by a man asking if he could join us. I remember walking hand in hand in a park at night, wondering if it would be safer to let go. I remember the nervousness of coming out to my straight friends, and my family, and being met with a mixture of love, total acceptance, concern, and denial. I remember hours upon hours in talks with gay friends, interrogating them about "how they knew", and feeling almost jealous of their certainty of exclusively same-sex attraction. Why didn't I feel so certain?
For the nearly two years that I was grappling with sexual orientation and trying to figure out where I fell on the spectrum, I almost exclusively dated women. The couple of men I went out with were unappealing, and I had absolutely no interest in them. Women were beautiful, and soft, and freeing. And complicated. Sometimes women turned away from me upon finding out that I had a relationship history with men. Dating was a struggle, as I consistently felt like I had to prove to women - and to myself - that I was legit.
But the minute I met Pete, everything changed. When he touched my back on the balcony before our first date, the sparks I felt were different and stronger than anything I'd felt before. Our conversation was authentic, and barrier-free, and fun. And five hours later when we finally kissed, after what felt like years of waiting, I knew that I never wanted to stop. That night, I was finally able to easily answer the question that I'd been struggling with for years: I am not gay. I am not straight. I am not confused. I'm bisexual.
One of my biggest concerns when I was in the beginning stages of a hetero-normative relationship was trying to decide how I was going to maintain my queer identity. I wasn't sure how I could still be bi when I'm living like I'm straight. Pete has been incredibly supportive of this part of who I am, and has encouraged me to do what I can to continue to live and grow in my bisexual identity, despite being in a monogamous heterosexual relationship. He has embraced my community in a way beyond what I could have ever dreamed. He is more comfortable with it than I would have ever expected. When he isn't sure about something, he asks me.
When I first started bringing Pete to events, there was some confusion among my wider network. A couple of people candidly said to me, "I thought you were a lesbian". Others assumed that he was a new gay on the scene, and weren't shy about wanting to meet him. He took all of that in stride. One stranger approached us at a queer event and, upon seeing that we were together, told us we "shouldn't be at a gay bar if we're straight." We shrugged it off, knowing that everyone who really matters to us is supportive and accepting and welcoming. Not every person needs or deserves to know our story.
For the first time in my life, I'm completely confident in my sexual identity. I know where I stand. Discovering the truth about myself has been a long and winding road, and in some ways I think we are all constantly in a process of learning about ourselves. But for now, I feel like I have really "arrived". I'm proud to be bisexual; in fact, it is one of my favorite things about myself. In the wise words of the beautiful and inspiring Mary Lambert: "I can't change, even if I tried. Even if I wanted to." There is no reason for me to want to change this about myself.
I remember over a decade ago, wondering to myself if my attraction to women was just a phase, whether it was something I should pursue, whether it was abnormal. I can remember at that time feeling like I would never have the support I would need to give it a fair shot. I remember years later, how right it felt the first time my lips touched her lips, her hand touched my waist, my fingers touched her hair. I remember wondering how anyone would think that could be wrong. I remember standing in the capitol rotunda minutes after the state senate voted for marriage equality, chanting "love is louder" and rejoicing knowing that regardless of the gender of the person who I would some day love, that love could be legally recognized. I remember kissing a woman in public and being approached by a man asking if he could join us. I remember walking hand in hand in a park at night, wondering if it would be safer to let go. I remember the nervousness of coming out to my straight friends, and my family, and being met with a mixture of love, total acceptance, concern, and denial. I remember hours upon hours in talks with gay friends, interrogating them about "how they knew", and feeling almost jealous of their certainty of exclusively same-sex attraction. Why didn't I feel so certain?
For the nearly two years that I was grappling with sexual orientation and trying to figure out where I fell on the spectrum, I almost exclusively dated women. The couple of men I went out with were unappealing, and I had absolutely no interest in them. Women were beautiful, and soft, and freeing. And complicated. Sometimes women turned away from me upon finding out that I had a relationship history with men. Dating was a struggle, as I consistently felt like I had to prove to women - and to myself - that I was legit.
But the minute I met Pete, everything changed. When he touched my back on the balcony before our first date, the sparks I felt were different and stronger than anything I'd felt before. Our conversation was authentic, and barrier-free, and fun. And five hours later when we finally kissed, after what felt like years of waiting, I knew that I never wanted to stop. That night, I was finally able to easily answer the question that I'd been struggling with for years: I am not gay. I am not straight. I am not confused. I'm bisexual.
One of my biggest concerns when I was in the beginning stages of a hetero-normative relationship was trying to decide how I was going to maintain my queer identity. I wasn't sure how I could still be bi when I'm living like I'm straight. Pete has been incredibly supportive of this part of who I am, and has encouraged me to do what I can to continue to live and grow in my bisexual identity, despite being in a monogamous heterosexual relationship. He has embraced my community in a way beyond what I could have ever dreamed. He is more comfortable with it than I would have ever expected. When he isn't sure about something, he asks me.
When I first started bringing Pete to events, there was some confusion among my wider network. A couple of people candidly said to me, "I thought you were a lesbian". Others assumed that he was a new gay on the scene, and weren't shy about wanting to meet him. He took all of that in stride. One stranger approached us at a queer event and, upon seeing that we were together, told us we "shouldn't be at a gay bar if we're straight." We shrugged it off, knowing that everyone who really matters to us is supportive and accepting and welcoming. Not every person needs or deserves to know our story.
For the first time in my life, I'm completely confident in my sexual identity. I know where I stand. Discovering the truth about myself has been a long and winding road, and in some ways I think we are all constantly in a process of learning about ourselves. But for now, I feel like I have really "arrived". I'm proud to be bisexual; in fact, it is one of my favorite things about myself. In the wise words of the beautiful and inspiring Mary Lambert: "I can't change, even if I tried. Even if I wanted to." There is no reason for me to want to change this about myself.
