Starting With a Two-Letter Word

I've never been a very good blogger, though I have been known to occasionally bore, or blast, my friends with the rare political rant on Facebook. The ranting is new. I turned 40-something and suddenly found my voice. Being a bad blogger is old, and is most likely a product of my lazy habits and some sad, intolerant ideas. Until a couple of years ago, I believed that only sweet, religious, stay-at-home moms with chubby, photogenic toddlers had time to blog, and since I was not one of those (or, I should say, was no longer one of those), I steered clear of the venue, preferring to be judgmental from a quiet distance.  Then, for awhile, I tried posting my poetry to a sad little blog I created for only that.  No comments. No toddler pictures.  Just poems.  And no readers.  Once I started to actually get onto poetry forums and submit pieces for publication, I realized that having a poetry blog was bad for poets, since any poem that could be Googled could be considered to have already been published and would be rejected for actual publication. So, I ended my very short blogging career.

But, here I am now, aware of my weaknesses and ready to try again. After years of being the quiet, nice girl, it turns out that I have things to say.  

Last week, I read a blog post in which a man came out as bisexual. What was odd was that I found this to be so odd. When I first read that he was "coming out," I assumed he was coming out as gay. Gay people come out. Bisexual people do many things, but in my world, they don't come out. I guess in my world, they do whatever they need to do to fit in.  Perhaps they "pass."  Or maybe, in my world, they "choose."  Or they embrace their bi-sexuality and join swinger groups, or they are polyamorous.  I've been telling people for several years that I'm bisexual, and yet, it never occurred to me that I needed to actually come out, and here is why: because on some unconscious level, I've been buying into the predominant cultural idea that since I "went back" and dated a man (after 10 years of almost exclusively dating women--which came after 9 years of being married to a man--which came after.... etc., etc., etc.), that I no longer really could lay any sort of claim to being part of the local LGBTQ community.  It doesn't matter that I loved my female partners, or that I was the leader of a prominent gay and lesbian parents group for years, or that I was actively involved with the Human Rights Campaign and local political groups, or that I helped build floats for the Pride parade on which my children unashamedly rode with me. Just like it didn't matter to my religious family and friends that I was the very same daughter, sister, mother, student, worker, community activist, friend I had been a few hours before I told them I was dating a woman. Coming out is coming out. I lost many close family relationships when I came out as a "lesbian" and then lost many of my "new" family relationships when I "went back" to men. 

Of course, I follow the community from the sidelines.  I'm FB friends with the local Pride Center.  I post little videos about supporting gay marriage (From the perspective of my very few remaining gay friends, I'm doing this as a "hetero" supporter, from the outside looking in, since I'm not actually gay). I have a few of my old friends from my "lesbian days" scattered as acquaintances, here and there on my social networking friend lists. And I've made new friends. Swinger friends. Polyamorous friends. Good old-fashioned, heterosexual friends (to the joy and delight of my religious parents).  I even got on twitter and for awhile followed a few BDSM groups (though I haven't "dabbled" in that for many years), as well as some spiritual enlightenment groups, and tantra groups.  I've stuck my toe into so many sexually-identified communities over the past few years that I'm not sure anymore if I'm going or just plain coming.  Mostly, I guess I've just been searching. 

I find it ironic that my former gay friends now categorize me in the outsider category--that category of people who will never understand what it's like to be gay.  My initial coming out was, I believe, every bit as painful and challenging as any I've heard described.  My decision to date a man I fell in love with was nearly as stressful and agonizing.  I knew that many of my closest friendships would likely end. Dating a man served to validate for my family their untrue belief that the 10 years prior to "coming back" really had been "just a stage."  It also let them know that I really WAS making a choice all along. This was painful for me. I'd fought alongside my lovers and friends, advocating and educating about the research, supporting a genetic basis for homosexuality. I've maintained that whether it is spoken or not, this is the real threat to my gay friends, and to any potential female (lesbian) lovers.  More than the fear that I might leave them for a man, or the idea that I'm one of those "lucky ones" who can date anyone in the room so I should back off and let others have a chance to find love (???!!...a subject for another post), what I think most upsets the LGTQ community groups is that the world can look at people like me and justify the harm that is done them... well, to all of us who live a non-conforming or non-traditional lifestyle.  The bigots of the world can point to me and say that being with a woman is a choice and generalize my ability to choose to include any woman who loves another woman.  I know that for many people, it really is not a choice.  The world can say that being gay can be cured, because people like me can "go back."  I know what kind of torture comes of that line of thinking.  I would never choose to be the "banner" for such horrific beliefs and actions, and it pains me to think that being bisexual and living as a bisexual human, loving individuals of either gender, might somehow contribute to the justification of bigotry or hatred.  I live and advocate for love and tolerance.

So, without meaning to be, I am a threat to either side.  I threaten my religious family members who either have to claim that I am eternally damned or are called to question the core of their beliefs... which in so many ways give them hope and great comfort.  I threaten my gay and lesbian friends who need the world to know that they can't choose or change their sexual orientation, and that their love is valid and should be legally protected.  I am rejected by both groups.  Yet, I face the same bigotry, feel the same fear, recognize the same limitations for myself and my lovers as most of my gay friends.  And, every time I want to date someone, I have to come out again. Every time I take someone home to meet my family, I have to prepare what I will say, and how I will present this new relationship. I've been told by individuals I'm meeting for the first time that if I want to "date" them, I must immediately give up my former friendships, walk away from people I dearly care about.  It's bizarre and disorienting, and painful.

What I've always thought I wanted was a healthy, long-term, monogamous relationship with a best friend whom I dearly love.  But, I'm no longer like the traditional monogamous, heterosexual people I see all around me. I am faithful.  I expect fidelity. But I have a non-traditional perspective, and a list of non-traditional sexual experiences which cannot be hidden. Because I'm not accepted into either the homo or hetero communities, and because I've not found a comfortable niche within the polyamorous or swinger communities, I often feel that I belong nowhere, at least nowhere that is explainable, or comfortable for many of the people who currently are part of my life. 

After I read about the man who came out as bisexual, I got online and started reading what people were saying about being bisexual. I found out that my experience is much more universal than I thought. I've been expecting myself to choose one way or the other, and I've been allowing myself to be marginalized by a community that really knows better, having themselves been so marginalized.  I've known these things.  I've even said these things.  But I've stood back and done nothing about it.  I've been "passing," which for a time I believed would bring me relief, but it has only brought more confusion.

Several months ago, I took a step back from dating (Whoa! The hilarious stories of my forays onto Match.com and E-Harmony are subjects for another post), and a step back from my friends (mostly swingers because that has been the most comfortable niche I've found since losing my ties to my gay and lesbian friends), and a step back from parties, bars, and dating sites, to address a deep depression that had started setting in.  I knew that I needed some time to turn inward, to find out what it is I really want for myself, both in and out of relationships. As I've turned inward, what I can now look back and see is that, in order to belong to whatever "inner circle" I was striving to fit in with, I've chosen to sell or give away some other part of myself. If I am to live authentically, then that must stop.

I am now my own inner circle.  I'm part of a spiritual practice which is supportive.  My children are nearly grown and have turned out to be very tolerant and loving human beings who can talk openly about these issues, and who understand sexual fluidity. Some of my family members have come around again and though they'd prefer that I only date men, they know that I am someone who will openly love whomever I love. I am strong and feeling good again. I know now that being bi-sexual doesn't have to mean being promiscuous, or being the Unicorn, or being sexually available in ways that aren't consistent with what I want from my closest relationships.  Being bi doesn't mean being someone's other lover, or someone's fantasy "adventure."   

And as I blog, part of what I want to explore is what it is that has caused me to stay distant from my local GLBTQ community which, whether they like it or not, still has that glaring "B" as part of the mix.  I'm the B. Not okay in the world I grew up in. Not okay in the world I raised my young children in.  I'm the byword. I'm the bi-word.  And if I can't find a home within the communities that exist here now, then maybe it's time that I create one.