Advocating for Bi Awareness and What Being Bi Means To Me
Bi Awareness Week had never really been on my radar before, until I spotted a post about it on social media a year or two ago. It is only now, after reading various stories from others, exploring the different ways people express their bisexuality, and learning about the many ways people 'come out', that I realise just how important having a dedicated space for bi awareness actually is.
Many accounts written by people speaking out about their bisexuality, or at least many of the stories I have personally read, have noticeable similarities among them. Bisexuality is often not treated seriously, is considered to be some sort of state of limbo between gayness and straightness, or is seen as 'greedy', 'selfish', or simply nonexistent. These stereotypes exist both inside and outside the LGBTQ+ community.
No single story is representative of the entire bi community (or any other community, for that matter). Perhaps though, readers may see certain similarities between my story and theirs. Since I cannot and do not wish to speak for other people, here is my story, which is the best tool I can use to make a case for increased bi awareness, understanding, and acceptance.
Around the age of 13, people started 'going out with each other' and discussions were had about who had a crush on who. Surely, I must fancy someone too, my friend asked. I did not. However, being incredibly insecure and unsure of myself, I was keen to avoid appearing 'abnormal'. It never occurred to me that I might be attracted to girls. Boys fancied girls, and girls fancied boys, so following this logic, I picked one or two boys I knew and got along with and convinced my friend and eventually myself that I had a crush on them.
A while later, a male friend of mine asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend. I was flattered to be asked, and said yes. We stayed together for about two years.
One day, just before the summer holidays, he broke up with me. I was distraught. By autumn though, my mind was elsewhere. I had begun secretly seeing my female best friend, and by Christmas we were officially in a relationship, albeit not to everyone's knowledge. It was all rather romantic and exciting, and to me, felt like the most natural thing in the world.
The boy and I remained close friends for years. He was perturbed and irritated by the fact that I was now apparently a lesbian, partly because he believed it made his already poor social standing significantly worse. He once told me that he had never mentioned my new relationship to his dad because it would make him look 'less of a man'. He was convinced that other boys and men would assume he was in some way inadequate and had therefore 'turned' me. Having never been turned on by him or any other male I had ever encountered, I found his attitude at once ridiculous and faintly amusing.
By this time, conversations were being had about who might be gay, who might be a lesbian, and who might be bi. At my school the concept of being bi was, as I recall it, popularised by a bizarre mix of Billy Joe Armstrong's disputed sexuality and Katy Perry's song 'I Kissed A Girl'.
Being bi became strangely cool or seedy depending on who was who, and was often the preserve of 'scene kids' or teens who were part of the emo crowd. Bisexuality somehow became synonymous with indecision and therefore inevitable infidelity. It was a badge to be worn by anyone who wished to gain a reputation for themselves as 'alternative'. Far from being respected as a genuine sexual identity, the concept of being bi was sometimes thoughtlessly abused or undermined by people looking to give themselves an interesting edge. Indeed, announcing that one was bisexual (whilst in a straight relationship) was considered intriguing, and blessed the person in question with an element of mystery and allure. The reality for my girlfriend and I as two girls in a long-term relationship, therefore considered lesbians, was very different.
With this in mind, feeling I must 'pick a side', and still never having experienced a genuine sexual attraction to a boy, I decided that I must be gay.
When my girlfriend and I broke up, I questioned whether or not my feelings about girls and women were reserved only for her or if they extended to others, too. I used female-only dating and chat sites to explore this possibility. I was able to list my status as 'flexible' or 'bi' or similar (I don't remember the exact term). Sadly, this led to contact from women on the hunt for girls who would have a threesome with them and their male partner. Some even offered to pay for transport, dinner, hotel rooms, and outfits. It was strongly assumed that since my sexual identity did not discrimate based on gender, I would be extremely sexually experienced, active, and open to quite literally anything. When I rejected these messages, I was almost always met with surprise, annoyance, or both.
A major problem I also suddenly faced was that my appearance and style had changed enormously between the ages of 15 and 18. I looked, as I was reminded regularly, like a stereotypical straight girl. This impacted my confused sexual identity even more, as looking straight and being attractive to men was not a trait which appealed to girls seeking a girlfriend. They either found me deeply suspicious and therefore untrustworthy, or found out about the ex boyfriend and ran a mile. Guys found my alleged bisexuality either sexy and tantalising, threatening and deceitful, or in one very specific case, a challenge. The latter was the one with whom I first experimented with and afterwards I never wanted to be anywhere near a man in any kind of sexual capacity ever again.
Throughout the volatile period in my life which followed, I became close to a guy who was far from the stereotypical men I was used to. The short version is that despite my insistence I was gay and my plans to explore that, I fell for him, and at the time of writing we have been together for over a decade. I adore him. I cannot imagine being with anybody else and the idea of anything below the waist on another human being makes my stomach turn.
This does not affect the fact that I am, as I have known for a long time, bi. This never has, does not, and will never affect my feelings for my male partner. Being bi does however affect how I perceive the world. It influences how I see and understand relationships and gender. I also know that when I am affectionate to my partner in public, I do not have to expect any negative consequences. This is one reason why bi people can endure hostility from the LGBTQ+ community. On the surface, I live the life of a straight woman. This can anger LGBTQ+ people who face challenges I do not have to face. I do however have the unfortunate ability to retain detailed memories, and can still recall horrible experiences my ex girlfriend and I endured as teenagers. I did not choose to be with a man to make my life easier. I chose to be with the person I fell deeply in love with.
Again though, mentioning one's bisexuality when in a long-term and committed relationship with someone makes people suspicious. Surely I gave up being bi when I got together with my partner? Well, the answer is that yes, for a long time, I did. Engaging with the LGBTQ+ community made me feel uncomfortable. I was not in what could be described as an LGBTQ+ relationship, at least not on the surface, so what right did I have to be at events like Pride? Even people close to me had surmised that I was actually straight and had only ended up with my girlfriend at all because she showed an interest in me when I was at a low point after my ex boyfriend ended things. Surely it must have just been a phase, people said. A friend of mine once introduced me to a lesbian friend of hers, who I later found out wrote me off as 'so obviously straight' the second she saw me. I was sometimes unsure how to express being bi without coming across as though I was dismissing my relationship. That's often my issue with the term 'bisexual'.
For me, there is no longer anything sexual about identifying as bi and there hasn't been since my partner and I got together. My bi identity does not mean I fantasise about sex with other people, or that I secretly want to be with a woman now and then. I find women attractive, sure, but to me, being bi is about more than that. It is about accepting people for who they are and understanding that sexuality and gender identity change and adapt. It is about acknowledging that I once had a relationship which was not or could not be fully open, due to concerns about what people might think or how they might treat me. It is about breaking down assumptions about what a relationship is or looks like, and treating people with compassion and understanding when they may be struggling with feelings they cannot express about their own preferences or curiosities.
Finally, it is about tolerance, dismantling stereotypes, and drawing on my own personal experiences which shaped me as a person to change how people perceive what being bi actually means. Bi people often feel displaced and unable to take part in LGBTQ+ events but also feel like an outsider in exclusively straight environments. Or at least that was what it was like for me, and maybe for you or someone you know, too.
Written by Amy Watson
Amy is a content manager originally from the UK and now proud to call Hamburg, Germany her new home. She is a passionate lover of cheese, literature, languages, modern art, and enjoys all four with copious amounts of red wine.
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