The Defensive Bi

Though it has been nearly a decade since this moment occurred, I can easily recall the feelings that swirled about inside me when I first admitted to someone, “I am bisexual.” As soon as the words passed over my lips, I felt lighter; the weight of that secret seemed to evaporate instantly and thinking I could finally share this part of myself with the world gave me an unprecedented sense of peace and security. 

It was a magical instant, one which I thought was the start of something new. In a sense, it was; it was just not the start I was hoping for. The euphoria of finally coming out as bi lasted all of twenty seconds, until the person I had shared this moment with — a gay man with whom I was incredibly smitten — cleared his throat, looked upon me with patronizing eyes and said, “Well, you know that bisexuality isn’t really a thing, right? Eventually, you’ll decide; right now, you’re just in a phase.”

Even today — after years of living as an out and proud bi man — it’s hard to find the right words to describe just how devastating that rebuttal to my truth felt. I had never expected a member of the LGBT community to say something like that to me, as I thought we were all one big happy family under our rainbow umbrella; sadly, my naivety about this unity and acceptance left me unprepared for this cutting moment. In my youth and eagerness to appear desirable to this person, I did something that still causes me shame and sadness to this day, something that I have never admitted to anyone before.

I said, “Maybe you’re right.”

In that moment of vulnerability, I was more exposed than virtually any other instant of my life leading up to it; at the time, what I said felt like the only thing I could say to overcome the waves of embarrassment and anxiety that were threatening to overwhelm me. I was so unprepared for this response that I let someone who barely knew me cast doubt on who I am. What’s worse is their skepticism led me to question myself. That night, the weight of my secret returned tenfold, this time accompanied by an insatiable pit deep in my chest that seemed to suck every scrap of hope I had of ever being accepted into its unfathomable depths.

It marked the beginning of one of the most challenging periods of my life. This simple statement led me to three more years of hurt, anger, fear, uncertainty and worse; eventually I’d lose track of the nights I’d spend lying away, hoping for some “ah-ha” moment that would finally make me believe I fit snugly into either a hetero or homosexual identity. I wanted a clear answer because it felt too hard to deal with being bi; I thought I would never be enough for either community, that if I didn’t find the “right” answer that I would not belong anywhere.

It was three years of turmoil... all because of one little comment.

When I finally plucked up the courage to come out to those closest to me several those years later, this moment is what brought me to tears and forced me to choke out those paramount words. If a crush could send me spiraling, what dark depths would dismissal from my family and close friends send me to? Luckily, it is a question I never found an answer for as these people accepted my identity with more love and support that I ever thought possible. Did they fully understand what bisexuality was at the time of my coming out? Not entirely, but to me that is a moot point; what I needed in that moment was simply acceptance, and I received it in abundance.

In subsequent years, they have been among those who reach out the most with questions about bisexuality; sometimes specific to me, other times as general inquiries. But the one thing that holds universally true is that these questions never come clouded with doubts about the validity of my identity, or that of bi individuals in general. They come from a place of love and learning.

Of course, I have experienced said skepticism from countless others in the years since coming out, many of whom use myriad tactics to maneuver me into a place of defensiveness which, to them, undoubtably invalidates my bi identity. If I get too defensive, I must be hiding something, covering up my “true” sexual orientation and over-compensating because I am insecure about who I am. If I let these comments go by unaddressed and allow bigotry to proliferate, then I must not be “bi” enough to care about defending myself and my community and therefor am still “hiding” my true sexual orientation. It’s a masterclass in manipulation, one that unfortunately takes very little effort on their part and is readily accepted as proof by skeptics.

In my earlier years, I was a firebrand for the bi cause. No bigoted comment would go unchecked, no snide joke left unanswered; all that pent-up anger from years past fueled a fire within me that was always roaring just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. However, I eventually learned that those provoking me into this angry defensive stance were not really interested in learning about or accepting me and the bi community; they were doing it to validate their own narrow-minded belief. There was nothing I could say or do to change their minds, and I was wasting time and energy on an unreachable goal. So, I learned how to channel those defensive feeling into a more productive approach.

I am no longer defensive for myself; thanks to the love and support of those closest to me, I have been able to take the time to understand who I am and, while occasionally a comment will get me riled up, I am not as easily shaken as I once was. Now I am defensive for those who are on the precipice of that vulnerable moment of coming out, who need support and acceptance instead of skepticism and dismissal. I know just how derailing negativity in that moment can be, and if I can protect one person from being re-consumed by even a minute of additional self-doubt, anxiety and fear, I will gladly raise my voice in their defense. It’s not an easy task, but I’ve found it to be a more fulfilling, productive way to expend my energy.

After all these years, dozens of articles, ample research and more, my bi identity is still regularly called into question by many, including members within the LGBT community. While I can endure these taunts now, it does not mean they are unaccompanied by pain; each eye roll, snide comment or “innocent” joke sends me careening back to that first moment of vulnerability — which was one of the lowest points of my life — where I was shaken to my core.

You are, of course, entitled to draw your own conclusions about bisexuality, but please know this: there is no question about my identity that you can ask me that I have not spent a significant amount of time agonizing over. When you come at me and my community from a place of arrogance and dismissal, you are not being an ally to us: you are instead an oppressor, perhaps one who’s comments are still keeping those you claim to care about from being their true selves.