When I was 9, I got a Girls Aloud calendar for Christmas. There was a picture by Nicola Roberts for March that fascinated me. Every time I looked at the calendar, I found myself snapping that particular photo, no matter what month it was. I thought it must have been the sparkly skates she was wearing. Something similar happened when I first saw Charlie’s Angels. There was one particular scene with Drew Barrymore tied to a chair, it had to be the bold red lip and fiery ginger hair. I had several moments like this growing up. this indescribable attraction to women. For some reason I could never put my finger on what drew me to them. I knew I liked boys, so I just settled for the fact that they were some cool women.
See that’s what growing up back home in Northern Ireland is all about. Things have always been somewhat black and white, from one side or the other. Were you straight or gay? Simple. Or at least that’s what I hoped. I first began to “question” my sexuality when I was in my early teens. Some people in my town started coming out and it really made me think about the feelings I was feeling. I guess I started connecting the dots and found myself going in circles. I liked boys, I knew it, so I had to be straight. But I thought all these girls were beautiful and I wanted their attention, so I guess I was a lesbian. Just the same, I wanted attention from boys, so straight? But girls, lesbians? This train of thought continued for another two years, constantly conflicted by the feelings I had for both boys and girls.
I was stuck in a loophole trying to squeeze into a box that surely wouldn’t fit inside.
It wasn’t until I was about 13, and with the rise of Youtubers, that I finally started to understand my sexuality. I was down the video making rabbit hole when I first discovered the term bisexual. As the person continued to share their experience, my spiraling mind began to calm down. Suddenly, these conflicting emotions had a place to land. This is normal. I’m normal. With a rush of emotions, I was ecstatic that everything finally made sense. Every thought and feeling I had was valid. Of course, as any teenager would, I immediately googled and looked up “Am I bisexual?”, you know, just to be sure. I assumed this would be simple, naive to the existence of biphobia. But I quickly learned through casual observations by family members and peers that not everyone accepted bisexuality. I decided to keep my secret for another years.
At 16, my friends and I went to a party. This is where I shared my first kiss with a girl. My friend and I drunkenly confessed that we didn’t think we were completely against the idea of kissing girls. Someone suggested we kiss. A consensual nonjudgmental kiss shared between two friends. the opportunity just fell into my lap. This was a crash test and boy did I pass with flying colors. I was definitely bi and now comfortable enough to come out to my friends. At 16, I was proudly bisexual (to my friends). My parents didn’t get the story until I was 18. This took trust, but my parents helped me realize that the right people are willing to be open and learn. I am forever grateful for this privilege.
I continued to use the term bi for a while, but as I got older, I started to move away from it. It wasn’t until I was in university that I heard the term queer used in a liberating way. In my eyes, for so long it had been colored by its derogatory use. At this point in my life, I knew I liked people for what it was, as simple as that. The term queer began to slip off the tongue with such ease. She felt like Cinderella wearing that glass slipper. I’m curious and oh my god it’s so nice to say so.
I used to think it was going to be a one-night-only one-woman show.
That it was a giant theatrical moment and then you can close your jazz hands and call it a night. I mean, I guess that might be it. Or it can be like a slow unfolding story, told piece by piece on different nights. I learned that no two stories come out the same and you don’t do it just once. It can happen many times in your lifetime. Big or small. Quiet. Loudly. Shyly. With pride. At 15 or at 50. Or not at all. We are all on this journey of self-discovery and we all go at our own pace. There is absolutely no rush to stick a label on yourself, and if you do; don’t worry, things can always work out with you.
