Serious stuff.
So this post is kind of about being bi/poly.
I guess I don't talk about actual issues much; I'm kind of apolitical, insofar as I follow political issues about which I have opinions, occasionally strong ones, but generally say nothing and do nothing. I'm aware of the problems inherent in this stance (although it always reminds me of the Vote or Die episode of South Park, which tends to remove a portion of the gravitas when reflecting on said problems), but I suppose I follow the philosophy in the rest of my life as well. I watch rather than become involved. I observe and collate and only speak if I really think I'll be heard and listened to and, above all, properly comprehended as saying what I mean to say. While I like to think as much as the next person that I'm right a majority of the time, I'm not usually looking for other people to validate that when I talk-I'm looking for understanding of my position on the part of the other party, even if disagreement still exists. As difficult as I've often found this to be, I don't talk to people much unless I know them well enough to be comfortable with the possibility that they'll misunderstand and to be sure they'll ask for clarification. Yet, here I am, weighing in on an issue using my own experience as a backing, something I generally abhor doing. Please bear with me; my brain is demanding it, and it's not taking no for an answer.
I'm aware that I'm approaching this from a place of privilege; I'm a white cis-female, and I can fairly easily pass for straight because I'm married to a man, which frees me from a lot of the difficulties other people still deal with. I guess I feel moved to talk about this because it's no longer as much of an issue in my life. When I talk about my roommate now, I actually mean my roommate, not my girlfriend.
I haven't gotten a lot of outright derision or slander on the basis of liking girls; before I learned to be discreet about it, the worst I tended to get was general dismissal, such as being told it was a phase or that I hadn't met the right man yet, or the unwanted and discomfiting attention of guys who thought I was performing for their interest. I've been fortunate enough to live in a fairly liberal town, in a fairly liberal (on this issue, at least) state, and to have a family who have been, on the whole, reasonably accepting. Homophobia hasn't touched me much. I guess most of what it's been about for me has been that little bit of continual falsehood.
I didn't tell my mother about being bi initially. She's always kind of meant well, but I could tell she wouldn't like to hear it, so she didn't know. She accidentally found out when she cornered my stepdad to find out from him where I was going every Wednesday evening of my senior year, and he copped to the fact that I was attending the local GLBTA group. When she became extremely upset about the issue, I fled the house and didn't come back for hours, seeking refuge at a friend's house until things (and I) calmed down. Later I discovered something that was somehow objectively worse than her freaking out because I was bi: she had evidently become upset because I was supporting those of differing orientations, and only discovered I was among them-which hadn't even occurred to her as a possible reason why I would be attending a group like that-because of my stepfather's well-meaning attempts to reason with her after he thought he'd already outed me. While she's since come to terms with it, and expressed to me a couple of years later that while she'd "prefer" I bring home a nice boy, she'd do her best to be welcoming and loving if I brought home a nice girl, she followed that up with the statement, "And at least I'll have a fifty-fifty chance," which… yeah. More things I didn't discuss with her for more years after that.
But after a while, I found Jeremy and Renee, and things inexplicably settled down. Mom somehow went back to not knowing, a kind of happy, active denial that focused on my actual relationship with an actual male and sidelined the other aspects of its nature, and no one else really said much to me about it, except for my Aunt Beth (who is a person of inestimable, fantastic quality); Renee was "one of the family" by virtue of being counted among us sisters, without any real acknowledgement of why, and I suspect each member of the family probably had a different assumption anyway. After Renee left there were a few years of just being with Jeremy, and they were good. Adara didn't come into things until my family had mellowed out just about as much as I think they're ever going to, and there wasn't really any other direction from which I was getting flak any longer. Even when I worked security, it was such a solitary job that I usually only interacted on a better-than-superficial basis with the people I wanted to see. I think it didn't really become something I noticed until I got a job with my current company.
You know how people casually talk about the people they know, and refer to them by relationship titles? "My sister told me this story," or "My husband was so sweet to me today," or "A friend of mine is going on vacation this week." I've got the same reflex as everyone, and suddenly I was tripping on it. All the discretion I had to develop in high school to avoid being dismissed or becoming the target of unfavorable attention instantly reasserted itself, and I found myself referring to Adara as my roommate despite that, in all ways, she was my partner as much as Jeremy. I even found myself overemphasizing the fact that I'm married. At first it was difficult, and I talked little about my personal life anyway, but it gradually got easier to keep editing things so that nobody I work with might know I had a girlfriend. Even now I'm not really sure whether it's more the polyamory or more the bisexuality that I've been hiding, but regardless, I don't feel safe letting my coworkers find out that my relationship has ever been anything other than heterosexually monogamous. I've always told myself it's because it's a conversation I just don't want to have in that setting, but lately it's been getting to me.
My team lead, horrendous misogynist that he was, was at first a pretty good reason to keep it on the DL. With his conservative attitudes towards everything ever, alongside his derogatory attitude towards women, I didn't really want to find out what he'd think of my relationship, and I didn't want it to affect how I was treated at work. Now, though, even after he's been gone a little while, I haven't come out to my remaining (female) coworkers, either. I keep wondering if they'll look at me differently, and how. I like this job and I don't want it to get weird. Even now, with my relationship having returned to heterosexual monogamy for the moment, I talk about Adara as though she's always been just my roommate. It made me realize how much I do the same thing in other places, places where I hadn't realized I've been doing it because it's just something I do without thinking: in front of my mother even though she knows, to avoid making her the little sliver of uncomfortable I can tell she still is; in front of my grandparents because they still don't know and I don't want to upset them; in front of my father because he's always been fundamentalist Christian and I really don't need a lecture from someone who hasn't been in my life for most of twenty years; when meeting someone and being introduced alongside Adara. Pretty much everywhere except with very close friends, sisters, and a few select other family members.
That is, of course, the issue. I see so much in the media about how homosexuals are struggling to be recognized, and how even those who ostensibly support them refer to it as having homosexuality "shoved down [their] throats"-who talk about how homosexuals shouldn't "flaunt" it, and if everyone would just shut up and never bring it up, everyone could totally live and let live because after all, heterosexuals don't make a big deal out of it. I look at that from my protected little corner of existence, and all I can think of is that sometimes, when a conversation has just passed at work where I downplayed my relationship with Adara in order to keep the peace just as these people suggest, I wistfully wish I could just do what most people do without thinking: tell the truth. I wish I could say "my girlfriend" without wondering if my coworkers' internal conceptualization of me as an entire person will change. I don't want to flaunt anything. I just want to speak freely of the woman I love as someone I love, as a relationship that matters enough to me to be more than just roommates or friends, the way that any heterosexual person could casually mention their spouse or significant other. I want to have the same expectation that no one will bat an eye when I do so. I want to put pictures of my girlfriend in my cubicle alongside the pictures of my husband without having to lie when someone asks me who she is. I don't want to have to explain to another person that no, my orientation and relationship format aren't all about sex, because gods know I don't really have sex at all, and yet I'm still in love. I don't fall in love easily, or out of love at all.
I don't even have a girlfriend anymore now. I'm not over it and I'm not sure when I will be; there are ways in which I'm not over Renee, so maybe the answer is never. I don't seem to be able to hold the interest of a girl for the long term, so it may not matter again. If Jeremy and I never have another girlfriend, I'll be grateful we have each other; I don't feel like we need a third person to have a fulfilling relationship. But it's always been the way we've felt the most whole, so I guess I hope it could happen again someday, and maybe last that time. My self-esteem isn't awesome just now and I don't really have a lot of optimism. But either way, whether it happens or it doesn't, I don't want to have to edit it out anymore. Right now, I really just wish the most that I could talk about my breakup, maybe get support from some of the coworkers/ex-coworkers I tentatively consider friends, maybe not have to act cheerful because by now we've worked together for years and I might have felt comfortable enough to share with them that I'm experiencing a rough patch.
That's what it would mean, to me personally, to be recognized as bi/poly. That's what it would mean, to me personally, to no longer "hide who I am." I don't define my entire self by my sexual orientation or relationship proclivities, and I sure as hell don't plan to be wearing T-shirts proclaiming either one to the world; I'm just tired of the continual, gentle, smothering pressure of flying in under the radar. I know it's not comparable to a lot of what other people face-transsexuals, POC, those who live in less tolerant places or with less understanding families, those who can't marry their partners as I married one of mine-but it wears on me a little. Maybe more than a little these days. I don't know.
Sometimes I feel like I don't know anything.
Still going to post an Entry of Positivity, I promise. This kind of snuck up on me.
I guess I don't talk about actual issues much; I'm kind of apolitical, insofar as I follow political issues about which I have opinions, occasionally strong ones, but generally say nothing and do nothing. I'm aware of the problems inherent in this stance (although it always reminds me of the Vote or Die episode of South Park, which tends to remove a portion of the gravitas when reflecting on said problems), but I suppose I follow the philosophy in the rest of my life as well. I watch rather than become involved. I observe and collate and only speak if I really think I'll be heard and listened to and, above all, properly comprehended as saying what I mean to say. While I like to think as much as the next person that I'm right a majority of the time, I'm not usually looking for other people to validate that when I talk-I'm looking for understanding of my position on the part of the other party, even if disagreement still exists. As difficult as I've often found this to be, I don't talk to people much unless I know them well enough to be comfortable with the possibility that they'll misunderstand and to be sure they'll ask for clarification. Yet, here I am, weighing in on an issue using my own experience as a backing, something I generally abhor doing. Please bear with me; my brain is demanding it, and it's not taking no for an answer.
I'm aware that I'm approaching this from a place of privilege; I'm a white cis-female, and I can fairly easily pass for straight because I'm married to a man, which frees me from a lot of the difficulties other people still deal with. I guess I feel moved to talk about this because it's no longer as much of an issue in my life. When I talk about my roommate now, I actually mean my roommate, not my girlfriend.
I haven't gotten a lot of outright derision or slander on the basis of liking girls; before I learned to be discreet about it, the worst I tended to get was general dismissal, such as being told it was a phase or that I hadn't met the right man yet, or the unwanted and discomfiting attention of guys who thought I was performing for their interest. I've been fortunate enough to live in a fairly liberal town, in a fairly liberal (on this issue, at least) state, and to have a family who have been, on the whole, reasonably accepting. Homophobia hasn't touched me much. I guess most of what it's been about for me has been that little bit of continual falsehood.
I didn't tell my mother about being bi initially. She's always kind of meant well, but I could tell she wouldn't like to hear it, so she didn't know. She accidentally found out when she cornered my stepdad to find out from him where I was going every Wednesday evening of my senior year, and he copped to the fact that I was attending the local GLBTA group. When she became extremely upset about the issue, I fled the house and didn't come back for hours, seeking refuge at a friend's house until things (and I) calmed down. Later I discovered something that was somehow objectively worse than her freaking out because I was bi: she had evidently become upset because I was supporting those of differing orientations, and only discovered I was among them-which hadn't even occurred to her as a possible reason why I would be attending a group like that-because of my stepfather's well-meaning attempts to reason with her after he thought he'd already outed me. While she's since come to terms with it, and expressed to me a couple of years later that while she'd "prefer" I bring home a nice boy, she'd do her best to be welcoming and loving if I brought home a nice girl, she followed that up with the statement, "And at least I'll have a fifty-fifty chance," which… yeah. More things I didn't discuss with her for more years after that.
But after a while, I found Jeremy and Renee, and things inexplicably settled down. Mom somehow went back to not knowing, a kind of happy, active denial that focused on my actual relationship with an actual male and sidelined the other aspects of its nature, and no one else really said much to me about it, except for my Aunt Beth (who is a person of inestimable, fantastic quality); Renee was "one of the family" by virtue of being counted among us sisters, without any real acknowledgement of why, and I suspect each member of the family probably had a different assumption anyway. After Renee left there were a few years of just being with Jeremy, and they were good. Adara didn't come into things until my family had mellowed out just about as much as I think they're ever going to, and there wasn't really any other direction from which I was getting flak any longer. Even when I worked security, it was such a solitary job that I usually only interacted on a better-than-superficial basis with the people I wanted to see. I think it didn't really become something I noticed until I got a job with my current company.
You know how people casually talk about the people they know, and refer to them by relationship titles? "My sister told me this story," or "My husband was so sweet to me today," or "A friend of mine is going on vacation this week." I've got the same reflex as everyone, and suddenly I was tripping on it. All the discretion I had to develop in high school to avoid being dismissed or becoming the target of unfavorable attention instantly reasserted itself, and I found myself referring to Adara as my roommate despite that, in all ways, she was my partner as much as Jeremy. I even found myself overemphasizing the fact that I'm married. At first it was difficult, and I talked little about my personal life anyway, but it gradually got easier to keep editing things so that nobody I work with might know I had a girlfriend. Even now I'm not really sure whether it's more the polyamory or more the bisexuality that I've been hiding, but regardless, I don't feel safe letting my coworkers find out that my relationship has ever been anything other than heterosexually monogamous. I've always told myself it's because it's a conversation I just don't want to have in that setting, but lately it's been getting to me.
My team lead, horrendous misogynist that he was, was at first a pretty good reason to keep it on the DL. With his conservative attitudes towards everything ever, alongside his derogatory attitude towards women, I didn't really want to find out what he'd think of my relationship, and I didn't want it to affect how I was treated at work. Now, though, even after he's been gone a little while, I haven't come out to my remaining (female) coworkers, either. I keep wondering if they'll look at me differently, and how. I like this job and I don't want it to get weird. Even now, with my relationship having returned to heterosexual monogamy for the moment, I talk about Adara as though she's always been just my roommate. It made me realize how much I do the same thing in other places, places where I hadn't realized I've been doing it because it's just something I do without thinking: in front of my mother even though she knows, to avoid making her the little sliver of uncomfortable I can tell she still is; in front of my grandparents because they still don't know and I don't want to upset them; in front of my father because he's always been fundamentalist Christian and I really don't need a lecture from someone who hasn't been in my life for most of twenty years; when meeting someone and being introduced alongside Adara. Pretty much everywhere except with very close friends, sisters, and a few select other family members.
That is, of course, the issue. I see so much in the media about how homosexuals are struggling to be recognized, and how even those who ostensibly support them refer to it as having homosexuality "shoved down [their] throats"-who talk about how homosexuals shouldn't "flaunt" it, and if everyone would just shut up and never bring it up, everyone could totally live and let live because after all, heterosexuals don't make a big deal out of it. I look at that from my protected little corner of existence, and all I can think of is that sometimes, when a conversation has just passed at work where I downplayed my relationship with Adara in order to keep the peace just as these people suggest, I wistfully wish I could just do what most people do without thinking: tell the truth. I wish I could say "my girlfriend" without wondering if my coworkers' internal conceptualization of me as an entire person will change. I don't want to flaunt anything. I just want to speak freely of the woman I love as someone I love, as a relationship that matters enough to me to be more than just roommates or friends, the way that any heterosexual person could casually mention their spouse or significant other. I want to have the same expectation that no one will bat an eye when I do so. I want to put pictures of my girlfriend in my cubicle alongside the pictures of my husband without having to lie when someone asks me who she is. I don't want to have to explain to another person that no, my orientation and relationship format aren't all about sex, because gods know I don't really have sex at all, and yet I'm still in love. I don't fall in love easily, or out of love at all.
I don't even have a girlfriend anymore now. I'm not over it and I'm not sure when I will be; there are ways in which I'm not over Renee, so maybe the answer is never. I don't seem to be able to hold the interest of a girl for the long term, so it may not matter again. If Jeremy and I never have another girlfriend, I'll be grateful we have each other; I don't feel like we need a third person to have a fulfilling relationship. But it's always been the way we've felt the most whole, so I guess I hope it could happen again someday, and maybe last that time. My self-esteem isn't awesome just now and I don't really have a lot of optimism. But either way, whether it happens or it doesn't, I don't want to have to edit it out anymore. Right now, I really just wish the most that I could talk about my breakup, maybe get support from some of the coworkers/ex-coworkers I tentatively consider friends, maybe not have to act cheerful because by now we've worked together for years and I might have felt comfortable enough to share with them that I'm experiencing a rough patch.
That's what it would mean, to me personally, to be recognized as bi/poly. That's what it would mean, to me personally, to no longer "hide who I am." I don't define my entire self by my sexual orientation or relationship proclivities, and I sure as hell don't plan to be wearing T-shirts proclaiming either one to the world; I'm just tired of the continual, gentle, smothering pressure of flying in under the radar. I know it's not comparable to a lot of what other people face-transsexuals, POC, those who live in less tolerant places or with less understanding families, those who can't marry their partners as I married one of mine-but it wears on me a little. Maybe more than a little these days. I don't know.
Sometimes I feel like I don't know anything.
Still going to post an Entry of Positivity, I promise. This kind of snuck up on me.