InclusionEmbracing My Queer Identity in a Heteronormative World
I’m married to a man, yet I yearn for visibility and acceptance within the LGBTQ+ community.
“Are you making new friends at daycare?” I asked my daughter, Lily, while pouring her a glass of milk. I casually mentioned a classmate, “Like… Jamie?” I pretended to focus on the milk carton, trying to act as if it didn’t matter.
Earlier that week, while browsing the daycare class email list, I noticed something intriguing: “Sara — Jamie’s Mom” and “Tina — Jamie’s Mom.” Another queer family! Excitement bubbled within me.
As a bisexual woman in a straight-passing relationship, it’s often easier for others to assume my sexuality is straight. In fact, it’s almost always assumed. Rarely do I introduce myself by saying, “Hi, I’m Lily’s mom, the one with the sparkly shoes. By the way, I’m attracted to women too!”
Initially, it didn’t bother me, but over time, I felt the weight of not being my true self around other parents. Straight parents think I’m straight, while queer parents assume I’m… also straight. It became exhausting, and I started to feel like an imposter.
I craved a connection with fellow queer parents. We share a unique understanding, forged through the awkwardness of hiding in high school or nervously coming out to family. I longed for recognition of my queerness, no matter how others responded. The dream of being part of this community was too alluring to ignore; I wanted to forge genuine emotional connections and truly be myself.
In the past, I felt a wave of relief when I came out to new LGBTQ+ friends. Watching their eyes light up upon realizing our shared connection was exhilarating. I yearned for that recognition from the families around me.
However, encounters with LGBTQ+ parents have been few and far between. Once, I met a dad who proudly declared, “I’m gay!” only for me to realize he meant “I’m Dave.” There were a couple of moms at a pool party and another pair at daycare, but I struggled to communicate my identity to them, leaving me feeling like an outsider.
Then, I saw Sara and Tina on the class list, and a flicker of hope ignited within me. I didn’t know them, but the prospect of finding community filled me with excitement. I wondered, what if we became friends, and I could be my authentic self around them?
But Lily’s response was a letdown—she wasn’t friends with Jamie. It was probably for the best. How would I even approach them? “Hi, I noticed you’re a lesbian. I have exciting news!” One day, as we walked home, Lily remarked, “Jamie has two mommies!”
“Wow!” I exclaimed, trying to sound casual but transforming the moment into an after-school special. “Isn’t that wonderful? Families come in all shapes and sizes!” My enthusiasm must have been overwhelming, as Lily then asked, “Mom? You forgot to give me water today.”
So, maybe I overdid the Pride lesson. But soon, Lily and Jamie became friends, thanks to their mutual love for unicorns, and they wanted a playdate.
A week later, I stood nervously outside Jamie’s door, my phone clicking in my pocket as Lily held my hand. When the door opened, my nerves calmed. I’d never met Sara, but we shared an unspoken bond. “Come in!” she said, and the girls dashed off to play.
Sara mentioned that Tina was upstairs, and when she referred to “my wife,” I felt an unexpected pang of jealousy. It seemed so effortless for her to be openly queer, and I wished for something that instantly conveyed my identity.
I understood the challenges they faced—being married to a man shielded me from the scrutiny that same-sex couples often endure. I didn’t have to worry about what others thought when they saw “Lily’s Mom” listed twice. I didn’t fear disapproving glances in public or concern over my family’s acceptance. Sara and Tina carried burdens I could never truly understand.
But I too carried the weight of hiding in plain sight, and I was ready for a change.
A week later, at the playground, my husband, Mark, and I chatted with Tina as we watched the girls play. I couldn’t help but wonder how she perceived us—just another typical straight couple. Our lives felt so different: I worked in television, while they were in accounting.
I pondered how to subtly share my identity in conversation. Finally, I asked, “Do you go to any shows? Like, for example, comedy shows?” Tina replied she hadn’t attended any recently. Undeterred, I pressed on, “I actually perform in an LGBTQ+ improv show!”
I felt like I was waving a giant flag that said, “I’M QUEER!” But Tina’s eyes lit up with recognition. “You’re one of us!”
I didn’t know what to expect after coming out to Tina. Maybe we’d bond over shared experiences at Pride or sit together at the next Drag Queen Storytime. Instead, we remained friendly acquaintances, simply two moms with daughters in the same daycare. Yet, there was an unspoken understanding between us.
Just like my overly enthusiastic Pride lesson with Lily, I might have set my expectations too high for this friendship. But knowing that Sara and Tina recognized me for who I was brought a sense of relief. I could finally relax, feeling embraced by the community I had longed to be part of.
Summary:
Finding my place in the LGBTQ+ community as a bisexual mom has been a journey of longing for connection and recognition. Despite being married to a man, I yearn for the acceptance and understanding that comes from fellow queer parents. Encounters with LGBTQ+ families have been rare, but when I finally met Sara and Tina, I felt a glimmer of hope. My desire to share my identity led to moments of joy and acceptance, ultimately allowing me to embrace who I am without fear of hiding.
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