It's Not a Phase, Mom

Jamie Clarke | He/Him

Ever since my childhood obsession with Kim Possible, it has been painfully obvious to everyone that I am Not Straight. Well, to everyone except me. Have you ever been the last person to find out about something, and then you feel so fucking dumb for taking so long to figure it out? That was me, realising that I identify as bisexual at the grand old age of 20. 

I have always been the stereotypically ‘gay’ girl. Apart from a regretful skinny jeans phase, my style has always been typically ‘masculine’. I distinctly remember arguments with my mum as a child, where I would scream whenever she would try to put me in a dress, or put bows in my hair. I was often made fun of (mainly by younger, Masculine™ boys) for being the only girl in my highschool to wear pants instead of a skirt, after proudly fighting for such a right for over two years. I’m sure, in part, my assertion to myself and others that I was, in fact, straight was an act of defiance against everyone who made such assumptions about me. Style and expression should never be used to make assumptions or comments surrounding a person’s sexual orientation or gender identity. 

It may surprise some of my ex-classmates that my preference for patterned shirts and cuffed jeans isn’t actually the reason I want to fuck girls. Even though these predictions about my sexuality did turn out to be, in part, true, that doesn’t justify such comments and biased opinions. Sorry, my substitute chemistry teacher, but I’m not going to applaud you for loudly whispering to your coworkers that my female best friend and I were dating (we weren’t). But, on reflection, it is fun to find humour in how overtly ‘gay’ I have appeared to others in contrast with my own ignorance to my bisexuality until this year. 

My clothing choices aside, I still do often wonder how, and why, it took me two decades to figure this out. My bisexual awakening—which I guess is what we’re calling it now—began in a way that I’m sure many of us can relate to: playing Minecraft. No, I’m not horny for Minecraft Steve and Alex, although there’s definitely porn for that if that’s what you’re into. Rather, my (also bi) boyfriend and I were 3 hours into a mapping mission like the cool kids we are, when I made a throwaway comment about loving Kim Possible as a kid. Multiple hours, and lots of tears and revelations later, we were excitedly bonding over bisexual memes on Reddit. Apparently, when straight girls are growing up they don’t usually wank off to pictures of Ruby Rose? Wild, I know. 

Questioning your sexuality is definitely a scary time, and learning to accept this new part of you can be really difficult. I’ve often gone from panicking that I’m actually just straight, to stressing that I’m secretly a lesbian, all within the space of 24 hours, on multiple ocassions. But, despite this stress, all I know for certain is saying I’m bi feels more ‘me’ than anything else. For people like me who are attracted to multiple genders, the nature of our sexual orientation often lends itself to having a constant crisis about whether our identity is valid. 

This is made even more difficult with bi erasure still being so prevalent even within the Queer community. I think this anxiety of ‘faking it’ is definitely a major reason why people like myself can take so long to start questioning their own sexuality. I have certainly begun to question my identity multiple times before, but always managed to shut myself down due to my attraction to men. Rather than this being due to any internalised homophobia, I believe this was more to do with feeling like I wasn’t bi enough to actually be bi. My sexual experiences with anyone besides straight, cis men were non-existent in my teenage years. So whenever I began to question whether I myself wasn’t straight, I felt like I was lying to myself. “Vagina’s are scary!” I had proclaimed multiple times prior to my self acceptance as a bisexual woman. As my boyfriend rightfully pointed out, dicks are scary, too. 

I’d be lying if I said that privilege doesn't play a major part in my personal experience with discovering my sexuality. I’m a white, cisgender woman with very supportive family and friends, and when I realised I was bisexual I never had to worry about being accepted for who I am. Because of my privilege, I will never have to worry about losing my job, home, or even my life simply because of my place in the LGBTQ+ community. It’s so easy for me to sit here and write about discovering my sexuality, for the entire university and beyond to be able to read about. While coming out to myself and others in adulthood has been something I am able to enjoy and laugh about, I understand that many people have no choice but to remain in the closet for a long time simply because being themselves is too dangerous. No one deserves to be made to feel like they have to hide who they are. 

Recently, with the support of those around me, I’ve gone from being rather afraid of my sexuality to embracing it. From cutting my hair really short, to my boyfriend and I *ahem* hanging out with a friend, I've been like an excitable kid in a lolly store, discovering an entirely new world for the first time. However, just as I thought I was straight 6 months ago, I don’t know for certain if I will identify as bi forever. Sexuality is a spectrum, and I’m still not exactly sure where I fall within it. But, I think that’s kind of besides the point. While I, and many other queer people, find the use of labels to describe ourselves helpful and liberating, no one owes anybody an explanation of their gender or sexuality. We should be able explore who we are, and who (or whether) we want to fuck and love, at any stage of our lives. 

I think moving away to university has provided myself, and many others, a valuable opportunity to figure out who we are—whether that’s regarding our sexuality, gender, or just what flavour of scrumpy is best (spoiler: it’s none of them). After all, what’s uni for if not for a bit of sexual experimentation while high as shit? Sorry to all the parents out there reading this, but your daughter probably isn’t studying an Arts major at Vic for the career opportunities. Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything, Dad.