I’m now forty years old and identifying as bisexual. While many people in my life may not be aware of this aspect of me, their opinions don’t concern me. I am happily married to a man for nearly fifteen years, and together we have three wonderful kids, a cozy home, and a minivan. To onlookers, I might seem typical, with the only standout features being my enormous German Shepherd and a detailed memorial sticker for a character from The Magicians who also identifies as bi. However, beneath the surface of suburban life, there’s more to my story—I am attracted to both men and women.
It wasn’t until my mid-thirties that I truly recognized my bisexuality. As a teenager, I had no clear understanding of what being bisexual meant. I was aware of the term, but during my high school years in the late ’90s, I faced relentless bullying. When peers labeled me as “lezzy,” it felt like a mark of shame, something ugly and wrong. The thought of having feelings for girls was completely out of reach for me, as I had internalized so much homophobia. Even during college, when I jokingly kissed girls, I dismissed any genuine feelings I might have had.
I pushed everything down, longing for someone to be like an older sister to me, not realizing that I wanted something more. Now, looking back, I can see the signs clearly.
Crushes on Women I Didn’t Recognize
It’s bittersweet to reflect on my past crushes on women that I never acknowledged. I remember an older girl who patiently taught me to ride horses. I was infatuated with her, but I convinced myself that I just wanted her as a big sister. Another crush was on my college roommate. I thought I simply wanted to be closer friends with these girls, not recognizing that I desired to kiss them.
When I think about it, I feel a twinge of sadness—not necessarily for those specific relationships, but for all the missed connections. I wonder about the English girl I never approached or the stunning redhead who might have reciprocated my feelings. Most painfully, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never know what it feels like to be in a romantic relationship with a woman. I can imagine sharing clothes and makeup, but I’ll never discover if I would make a good girlfriend to someone of the same sex.
It’s Okay to Feel Sad
This realization doesn’t stem from a longing to have had numerous romantic encounters with women. Rather, it highlights a deeper sorrow about not fully knowing myself. I will never experience what it’s like to be in a fulfilling same-sex relationship. While I acknowledge that I’m bi and recognize bisexuality as a valid identity, I often feel invisible. My life choices—being in a heterosexual marriage and raising children—sometimes make me question my right to feel this sense of loss.
Yet, I remind myself that my internalized homophobia shaped my decisions. If I had recognized my bisexuality earlier, perhaps I would have made different choices. Regardless, I am here now, openly identifying as bi even within my marriage. My marriage doesn’t erase my identity; it simply means I found happiness in a different form.
It’s natural to feel sorrow for what could have been, but I’m choosing to move forward from this place of mourning. I can embrace my identity and the journey I have ahead.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, a forty-year-old woman shares her journey of recognizing her bisexuality only after marriage. Despite being in a happy heterosexual relationship, she mourns the missed opportunities to explore her attractions to women. The author emphasizes that acknowledging her identity is important, even if she feels erased by societal norms. Ultimately, she encourages others to embrace their identities and to be open about their experiences.