As a teenager, I plastered the walls of my room with images of a certain actress. My obsession was so intense that it resembled a shrine. I told my controlling mother it was admiration for her talent, but really, I just thought she was stunning. My crush on Angelina Jolie was undeniable. At night, I would sneak into my room to watch HBO, indulging in shows that explored the topics no one at home dared to discuss. “Gia” was my go-to, while “If These Walls Could Talk Two” captivated me with its raw portrayal of love between women. And “Real Sex” opened my eyes to a world of intimacy that felt forbidden.
The first time I kissed a girl, Rebecca Mayfield, during a high school dare, I tried to brush it off as a joke. But it was electric—her lips were soft, and I found myself longing for more opportunities to explore this side of myself. Yet, I opted for awkward dates with boys instead, masking my true feelings. It was easier to navigate that familiar discomfort than to confront my attraction to girls.
When I headed to college, I anticipated a fresh start and a chance to dive into the LGBTQ+ scene. But three months in, I met a guy named Jake, who would become my first husband. We shared a love for theater, and our relationship felt easy. Yet, my attraction to women lingered, and I couldn’t help but indulge in drunken makeouts with girls at parties, a secret I thought I could keep hidden.
Things took a turn when I returned home to visit my family. I had dyed my hair red and put on a few extra pounds—changes that my mother, who had long controlled my appearance, couldn’t handle. We had a tense conversation over dinner, and when my siblings brought up sexuality, my mother overheard. What followed was a storm of insults and verbal assaults, with her calling me names and accusing me of being a negative influence. After that explosive encounter, I moved in with my dad, and my reckless behavior spiraled out of control.
During a Halloween party, fueled by tequila, I had my first intimate encounter with a woman named Sarah. It was exhilarating but complicated since I was still with Jake. He struggled to reconcile his feelings about my attractions, leading to a tumultuous end to our relationship after over a decade together.
In my early 30s, post-divorce, I faced a new chapter of self-discovery. I was drawn to both men and women but felt paralyzed by the fear instilled in me by my mother. Despite finding a supportive partner, I still hesitated to fully embrace my bisexuality. The emotional scars from my upbringing lingered, creating barriers to my true self.
Though I continue to maintain boundaries with my mother, I still feel her presence—her criticisms echoing in my mind. I have yet to officially come out to anyone beyond a select few, and the silence is deafening. Yet, with my husband’s support, I recognize that sexuality is fluid and deserves to be celebrated. It’s a hopeful beginning, even if I’m not entirely free yet.
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Summary: The author recounts the struggles of navigating their bisexual identity while dealing with the trauma of a controlling and unstable mother. Despite moments of self-discovery and support from a partner, fear of judgment and rejection continues to hold them back from fully embracing their true self.