By Anna Baker

As a wide-eyed preteen, I was totally unaware of the huge journey of self-discovery that awaited me. I didn’t think about my sexuality: it didn’t seem like something that needed thinking about. I had great friends and loved school. I had crushes on boys in my class. I had crushes on girls, too, but I didn’t give it a second thought.

But, ah, secondary school. The popular kids would use the word ‘gay’ as an insult. “You don’t like 1D? That’s so gay. You’re so gay.” Suddenly, it seemed to matter who I was attracted to. I became aware that liking girls was actually a thing. There was a word for people like me, and it didn’t sound like a good thing.

Sitting in a French lesson daydreaming, with no idea I could like both boys and girls, I realised that my crushes on girls must make me gay, this insulting word that I kept hearing thrown around. I thought I was the only person in my whole year feeling this way. Everyone else was ‘normal’; they only liked boys. I started trying to convince myself that I didn’t actually like girls. It was all fine – just a phase!

When these feelings didn’t fade, I decided that it must be my attraction to boys that was fake. I thought it was just wishful thinking in my struggle to accept my identity. The next of my teenage years were spent trying to make peace with this. Yet I never did feel at ease with being a lesbian, and I couldn’t figure out why.

I learned that some of my friends identified as bisexual and wondered if this label could fit me, too. On Instagram, where I went to find out more, I discovered a plethora of biphobic media: bisexuals were just in denial; those who ‘couldn’t pick a side’ (I’m looking at you, Carrie from Sex in the City). They were either straight people looking for attention or gay people who just weren’t ready to admit who they were.

Now, it’s so completely valid to go from identifying as bisexual to gay, straight or anything else. I only applaud those who share their truth and journey of identity so openly. But what I found difficult was the fact that bisexuality was only ever presented as this liminal phase, a space of transition between two identities. Not something one could wholly and firmly exist in. And so my confusion continued.

I met my partner amid this turbulence. I was only fifteen. We laughed together. He was kind; he made me feel seen. I thought it was just the attention I liked, but something kept pulling me back to him. We started dating. I was terrified: it was my first proper relationship. I told myself it didn’t matter if we broke up since I was probably gay anyway. But we kept dating and things got serious. He made me feel loved and happy and calm. I wanted to be with him all the time. Yet my identity crisis STILL didn’t ease. I couldn’t trust my own feelings towards him.

It took me a long, long time into our relationship to wholeheartedly accept the fact that, truly, I was bisexual. I was always waiting for something to go wrong, for something to click and for me to finally realise that I had been straight the whole time or that I was really a lesbian and would have to leave my relationship. Neither of these things happened. My attraction to women did not fade whilst my partner and I were dating. My attraction to men did not leave when I tried to dismiss them. I realised what I was chasing all these years, in trying to prove to myself that I was either gay or straight, was certainty. It was only when I embraced the absolute uncertainty of sexuality, love and attraction that I could fully lean into who I was: someone who likes all sorts of different people.

So, I am a proud AF bisexual. And if that ever changes? That’s totally fine. What is not fine is the biphobic narrative that it’s impossible to like more than one gender. Thankfully, this attitude is starting to change, with more figures owning their bisexual identity and many owning their right to not need a label at all. I absolutely applaud anyone who shares their story: every journey is precious and valid. By sharing my story, I hope to provide comfort to anyone going through the same turmoil. There are so many things you can be. You are valid, and that’s enough.