My story of discovering that I am not, in fact, heterosexual and am actually bi does not represent the entire spectrum of biromantic and bisexual people. If it did, that’d be kind of ridiculous, don’t you think? One person’s story is never representative of all the possible situations that could be faced by people of various sexualities or gender identities. Generalizations and stereotypes are dangerous, and they can start when people take one person’s story as the fact for all people who identify under the same labels.

That being said, let’s get ahead of any issues before I start, alright? Of the vast majority of bisexual and biromantic people in the world, I probably represent a very, very small margin of them. I am a white, cisgender, bisexual woman.

Not only that, but I am also younger and am often surrounded by friends who are very progressive in their ideals and mindsets. My experiences do not and cannot be representative of any struggles and opposition faced by bi people of color, bi transgender people, bi men, bi nonbinary people, any combination of those, or any that I may not have mentioned.

But what exactly is bisexuality, and what does it mean?

There are varying definitions about bisexuality, and even some discourse. In fact, definitions of the same sexuality can even vary from person to person who use it, especially when there are many sexualities with similar definitions. It can get hard (and a little annoying) to play a game of spot the difference. The most common definition I’ve heard (and the one I use personally) is that bisexuality is the attraction to two or more genders.

But Jack, someone might ask, isn’t that pansexuality? Oh, sweet someone. No. No, it is not. While the definitions used are very similar—the most common definition of pansexuality I’ve heard being an attraction to all genders or regardless of gender—they are two very separate labels that are often used interchangeably, irrespective of whether they should be used interchangeably (not every bi or pan individual is going to use the labels interchangeably, so it’s probably best if you don’t either). Ultimately, it’s down to the individual person to define their bisexuality.

But Jack, sweet someone might call out again, bi means two. So, don’t people who identify bi only feel attraction to the two binary genders? Sweet, sweet someone. I’m glad you asked so that we can throw this misconception out the window. Originally, bisexual was a medical term coined by doctors to mean “having both sexes” and later evolved to mean “a person attracted to both sexes” and has evolved again to its current meaning of “attraction to two or more genders” because we have grown to better understand that there are genders outside of the binary that exist and should be respected as well.

Being bisexual doesn’t mean you must hold an attraction to all of these genders that exist; it just means that someone who is bisexual has sexual attraction to at least two of the many genders. This is where the whole “bi means two” applies in most definitions of bisexuality today.

Unfortunately, there are people—both inside and outside the LGBTQ+ community—who don’t understand the label and even alienate those who identify under it by pressuring them to “pick a side”. It creates a general feeling of an unsafe environment, and is one of the reasons that a lot of people who personally identify bisexual or with its definition shy away from the label, and the alienation isn’t an issue just experienced by bisexual people.

It’s an issue for pansexual people, for demisexual people, for asexual people. So, basically, if someone you know and love comes to you and tells you, “Hey dear loved one, I’m bisexual,” you should smile, nod, and just say “okay” and move on with conversation because nothing has changed. Eternally support them, love them, let them talk to you, and don’t ever question their sexuality. Trust me, they do it plenty on their own.

Alright, now that we’ve addressed that, let’s get down to business (not to defeat the Huns, unfortunately).

I wasn’t one of those kids that knew that I wasn’t straight when I was young. In fact, one of my biggest personality traits is probably the fact that I’m extremely oblivious. I can sound insanely smart and insanely stupid in the same sentence because of it. It’s a significant factor in why I didn’t recognize sooner that hey, these are some pretty non-platonic feelings you’re feeling there, buddy.

If I were to look back on my life now and trace my realization of being bisexual back, I think I’d have to say that I first started to take a more serious look at the possibility of me not being straight around the same time that the LGBTQ+ community had a huge victory with the legalization of gay marriage.

I distinctly remember having a conversation with my mom about it. We had been in my parents’ bedroom, I don’t really remember why, and the news had been on. It started covering the Supreme Court decision on same-sex marriage. I remember smiling and turning to my mom because I honestly didn’t understand why same-sex marriage was even an issue in the first place. I thought it was great news, but I couldn’t read her expression and so I asked how she felt about it.

My mom, a Christian woman, told me that she believes marriage to strictly be between a man and a woman. I remember now that she had qualified her statement, but at the time I had only focused on the first part of what she had said and what that meant. Seventeen-year-old me was hurt and angry and didn’t understand why my mom thought like that.

But it was this conversation with my mom that first sparked my questioning of my own identity. Why had I felt so hurt when my mom had said what she believed? Was it just because I had friends who were LGBTQ+? What would she do if one of her children fell in love with a person of the same gender and wanted to get married to them? Would she object? Would she change her views?

If she didn’t change her views, would she even want to attend a same-sex wedding? I started to put myself in a theoretical position where I fell in love with another woman. I can’t imagine getting married and not having my mom at my wedding. It didn’t even occur to me that I had been theorizing myself in the situation until much later—two years, in fact—when my friends started to take notice and ask questions.

Their questioning started more as a joke. I had always been that one nerdy chick friend that was “one of the guys” and so it had just started off as a joke one night when we were hanging out and playing Dungeons & Dragons (yes, I am that nerd) when one of them asked if I was sure I was straight. I had been gushing about Jessica Nigri, one of my favorite cosplayers (Google her, she is gorgeous and does amazing cosplays) and showing them some of my favorite cosplays of hers. I had to pause to think before I could answer honestly: no, I wasn’t so sure.

From then on it became a sort of running gag amongst them to ask if I was sure of my sexuality anytime Jessica Nigri, or anime, or anything that could remotely raise the question entered the conversation. While it may have been amusing for them to poke fun and joke, for me it was a very serious question that had flitted through my mind before and I wanted a concrete answer to.

But there wasn’t anyone I could ask. No one could tell me what my sexuality was—no one except myself.

I had to ask myself. I was the only one who held the answer. No, I wasn’t straight, and the thought of continuing to label myself as such made me feel like I was lying with the way it twisted in my gut. Was I a lesbian then? No, that didn’t fit right either. I knew I was attracted to men. I was already sure of that much, but I was attracted to women too. And then it hit me, what personally fit me: bisexual. I was bisexual.

So, there I was, nineteen and just realizing that I was bi. With that realization in mind, a lot of things that happened to me that had confused me at the time made a hell of a lot more sense. But there was this sense of calm that came over me with the realization. Every part of me that had felt malcontent was suddenly settled, every nerve like a live wire sparking to life. It wasn’t shocking by any means, just a feeling in my gut saying this is it, this is right. I didn’t have much issue with telling my friends. It hadn’t come as much of a surprise to most of them.

Not everyone was so easy to tell though. My family, in particular, is difficult for me to gauge how they might respond, especially my parents. I never made the conscious decision to hide my sexuality though. Instead, I approached it much like I’d approach any aspect of myself: nonchalantly.

I didn’t bite back any jokes I could make in reference to it, and whenever my younger brother made a comment about how I “couldn’t get a boyfriend,” I’d tell him something that heavily suggested that I wasn’t just looking at the opposite sex. I even made my Xbox gamer tag in reference to my sexuality. Maybe I’m a little more flamboyant about it than I think I am, but I can’t bring myself to care too much about that. I’m proud as hell and pretty damn confident in my sexuality.

It's almost been a year since I realized this single important part of my identity, but it feels like this knowledge has been present for years. Maybe that’s a trait of things that just fit, that feel like it was built with you specifically in mind. I feel better than I have in a long time, and I know that I can credit a large part of the reason why to just getting to know myself better.

I know that there might be some tougher situations to deal with in the future than I’ve ever dealt with before, and I know that not everything is so great right now. Not everyone I’ll encounter will be as understanding or as accepting as several people in my life have been.

But I know who I am. I'm bisexual and that's okay. I know a very integral part of my identity, and I know that no one can take that from me. All I can do is continue to know who I am, take comfort in it, and help others understand just a little bit better. Because once people understand, even just a little bit, things are a lot less scary than they were.