I understand this topic can be difficult for many and can rouse heated emotions. I want to share with you my interactions with my daughter, but please know that the things I asked and the conversations we had were never in any way meant to be judgmental or dissuade her from who she is. The questions I asked were an honest attempt to understand and be a part of her journey.
When Hannah was 9, my grandmother passed away. Our family made the trip to New York to be there for the funeral. While there, my kids got to meet my mother’s side of the family for the first time. I have two cousins who are lesbians and in committed loving relationships. In her attempt to understand a relationship she’d never experienced before, my daughter asked us, “So, who…who’s the…like…who’s the dad?” I know this sounds bad. I’ve seen the Buzzfeed lists of the worst things gay and lesbian couples have been asked and that ranks right up at the top. But this was a child, my child, and I knew she struggled with a need to classify and quantify new things. In essence, she was looking at this from her own vantage point. Her dad was her safety. She always panicked when he was on a business trip and thought we wouldn’t be “safe” until he returned. Her question had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how the relationship itself functioned. We told her that while there was no man in the relationship, they made each other feel safe. She asked a few follow up questions and we reassured her that they were in love, and they were safe. She was satisfied and it didn’t come up again.
Hannah told us a few years ago, I think at the age of 15, that she is bisexual. I took it with a grain of salt. I have no problem with it, but she also never showed any romantic interest in either sex, so I figured she really couldn’t know what she was. Okay, I can hear your eyes rolling from here. I didn’t shoot her down, I didn’t tell her she couldn’t know, I said, “Okay, honey.” And that was it.
As she got older, I started noticing how I phrased things when talking with friends, with Hannah’s permission, of course. I realized I would say it like, “Hannah says she’s bi.” And I knew how horrible that must sound. (For those of you that don’t see anything wrong with my words, it’s the use of says. It implies she isn’t bisexual and only claiming to be. Not cool.) I had questions and decided to take them to Hannah.
I told her what I was saying and why. She’d never had a love interest, male or female, so how did she know for sure? I knew the question was wrong, but as her mother I just wanted to understand. She got it, she knew I wasn’t trying to change her mind or belittle her; I was trying to understand her experience.
During the conversation, Hannah asked me if I could ever “be” with a woman. I had to clarify her question, but ultimately if I wasn’t married and found a woman I had feelings for, yes I could see myself with a woman.
She told me, “Mom, you’re bi.”
Could this really be the definition? How can just being okay with the idea of having feelings for someone, being open to the possibility of sex with them (given the right circumstances) give you that label? It seemed too easy, too broad a definition.
As you can imagine it was a lively conversation full of laughter and teasing. I have no trouble saying she is bi now, but I’m still on the fence about myself. 😉
P.S. Through various conversations it seems that people feel very strongly about how sexual identifiers are defined, but that it may differ generationally. While people from my era and older tend to think you have to actually experience sex with (or actively seek out sex with) someone of the same sex to be called gay or bi, people of the younger generations use a definition closer to that of my daughter. But of course, that has just been my experience.
Rebecca Lamprey 