I’ve written before about how coming out is never one moment, it’s a continual process in a world where straight is still the default. (A slight aside here, today I accompanied a client to the doctor’s and was asked if I was a friend or partner in a situation that would not have been read as heterosexual. That felt good even though I was the support worker.)
Sometimes coming out is fun, it’s a bonding moment; either ‘yes, you were right about me, we’re Family’ or ‘surprise, I’m queer too’.
Sometimes it’s a defensive reflex; ‘do not come on to me, I am super gay’
Sometimes it’s a clarifying moment; ‘yeah my partner is a woman.’
Sometimes it’s nerve-wracking because you’re not certain how the other people will react. Lately I’ve felt the nerve-wracking rise again though not to the levels it used to be in my teen years and early twenties.
But there’s always the moment, which is sometimes the precursor to coming out, of deciding whether to do so or not because sometimes I get to sit in my privilege of not always being easy to clock. It’s a femme thing, gay girl stereotypes pervade and sometimes I’ll take advantage of that because it’s easier and play the dumb pronoun game of refusing to gender my partner.
I haven’t been in a situation where I’ve needed to lie in a very long time and I’m grateful for it. But I look at the rise of intolerance, the terrible inevitable pushback against the freedoms of women, the quiltbag et al.
Whilst I still can then:
Hi, the name’s Mish, I’m bisexual, my relationships are poly and my sex life tends towards the kinky.