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As a 40-year-old, I’m finally acknowledging my bisexuality. Many who know me are unaware of this part of my identity, but if it bothers them, they aren’t worth my concern. They wouldn’t need to know, anyway. I’m in a fulfilling heterosexual marriage that’s lasted nearly fifteen years, with three wonderful kids, a house, and a minivan. On the surface, my only unique traits are my enormous German Shepherd and a detailed tribute sticker for the character Quentin Coldwater from The Magicians (who is also bisexual!). Yet, beneath the facade of suburban life, I have a fondness for men—and women too.
Regrettably, I didn’t come to this realization until my mid-thirties. During my teenage years, I had no clear understanding of what being bisexual truly meant. While I was familiar with the term, my experience in high school during the late ’90s was fraught with bullying. The taunts of “lezzy” from my peers created an image of something far worse than simply being a social outcast—it felt dangerous and repulsive. The thought of being attracted to girls was unimaginable; I had internalized so much homophobia that I dismissed the idea of being bisexual. Even in college, when I shared kisses with girls as a joke, I buried any genuine feelings I might have had.
I suppressed everything. I longed for a big sister figure, someone to look up to, but never considered a romantic relationship.
Looking back, I realize I had crushes on women. This realization stings because I can now see all the interactions and relationships where I didn’t fully comprehend what I wanted. There was the older girl who patiently taught me to ride horses, and I was enamored with her. My friends grew tired of hearing her name, and I told myself I wanted her attention as a sisterly bond.
She carried an aura of allure and the forbidden, one that drew me in and left me curious. In retrospect, I recognize that I had a crush on her. There was also a captivating boss who trained racehorses and was among the first to help me see the flaws in my family life. She treated me as if I mattered and gave me invaluable advice. I now wish to be like her. Yes, I had a crush on her too.
I also realize now that I had significant crushes on friends. One of my high school best friends remains uncontactable, and I had a deep crush on a college roommate. I thought I simply wanted to strengthen my friendships with these girls, never realizing I actually wanted to kiss them.
Looking back saddens me. It’s not about longing for specific relationships—who knows if that high school friend would have reciprocated? It’s the lost opportunities I grieve. I wonder if that charming English girl was really straight and I’m heartbroken I never discovered if the redhead would have said yes. All those beautiful girls I could have kissed remain a mystery.
Most poignantly, I never experienced what it’s like to be in a relationship with a woman. Although I identify as bisexual, I will never know the feeling of waking up next to someone of the same sex. I imagine sharing clothes and makeup (I tend to be drawn to feminine girls of similar size); I wonder about the arguments we might have. Would I be a good partner in a same-sex relationship? I’ll never find out.
This isn’t about regret over missed physical encounters; it’s about the realization that I’ve only recently come to terms with my identity. This late discovery brings a sadness I can’t shake. I’ll never know if I would thrive in a relationship with a woman like I do with a man. The uncertainty is almost as painful as the missed opportunities.
Some days, even knowing I’m bisexual and part of the LGBTQIA+ community, I feel invisible. I’m in a heterosexual marriage with children, and I blend into societal norms. What right do I have to feel sad? But these choices stemmed from deeply ingrained homophobia. Had I recognized my bisexuality sooner, perhaps I would have made different choices. But I remind myself that it’s never too late to come out. I can embrace my identity at 40 and acknowledge that I’m bisexual, regardless of my marriage. If bisexuality encompasses attraction to both genders, then my marriage doesn’t erase who I am.
I have the right to mourn what I missed, but I can also choose to move forward. I can start anew.
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- Understanding bisexuality in relationships
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- Finding support as a bisexual individual
- Coming out later in life
- The complexities of bisexual identity
In summary, discovering my bisexuality later in life has brought a mixture of acceptance and grief. While I embrace my identity, I also mourn the relationships and experiences I never had. It’s a journey of self-discovery that allows me to appreciate what I have while recognizing the paths I didn’t take.
Keyphrase: Discovering Bisexuality After Marriage
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