Inclusion
artificial insemination syringe
I’m a Queer Mom in a Straight-Passing Relationship, and I Want to Be Seen
I’m married to a man, but I still yearn for acknowledgment within the LGBTQ+ community.
“Are you making new friends at daycare?” I asked my daughter, Lily, while pouring her a glass of milk. “Like… Jamie?” I pretended to examine the milk carton nonchalantly, hiding my excitement.
Earlier that week, while browsing through her daycare’s class email list, I noticed something intriguing: “Sarah — Jamie’s Mom” and “Kathy — Jamie’s Mom.” A queer family! This was thrilling!
As a bisexual woman in a heterosexual marriage, it’s easier for others to assume I’m straight. Actually, it’s not just easier — it’s almost always the assumption. You don’t typically introduce yourself on the playground with, “Hi, I’m Lily’s mom, the one with the unicorn shoes. Oh, and by the way, I’m also attracted to women.”
At first, this didn’t bother me, but over time, it became clear that I couldn’t be my true self around other parents. Straight parents take me for straight, and queer parents do the same. I began to feel like an imposter, and the weight of that was exhausting.
I craved a connection with other queer parents. We shared unique experiences, an unspoken understanding that only comes from the awkwardness of hiding one’s identity during adolescence or the nervousness of coming out to family.
Would every LGBTQ+ parent care that I’m queer? Probably not. I had to accept that. But after years of concealing that part of myself, I wanted recognition of my queerness, regardless of how others might respond. The thought of being included in a community I deeply missed was intoxicating.
In the past, coming out to new LGBTQ+ friends felt liberating. I loved seeing that spark of recognition in their eyes. It mattered to me that they knew I identified as queer; I needed that affirmation to feel truly happy in their company.
However, encounters with LGBTQ+ parents are few and far between. Once, I met a dad in my neighborhood who enthusiastically introduced himself, saying, “I’m gay!” I was thrilled, only to realize he meant, “I’m Dave.” There were a few other moms I’d met, but I had no way to express my queerness to them. I often felt like an outsider.
Then I saw Sarah and Kathy’s names on the class list, igniting a flicker of hope. I didn’t know anything about them, and I wasn’t sure if we’d hit it off, but the possibility of community excited me. I daydreamed about what it would be like to connect with fellow parents in an authentic way.
But when I asked Lily if she was friends with Jamie, she said no. Perhaps it was for the best. What would I even say? “Hi! I noticed you’re both lesbians. Guess what? I have exciting news!”
Then one day, while walking home from daycare, Lily exclaimed, “Jamie has two mommies!”
“Oh wow!” I responded, trying to sound casual, but I was practically bursting with pride. “Isn’t that wonderful? Families come in all shapes and sizes!” I was about to launch into a heartwarming monologue when Lily interrupted.
“Mom?” she asked, her big eyes searching mine. This is it, I thought. She’s curious about being gay. “You can ask me anything,” I assured her. She frowned, “You forgot to give me water today.”
So maybe I overdid it on the Pride lesson. But it turned out Lily and Jamie had become friends, thanks to their mutual love of unicorns, and wanted to have a playdate.
A week later, I stood nervously outside Jamie’s house, clicking my phone in my pocket while holding Lily’s hand. But as soon as the door opened, my nerves faded. Though I had never met Sarah, I felt a sense of familiarity. As she greeted me with a warm smile, I knew we shared a common ground, even if she didn’t know it yet.
“Come in!” Sarah beamed as the girls ran off to play.
Sarah mentioned that Kathy was upstairs. Hearing her say “my wife” struck a chord in me, evoking an unexpected pang of jealousy. It seemed so effortless for her to embrace her identity, and I yearned for something that would allow others to understand me instantly.
Of course, I knew that it wasn’t easy for her either. Being married to a man meant I didn’t have to worry about what other parents thought when they saw “Lily’s Mom” listed twice on the email chain. I never fretted about how my child would feel if she announced she had two mommies. I didn’t have to worry about disapproving looks or potential rejection from family. Sarah and Kathy faced challenges I would never fully understand.
But I, too, carried the burden of hiding in plain sight, and I was ready for a change.
Not long after, my husband Mark and I were at the playground chatting with Kathy while watching the girls play. As we talked, I couldn’t shake the feeling of how they must perceive us — just another typical straight couple. We had little in common beyond being queer, with my job in media contrasting sharply with their careers in finance.
I needed a subtle way to share my identity, so I casually mentioned a local LGBTQ+ improv show I performed in. “Do you go to any shows? Like, um, comedy shows?” I asked, feeling the pressure of the moment. Kathy said they hadn’t been to any comedy shows, which gave me the opening I needed.
“Oh, I perform in an LGBTQ+ improv show,” I blurted out, watching her for a reaction. “All the performers are queer.” I might as well have worn a sign that read “I’M QUEER.” But her smile widened, and I caught that familiar flicker of excitement in her eyes: You’re one of us!
I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen after coming out to Kathy. Maybe we’d bond over face paint at Pride or sit together at the next Drag Queen Storytime. In reality, we remained friendly acquaintances with kids at the same daycare, sharing laughs and stories. Nothing changed, yet there was an unspoken connection between us.
Just like my overzealous Pride lesson with Lily, I might have inflated my hopes for our friendship. But knowing that Sarah and Kathy recognized me for who I am allowed me to relax. I no longer felt the need to hide; I was finally part of the community I had yearned for.
Erin Hug is a freelance writer and video editor/producer at Home Insemination Kit. She was a Telefilm Canada New Voices Award recipient in 2018 and has written several award-nominated short plays. In her spare time, you can find her performing improv or storytelling onstage.