Parenting
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As a bisexual mother, my hope is for my daughter to navigate life free from shame or fear. Growing up, I received a clear societal message: being queer was different, and different was something to be afraid of.
By Jamie Lee
Updated: Feb. 20, 2024
Originally Published: May 12, 2022
From the moment my 5-year-old daughter, Emma, started school and made friends with Ava, thoughts of marriage have become a frequent topic in our home. Emma often declares her desire to marry Ava, treating their friendship like a scene from a romantic story.
So, when my mom casually asked Emma what she wanted to do as she grew older, I braced myself for the response. “Ava will be my wife,” Emma said, clearly excited. “And she’ll have a job that brings in the shiniest money—gold and silver!”
I glanced at my mom, who is certainly accepting, yet the casual mention of lesbian aspirations felt new territory. Would she raise an eyebrow or indicate that there was something taboo about Emma’s declaration? I felt an urge to shift the conversation, worried about any hint of disappointment creeping into my daughter’s expression—a feeling I know all too well.
But my mom simply asked, “What about you, Emma?” to which Emma replied, “Every day will be my day off.”
I realized this was a different response than my mom might have given when I was a child. If only I had felt secure enough to discuss my own feelings back then. I was aware of my attraction to girls at a young age, but no one ever affirmed that it was a valid option. Instead, I felt shame after being reprimanded for a childhood kiss with a friend, which led me to hide my true self.
In the mid-90s, when I was in elementary school, phrases like “that’s so gay” permeated conversations, and LGBTQ+ representation was virtually absent. My parents, while not homophobic, avoided discussing these topics, possibly out of fear for what I might face in the world. It was easier to laugh at fictional characters than to confront the reality of being different. I learned to suppress my identity, allowing anxiety to fill the space where love should flourish.
As a parent, I see this as my chance to rewrite the narrative for Emma, fostering an environment free from homophobia and presenting queer identities as equally valid. I want her to understand the history and struggles of the LGBTQ+ community while allowing her to thrive in a world where she feels no shame. One day, I brought home the book “Prince and Knight,” which features a prince who finds love with a knight. For Emma, it was just another story, but for me, it was a powerful representation of love I had longed for as a child.
Do I sometimes go overboard with my LGBTQ+ pride messaging? Perhaps. But I want to ensure Emma understands that love can take many forms. When she was three, she completed my sentence about different family structures by saying, “And some families have two Emmas!” Now, she’s curious about various identities and relationships, even correcting me if I forget to include non-binary options. She asks thoughtful questions like, “Can a boy wear a dress?” and “Can a queen marry a queen?” always linking it back to her own romantic dreams.
However, I know this period of innocence won’t last forever. I can tell her that gay couples are just as valid as straight ones, but how long until she notices that most couples around her are heterosexual? When will she hear her first homophobic comment?
Until then, my mission is to create a supportive space where she can explore her identity—whether she identifies as straight, queer, or something in between—on her own terms.
For more on this topic, check out our other blog post here.