In many ways, I've known I was bisexual since the fifth grade.





Even at a young age I would find any reason I could to be around girls. From piggy back rides to helping with homework, I was always the first to volunteer my services. I was one of the guys, so I was never really ‘interested’ in them, they were my dudes. I didn’t get my first crush on a guy until I was a Freshman in High School. It was short lived, he was a bit of a player and my fragile ego couldn’t handle him kissing other girls at band camp. No joke there, he literally hooked up with some girl at band camp.





The first girl I remember swooning over wasn’t a girl at all. She was my fifth grade teacher and at age 10 she was everything. Smart, funny, kind and athletic. Shit, I joined the softball team just because she was coaching. Fifth grade me didn’t do sports. I was chubby and had zero interest in baseball. But she told me I was good at it and I didn’t want to disappoint her. She was the first woman who I could tell actually gave a shit about me. She wanted to see me succeed and she pushed me to do better with everything I did. She honestly believed in me and that meant the world to me. I gave her flowers and cried on the last day of school, knowing somewhere in my now almost sixth grade mind, that this would be the last time I saw her. Luckily for me, we are still friends on Facebook.





The next girl I was infatuated with was my 8th grade best friend. Our friendship came hard and fast, before I could stop spinning we were already attached at the hip. I spent the entire summer with her. It was the first time in my life that I truly felt on the same wavelength with another human being. She just got me. It was so incredibly easy with her, we spent days on end together and never got sick of each other. We would watch trash TV, each junk food, swim in her family pool. I was in no way shape or form a ‘girly girl’, I wore men’s clothes and didn’t even own makeup. Almost daily she would beg me to let her to put makeup on me, or paint my nails, or dress me up in ‘girl clothes’. That was always a hard no from me. Too embarrassed and ashamed of what I might look like in someone else’s skin. I slept next to her, every night for almost a month, begging my brain to turn off and just go to sleep. I knew I was getting too attached to her, and unfortunately when I get nervous, I get AWKWARD. Long story very short, I ended up ruining everything. When you hide behind humor, sooner or later everyone outgrows you.





Then there was my freshman art class desk mate. She was intense, and honestly, a little spooky. I liked it. She was older than me and incredibly smart. She had a dark sense of humor and was insanely talented. Everything she drew was awe inspiring. I still believe that she is going to make it big, become an artist that all future artists aspire to be. She was the first girl who went out of her way to make me feel like I wasn’t an ugly troll. I have always had some pretty severe thoughts about myself and my appearance. She would always shut me down when I started to talk like that. She even went as far to draw me as a skinny stick girl, complaining about being fat, just to prove a point. The first time I brought her home to hang out she ended up telling my mom a story about her sibling shoplifting a jacket. While I found it hilarious, my mom was less than impressed. My mom had no idea that I liked this girl, I mean, it’s been like 15 years and my mom still doesn’t know I like girls. I guess until right now that is… Hi mom... But needless to say, she wasn’t allowed over anymore and I had to start sneaking around to keep hanging out with her. She ended up moving several states away at the end of that school year and we lost touch for roughly ten years. In case you were wondering, she is still incredibly talented.





I’m sure it goes without saying that there have been many girls that I have liked in my 32 years on this planet, but the number of girls I have loved is much, much less.





I was 16, working my first job. Clothing store in the mall, so typical. She was older than me and also one of my bosses at the store. We just clicked. She was absolutely beautiful, inside and out. Covered with tattoos, so comfortable in her own skin. I didn’t understand confidence until I met her. She just oozed it. The longer we worked together, the closer we got. As mentioned above, when I get nervous, you know, awkward. With her, I was always trying to impress her, or maker her laugh. The two were interchangeable but never lacking. I cannot tell you how many times I would end up accidentally hurting myself in an attempt to make her smile. From electrocuting myself to falling off of counter tops, I was but a jester to my queen. But a sixteen year old me was not ‘out’. Shit, 16 year old me didn’t even know ‘bisexual’ was a thing. All I knew was every time I was around her I was a bumbling idiot, and every time she wasn’t around I was day dreaming about what it would be like to kiss her. I hadn’t kissed ANYONE at that point, but I begged the universe to let her be my first. Maybe someone would dare us. Or maybe she liked me too. I loved having her in my life. She was my friend, co-worker, concert buddy and I couldn’t lose her. She was dating someone the entire time I worked with her and part of me knew that nothing would ever happen with her, but I still regret not telling her how I really felt. She made me feel real. In a world where I floated, unnoticed from situation to situation, she strapped weights to my feet. Made me feel like I could exist in the same realm as the people I looked up to. She gave me the confidence to keep pushing forward during a time that I didn’t feel worth the effort.





One night I got back home from hanging out with one of my female friends and my mom was waiting for me outside. I will never be able to forget the look of revulsion on my mothers face as she ‘asked’ me if I was one of those “fucking bull dykes”. I got defensive and dismissive of her accusations. Spoon fed her some crap about how all my friends were guys because I was ‘boy crazy’. I don’t think I even knew what a ‘bull dyke’ was, but given my mother’s tone, to her, it wasn’t a good thing. This single comment changed the course of my life. I didn’t realize at the time how much I craved my mothers approval. I allowed her fear to become my own. So many times I wish I would have just spoke up, told her that I liked girls AND guys and just let the chips fall where they may. But I was weak and terrified of my parent’s disapproval. Over the years that same tone of disapproval and confusion has come up time and again. When I published a short story about two women in love, my mom called me and in a hushed whisper told me that the story made me sound like a lesbian. It was not the same harsh disapproval, but it was a stab at my sexuality non the less. Even if it wasn’t intended to be an insult, it stung just the same. I have learned with time and therapy that my parents opinions are their own. They are allowed to feel and think however they please, even if I disagree. I have lived my life thinking that I am fractured, parts of me tossed out as soon as they didn’t fit the mold I was intended to fill. I have lived over half my life feeling incomplete. A fraud who could be caught and ostracized at any moment. It has taken me a really long time to accept that I am whole just the way I am.





I am going to pause this whole rant for just a moment to tell you, whoever you are, that you are valid. I see you. Don’t let anyone in your life tell you who you can love. It will only cause you pain. Whatever has happened to them to cause them to think that love is linear shouldn’t fall on your shoulders. So hold your head up high and just be you.





I can count the number of guys I have EVER liked on one hand. Four. Four guys. 16 year old me was as far from boy crazy as a person could get. But after this confrontation with my mom I stopped hanging out with a lot of my female friends.





The feelings didn’t stop. But they got deeply, deeply buried. Under layers of shame and guilt. Buried so far in fact that even though I publicly lead a heterosexual life, married a man I love, started a family, I have still never had the nerve to ‘come out’. Roughly 6 people know that I am bisexual.

Ridiculous, right?





The next girl did eventually come along, and then the next and the next. Nothing but small and quick infatuations, always fizzling out just as quickly as they started.





Nothing has ever felt as intense as those teenage heartthrobs, that is until I met my coffee shop girl. I am pretty sure I have purchased an unhealthy amount of Red Bull in the last year. Like, I am probably on some government watch list. I couldn’t help myself. Our brief interactions would make my whole day. I finally got up the nerve to give her my number… In a card...While she wasn’t at work… and I was going out of town for a week. BUT IT STILL COUNTS. I was driving to Utah when she texted me for the first time. I geeked out HARD in the car, my friend who was with me probably thought I was crazy. I wrote and re-wrote the reply to that initial text probably 50 times before hitting send and hoping for the best. I like everything about her. She is so smart, she works incredibly hard and I know she is going to crush any goals she sets out for herself. Did I mention she is beautiful? Like, drop dead gorgeous. Wavy brown hair, dark eyes, curves. She has it all. I find her honesty endearing and her confidence enticing. She is funny and also gets my sense of humor. I really like that I can make her laugh. If I had to pick one single thing I like about her the most, it would be how much she cares. She has gone out of her way to give me advice, book suggestions, words of kindness and so many tips about mental health. She was the first person who explained why mental health is so important to upkeep in a way that finally made sense. I know I am a better person for myself, my family and friends because I met her. I just hope that someday I can make a positive impact on her life, like she has on mine. I can feel myself getting further and further pulled in. She is stuck in my head like a lyric on repeat. A song I’ve known all along, yet somehow it feels so fresh and new. I value her in my life and I would never want her to second guess my intentions in our friendship. I know that we are living two different stories with every interaction we have. I don’t want to ruin her book, for the sake of mine.





The reason I bring up these amazing women is to show how important they have been in shaping me into the person I am today. Each one has unknowingly helped heal a wound that only I could feel. They have shown me kindness and love, fearlessness and faithfulness. These beautiful souls had taught me that I am real. I am valid and I am allowed to live unafraid.





So there you have it.





I am a married, 32 year old mother of four. Who is Bisexual. I don’t want to raise children who have to fear being true to themselves. I hope that one day my kid just brings home whomever they like, knowing that I will open my heart and offer them some snacks. No judgment, just love. I am lucky enough to have a partner in my life who accepts me for who I am, chuckles when I am crushing on a girl and doesn’t ever make me feel like I have to hide for a living.





I cant really explain why I felt the need to write this. But lately it has been in the back of my mind like the constant itch of a mosquito bite after a mid summer outing. I know it is there, I can feel its pull, but I just keep telling myself to ignore it.





I didn’t expect to sit down and ‘come out’ but once I click publish the choice will have been made.





So here's to living authentically.











