I’ve questioned my sexuality for years. I knew I liked men, but I constantly found myself wondering whether women could be on my radar too. It wasn’t an earth-shattering identity crisis that consumed my every thought, but the thought was always there, lingering in the back of my mind. For years, this questioning was always there, safely inside my brain. As long as it was a private thought and I never acted on it, I knew that nobody could judge me, have an opinion, or label me.
I’d see certain women on social media or in public, and I’d constantly think about the hypotheticals. I wondered if my life would change if I ever experimented with a girl — if I’d have some life-altering revelation after having my first date with a girl.
When I was 21 years old, I found myself in a relationship with a boy. I loved him dearly and was truly convinced I’d spend the rest of my life with him. However, despite all of the happiness and joy he brought me, I’d occasionally find myself filled with sadness, knowing that, by committing to him, I’d never be able to try with a girl — ever. And while that relationship didn’t last, the thoughts of bisexuality flurried through my brain more and more as the months went by.
I constantly found myself contemplating updating my dating apps to include women, but the “what ifs” still stirred in my brain. What if someone I knew found me on there?
Eventually, I labeled myself as “bicurious.” I didn’t want to fully place myself in the bisexual category, but I was curious. Curious! Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t; I appreciated the comfort I felt in not having to commit to liking girls or not. I didn’t want the pressure of immediately labeling myself; I was curious — that’s all that mattered.
And with this, I constantly found myself contemplating updating my dating apps to include women, but the “what ifs” still stirred in my brain. What if someone I knew found me on there? What if people talked about it? What if someone screenshotted my profile? What if I was somehow doing this wrong?
After one too many conversations with one of my friends — the only one I’d confided in about my thoughts — she finally convinced me to change my Hinge settings to include women. And maybe it sounds ridiculous, but making that change was huge. Before I did, though, I changed my location to somewhere far away from my hometown, paranoid that somebody I knew would find me on there.
For a few days, I was too scared to even send likes to anyone. I’d overthink, convinced that I’d match with someone who knew me, somehow, so I waited a few days until others liked me.
The thought of going on a first date with a girl filled me with extreme anxiety, but I found myself wondering if I’d ever successfully experiment with girls, or if I’d always “chicken out.”
Eventually, I started texting a girl, Allie*, and it was thrilling. It felt so new and exciting, and I’d constantly feel butterflies in my chest anytime she’d text me. Until things started moving too fast.
Within a matter of days, Allie was talking about our future — and I hadn’t even met her yet. I’d experienced love-bombing when talking to men, but I’d never experienced it with women. I had no idea what to do or how to address it. So, on the day of our first date, I cut things off.
While I felt disappointed in myself for not seeing things through, I felt so relieved. The thought of going on a first date with a girl filled me with extreme anxiety, but I found myself wondering if I’d ever successfully experiment with girls, or if I’d always “chicken out.”
A few weeks later, Allie texted me on New Year’s Eve, saying she was glad she met me and wondered if we could be friends — to which I said: “Of course.” We had some casual conversation, and after I mentioned that I’d cancelled my New Year’s plans and was staying in, she invited me to spend the evening with her. So, before I could change my mind, I hopped in an Uber and was on my way.
We watched the stars at the Monument, held hands walking to the metro, and when midnight rolled around, we kissed.
I realized that experimenting with a girl, even if it was just a date, hand-holding, and a kiss, wasn’t as scary as I’d made it out to be in my head.
And the strangest part? It felt… normal. Not life-changing, or dramatic, or like a movie scene where everything suddenly clicked into place. It just felt natural. I realized that experimenting with a girl, even if it was just a date, hand-holding, and a kiss, wasn’t as scary as I’d made it out to be in my head. And, being in public, showing subtle PDA with a girl, nobody was looking at me or staring like I’d feared.
I can’t help but wonder how much time I spent letting fear make my decisions for me. For years, I was so worried about being judged or perceived differently that I never gave myself a chance to explore a part of myself I’d questioned for so long. It kept me from experiences I craved, questions I needed answers to, and a version of myself that I deserved to discover.
Because after years of wondering, questions, and talking myself out of it, I finally have an answer: I’m bisexual. Not because one girl turned me bisexual, but because I finally stopped letting fear get in the way of discovering who I am deep down. And maybe coming to that realization wasn’t nearly as dramatic as I’d expected; it was so freeing. Maybe the scariest part wasn’t realizing that I was bisexual — maybe it was realizing how much of my life I’d spent letting fear decide who I was.