I'm Struggling Being a Bisexual Mom in a Straight Marriage

Here's a reminder to take care of yourself too, fellow queer parents

Hi friends! I’ve had 3 different stories for Raising Gen Alpha in the works this week. One is done but needs editing. Another is mostly done. And a third was going to be a fun post for today where I listed the top 20 cities in the U.S. and all of their kid-friendly Pride events going on this weekend.

But instead… here I am, writing this. (A shorter version of this essay appeared on my Instagram earlier but I honestly needed to say more.)

Here goes.

*BREATHES DEEPLY* So… I’m having some ~ F E E L I N G S ~ around being a hetero-appearing mom.

“Having the power to speak out about my queer identity while in a heterosexual relationship has been one of the saving graces for me.”

I wrote the words above for an Oprah Daily article back in 2019. In the story, I dispelled some myths about bisexuality and talked to other bisexual women who are in heterosexual marriages. We all acknowledged the difficulty of being an invisible queer person much of the time and just how much that can freaking SUCK. (There, I said it!)

I know we have a lot of privilege, too. Physical safety from bigots and homophobes is probably the biggest, especially when it comes to public spaces where queer folx are at serious risk of death. I, for one, haven’t been to a gay nightclub in ages—but it’s something I continue to love. And yet I know that it would feel much scarier to go today than it did years ago, before the Pulse shooting in Orlando that I still can’t really talk about without wanting to collapse into a puddle of tears.

And yet… Despite this privilege, there is a lot of invisibility that comes, too.

It’s been four years since I originally wrote that story about how I, as a bisexual woman, deserve to celebrate my queer pride even if I don’t appear to be queer in my relationship. Since then, the world has changed. A LOT.

For one, the pandemic has changed everything about the way we do things as a society today. Sure, we’re kinda sorta back to normal these days but the worldwide trauma is not something that has gone away or will go away anytime soon. After all, having a baby at the end of March 2020 is a huge part of why I started the Raising Gen Alpha community.

Everything feels different these days, parenting including and maybe especially.

But the biggest change for me is just the mere fact that I became a MOM.

When I wrote that story for Oprah, my husband and I were already trying to get pregnant. In fact, I had already experienced my miscarriage—and even wrote a story about that for Oprah as well.

Shortly after “I’m a Bisexual Woman in a Straight Relationship—and Yes, I Have the Right to Celebrate Pride” was published, I ovulated. And I got pregnant. And we went on to have our child.

I was thrilled to become a parent—and continue to be excited about raising a little queer ally in Rio. (Assuming they don’t end up being LGBTQIA+ themselves, of course.) It’s something that was important to me long before having my baby but it became even more important when I found out that I would be having a child with the XY chromosomes, meaning they would be assigned the male sex at birth.

I admit to freaking out and thinking, “I know how to raise a strong girl! But how do I raise a boy?!” Eventually, I realized that raising an anti-racist, intersectional feminist and LGBTQIA+ ally doesn’t change based on what their genitals look like. Because the goal isn’t to raise little girls who become CEOs (though that would be great!) but to create a society in which those outside of the “norm” feel as loved and accepted as anyone else. And we can’t fulfill that mission without raising boys to be good men who can cry and show their feelings.

With my desire to raise Rio to be a kind and loving person, I went all-in on focusing on him being exposed to diverse peoples, cultures, and families—like introducing my child to queer board books and going to Pride Month events when it felt safe.

Here we are at last year’s Denver PrideFest, for instance.

As I took all of these steps to show my child how amazing LGBTQIA+ people are, I didn’t realize that my relationship with my own bisexual pride would change. In fact, I didn’t expect how it would change every single year since I gave birth. And I really didn’t expect how I would become even more ensconced in the invisibility of being a queer woman in what looks like a typical heterosexual family complete with a cis male husband, child, and a house filled with some fur babies.

And yet… I find myself struggling more than ever with my own bisexual identity.

This has nothing to do with my family. It has everything to do with our society that assumes things about people at first look. Like, I’m pretty light-skinned with bright red hair. So you’d probably never guess that I’m Latina (and that my hair color is a choice, not genetics). And if you see me out and about with my family, you’d probably also never guess that I have ADHD. Or that I’m sober. But the biggest assumption I’m sure you’d make is that we are an average heteronormative family.

So as my child has grown, my awareness of this perception of my family has grown, too, just under the surface. I honestly didn’t even realize this was happening until it really hit me in the past few days. Yet in the back of my mind, whenever I meet a parent of one of Rio’s friends from daycare and try to make friends with them (with varying degrees of success), I always inevitably think: I’m not showing up as my true self.

That’s not to say that my true (queer) self needs to wear a feather rainbow headband and sparkly boots 24/7 (though who are we kidding? I totally would!) but it still bothers me that one of the biggest parts of my identity isn’t present. Even worse, it’s invisible.

With something like my neurodivergence or recovery from Alcohol Use Disorder, it can often be brought up naturally in conversation. But how do I mention that I’m queer? It’s not like saying, “We’d love to come over for a BBQ! I’ll bring some non-alcoholic sangria because I don’t drink. Thanks for the invite.” Or even, “Yeah, Rio is such a high-energy kid that sometimes I wonder if it’s just a toddler thing, a ‘boy’ thing even though I hate that stereotype, or because he has ADHD like mommy.” (Yes, these are actual things I have said to people.)

So this year, because it’s so hard to not be invisible when living in a heterosexual-appearing family, I am struggling HARD with what it means to be my true self and yet invisible at the same time.

And I didn’t see this coming! I’ve been out and proud for over 20 years, so why now?! I’m not sure.

Here’s what I am sure of, though: Pride 2023 is a weird time for me. But I am working on embracing my bisexuality more than ever. I don’t know what that will look like yet, so SEND ME YOUR SUGGESTIONS!

For now, though, it means that I’m focusing more on ME than on teaching my child about the beauty of queer folx.

And perhaps that’s what my own pride has been missing lately: ME.

I’ve been so focused on doing the right things for my bebé that I’ve forgotten that I need community, care, and support, too.

This applies to all moms and parents, of course—but those of us outside the “norm” need these things more than ever. Whether it’s because of the color of our skin or our ethnicity or cultural background, or because our brains work differently than the brains that designed most of the things we need to function in the world today, or because we don’t identify with the “traditional American family.”

We need love and support.

Fuck it! I need love and support.

Not because I don’t get love and support at home or don’t have a community—but because even in the best of times, being “different” is hard. And my differences being invisible makes a lot of things harder.

So as I’m working on stepping into my bisexual identity more fully in my life—both online and off—I hope that this serves as a reminder to my fellow queer parents that we need to take care of ourselves, too.

For me, it means spending the majority of this weekend having fun at Denver PrideFest with queer friends and straight allies. I’ll still take Rio to a couple of family-friendly events but most of the weekend will be focused on bisexual mommy pride. And I’m pretty damn proud of that!

What “different” identity do you often feel is an invisible part of yourself and how does that impact your parenting?

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Earlier this week, a federal judge in Arkansas struck down the state’s ban on gender-affirming care—a much-needed dose of good news as we close out Pride Month 2023.

Talk soon,
Irina (she/her) - raising a March 2020 gen alpha kid

P.S. Looking for local Pride events that you can take your little ones to? This story from Gay City News covers events all across the country—though it’s outdated from 2021. Still, nothing a little Googling can’t solve! And this one from One Travel talks about family-friendly Pride events in New York City, San Francisco, Houston, Memphis, and my very own Denver!