Inclusion
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I’m a queer mom in a seemingly straight relationship, yet I crave acknowledgment within the LGBTQ+ community.
“Are you making new friends at daycare?” I asked my daughter, Lily, while pouring milk. “Like… Emma?” I feigned nonchalance, pretending to study the milk carton as if it were of no significance.
Earlier that week, while browsing through the daycare class email list, I noticed something intriguing: “Sarah — Emma’s Mom” and “Jessica — Emma’s Mom.” A queer family alert—this was exciting!
As a bisexual woman married to a man, it’s often easier for others to assume I’m straight. Actually, it’s always easier. When I meet other parents at the park, I rarely introduce myself with, “Oh, I’m Lily’s mom, the one with the unicorn shoes. By the way, I’m also attracted to women.”
At first, this didn’t bother me much, but over time, the weight of not being myself around other parents began to take its toll. Straight parents assume I’m straight, and queer parents think I’m… also straight. I started to feel like a fraud, and it became exhausting.
I yearned to connect with queer parents. We share a unique understanding formed through the awkwardness of hiding in high school, the thrill of coming out, or even the time I claimed a poster of Penelope Cruz was simply for her acting skills rather than a crush.
Would other LGBTQ+ parents care about my queerness? Perhaps not. I had to accept that. But after years of concealing my identity, a part of me craved acknowledgment of my queer identity, regardless of their reactions. The dream of belonging to a community where I could fully express myself was tantalizing.
I had experienced relief when I came out to new LGBTQ+ friends before. I loved seeing that flicker of excitement in their eyes when they realized we shared a connection. It wasn’t enough to be with them if I had to hide; to feel truly happy, I needed them to know I was queer.
Unfortunately, LGBTQ+ parents are a rare find in my life. Once, I met a dad in the neighborhood who enthusiastically introduced himself, saying, “I’m gay!” I was thrilled until I realized he meant, “I’m Greg.” Then there were two moms whose older child attended our daycare and a couple I met at a friend’s pool party, but I never found a way to express my queerness to them, leaving me feeling like an outsider.
Then I saw Sarah and Jessica on the class list, and a flicker of hope ignited within me. I didn’t know them well, and I wasn’t sure if we would click as friends, but the idea of community, which I had missed, was exciting. I wondered, what if we became friends, and I could be my true self around them?
Lily, however, informed me she wasn’t friends with Emma. Perhaps that was for the best. How would I even approach them? “Excuse me, I noticed you’re a same-sex couple. Do I have news for you!” Then, one afternoon, on our way home from daycare, Lily exclaimed, “Emma has two mommies!”
“Oh wow!” I responded, trying to sound casual but bursting with enthusiasm. “Isn’t that amazing? Families come in all shapes and sizes!” My voice reached a new pitch, and I was ready to break into a song about acceptance when Lily interrupted.
“Mom?” she queried, her wide eyes searching mine. This was it, I thought. She must be wondering if being gay is okay. “You can ask me anything,” I reassured her. She tilted her head, “You forgot to give me water today.”
So perhaps I had overdone the pride lesson. But Lily’s friendship with Emma blossomed, thanks to their mutual love for unicorns, and they arranged a playdate.
A week later, I stood outside Emma’s house, nervously clicking my phone on and off in my pocket while holding Lily’s hand. But as soon as the door swung open, my anxiety melted away. I had never met Sarah before, but we shared an unspoken language, even if she wasn’t aware of it yet. She greeted us with a warm smile while Lily dashed off with Emma to play.
Sarah mentioned that Jessica was upstairs, and her casual reference to “my wife” hit me unexpectedly. There was something about the effortless way she embraced her identity that made me envious. I wished for something similar that would make my queerness immediately recognizable.
Of course, I understood that her journey wasn’t without challenges. As someone married to a man, I had never faced the judgment that might come from seeing “Lily’s Mom” listed twice in an email or what it would mean for my child when she announced having two mommies. I didn’t have to worry about disapproving stares at restaurants or whether my parents might reject my partner. Sarah and Jessica carried burdens I could never fully comprehend.
Yet I, too, felt the weight of hiding in plain sight, and I was ready to change that.
A week later, my husband, Alex, and I chatted with Jessica at the playground, watching the girls play. I couldn’t shake the thought of how she must perceive us: another typical straight couple. I realized that aside from our shared queerness, we had little in common—my background in television contrasted sharply with Sarah and Jessica’s careers in accounting.
In an attempt to drop my sexuality into the conversation, I mentioned an LGBTQ+ improv show I perform in. When there was a pause, I asked, “Do you attend any shows? Like, for instance, comedy shows?” Jessica shook her head, “No, but we attended a great talk at the community center recently.” “Oh, right, right… but comedy shows, no?” I could sense her discomfort as I tried to steer the topic back toward me, but I was determined to come out to her.
At last, I announced, “I actually perform in an LGBTQ+ improv show!” I watched her for her reaction, almost expecting a confetti explosion for my grand reveal. But her smile widened, and that familiar glimmer of recognition appeared in her eyes: You’re one of us!
I had imagined that coming out to Jessica would lead to vibrant friendships filled with shared experiences—perhaps we’d paint our faces and celebrate at Pride or gather for Drag Queen Storytime. Instead, we remained acquaintances, simply two queer families who shared a daycare. Nothing drastically changed; we laughed together and exchanged amusing anecdotes about our lives and children. But I felt an unspoken bond when we were together.
Just like my overzealous pride lesson on the way home, I may have overestimated the potential for deep friendship. However, the knowledge that Sarah and Jessica recognized me for who I truly am made me feel seen. I could relax a little more, relieved that I no longer had to hide my identity. I was finally part of the community I had longed to join.
Summary
In this article, a bisexual mother reflects on her journey to find her place in the LGBTQ+ community while navigating life in a straight-passing relationship. Despite the challenges of being perceived as straight, she longs for connection with other queer parents. Her experiences reveal the complexities of identity and the desire for acceptance and recognition within the LGBTQ+ community. Ultimately, she finds solace in new friendships with other queer parents that allow her to embrace her true self.