I want to tell you a love story.
When I was in college, I was head over heels for a women named Amber. She was everything I’d ever wanted in a partner–beautiful, breathtaking, patient, kind, intelligent. I was so sure that she was my soulmate and when she left me, she took a piece of my heart with her that I’ll never get back. But this isn’t about Amber, or how fucking beautiful she was.
After she left me I met my husband and I learned what it meant to love a man, too. And men are wonderful…fuck, they are so wonderful. I loved him more than I ever loved any man. He was my everything for so many years, until he wasn’t. But that’s a story for another day. The point is…
I’m bisexual. I came out to my reader group (Robinson’s Ramblings (Sarah Robinson’s Reader Group)) for the first time a few days ago and it was a life changing experience. I’d been telling them my dating stories for over a year and I’d been lying about the gender of half my stories. I kept changing “she” to “he” for fear that they wouldn’t accept me for who I am…for fear that someone who writes straight romance novels can’t love women in my free time.
The outpouring of support was overwhelming. My reader group embraced me with love and kindness, and that’s a love story all in itself. And, yes, it was fucking terrifying. I was petrified that I would lose readers because, after all, losing readers doesn’t just mean losing fans. It means losing groceries, the ability to pay rent, a home for myself and my dogs…it’s my entire fucking life.
Let me say that again, I’m risking my entire fucking life just to be honest about the fact that I like dating women.
Is that stupid? It sounds fucking stupid. More than one person told me to keep it to myself and shut the fuck up. In fact, more than a dozen people told me that.
The thing is…telling my reader group about who I am inspired me. I caught the bug. I want to tell the world now. I now know what it feels like to be open and live openly…and it’s fucking amazing. I never felt that before. It’s enlightening. It’s beautiful. It’s everything I hoped it would be. Living truthfully? Living my life out loud? Holy shit, it’s intoxicating. I just want to scream who I am from the rooftops. Is this what “regular” people feel like all the time?
But that’s the thing…I really didn’t. I came out in a small group of 1,600 people. Which is not the world. It’s not even close to the world. It’s certainly not my family. My family didn’t know. They were in the dark as much as the rest of the six billion people on the planet. So…had I really done anything at all?
I tip toed out of the closet and thought that meant something…but did it?
Sure, but was it enough? It didn’t feel like enough. It feels like I got a taste of air and now I’m suffocating, begging for more. Drowning and can’t breathe. I need to know there’s more. I need…more.
So…I told my family. I called my bio mom, my mom, my father, my aunts, my sister, my Bible study leader. I told them all. I told everyone who really mattered. My parents all told me that they still loved me and wouldn’t leave me, but that they didn’t support who I was and my deviant lifestyle because of their Christian faith. It stung and hurt, but they still loved me and, really, that’s all I wanted. So, I’m happy and relieved, and thankful that they still love me and know who I am now.
And now I’m going to be honest with you. With my readers. I’m going to tell the world.
And it fucking terrifies me.
*takes deep breath*
I’m a bisexual woman. And that love story I was talking about at the beginning of this?
It’s to me. I fucking love me and I know that by telling the world who I am, I very much could be throwing away my career. I may not be able to pay for groceries tomorrow. I may get hate mail and be told I’m a deviant and disgusting. But, I’m doing this for me.
I love me.
And I fucking love women…and men.
Hey, I’m bisexual, and that’s just fine with me.