Just over a year ago I was convinced I was straight. That feels so strange for me to say now. I still struggle to understand the power of denial that kept me thinking that for 40 years of my life.

But as straightforward (pun intended) as being straight seemed to be it’s queer being queer.

I don’t mean that in a negative way at all. Just it’s unusual, it feels a little weird, a little bizarre, even though it feels so very right.

Yeah, I feel a lot.

I spent the majority of my life being straight. Holding back any attraction I had to other genders and explaining any attraction I did feel as just an appreciation of their beauty. It’s been difficult deprogramming that.

When I was newly exploring my queerness I was stood by a bar, waiting to order watching one of the servers as she went about serving. I was in the middle of an internal debate with myself about if I fancied her or if I just thought she was pretty when she asked me what I wanted.
I sputtered out my order as I realised, yep, yep, I definitely thought she was hot.

That wasn’t an isolated incident. Everywhere I go I now have the freedom to look at everyone in a different light.


Because I’m attracted to people of all genders and that can be quite overwhelming sometimes. I’m an overthinker as well as an intense feeler (is that a thing? I just made it one!) so going out into the world and having this extra level to process has been stressful at times.

Paradoxically, it’s also freeing.

But unlearning years of conditioning is not simple or easy. Yeah, I was programmed to be straight. I wasn’t told of any other options, I was subtly (and not so subtly) warned against ‘the gays’ to a point where I was afraid.

Until I started to meet LGBTQIA individuals and realised they were bloody lovely, very human and not scary in the slightest. I’ve been challenging the homophobia I grew up with ever since. Loudly and proudly where I can. I’m vocal for my LGBTQIA family, I will stand up for their every right and cheer on their every success.

Me though?

Well, that’s a more complicated mess.

There are many positives!

I’m watching TV and happily exclaiming my attraction to women. My hubby and child are very welcoming of my queerness and both happily point out humans they think I might fancy. Bless’em.

I’m having more dreams of sexual interaction with women. I used to have them periodically, but always brushed them off as weird, like the dream where I was hot tub sofa shopping with Wayne Rooney or shagging Simon Cowell. In recent months I’ve been having proper queer dreams. Where I wake up feeling sexy and sensual and happy and fulfilled.

I’m flirting with more women, well, trying. I’m very trying.

And enbies. I have so many wonderful non binary people in my life! I do find it easier to flirt with them. I wonder if it’s because of my relationship with H or if it’s something else…maybe expect a blog post on that soon!

A whole new world has opened up before me and though part of me is like a little in the Disney store, there’s a big part of me that’s not sure where anything is, what exactly I want and how much it’s going to cost me.

And that might sound selfish in some ways, my doubts are definitely about me. The queer community has welcomed me with open arms. I happily identify myself as queer, bi or pan (depending on the conversation. I’m not married to one label) and I feel part of a huge network of wonderful people.

But I worry I’m not enough.
Not knowledgeable enough
Not activist enough
Not queer enough.

I know there’s no test I need to pass (there isn’t is there?) but all my life I’ve worried about getting things wrong and letting people down. I’ve taken this into my queer journey too. It doesn’t help that just as I was getting my groove back after my break up with H that lockdown hit.

So plans with hot girls are put on hold. And I am on hold. In a household that is as queer as me but looks straight to the world outside. I want to explore, to try, to taste. Hell, I’m even ready to make mistakes and learn from them.
But it is queer being queer but queerer still whilst in lockdown.