— Some LGBTQ seniors fearing discrimination go back ‘into the closet’
National Coming Out Day is Oct. 11.
When Don Bell, a 71-year-old gay man, was searching for a senior living facility, he knew one thing for sure: He didn’t want to go “back into the closet” to find a safe place to live.“I had to face the fact that I was entering the stage of life where I was going to be living alone and responsible for my own life,” Bell told ABC News. “I had to look around at my own home community, and I had to consider where I would be safe and where I would be accepted.”Bell was his mother’s caretaker for many years, but after she died, he feared living alone. He said he wondered what life might be like if he was unable to find a welcoming environment as a gay Black man.Fearing homelessness, Bell fortunately won a lottery for one of the 72 spots in Chicago’s first LGBTQ-inclusive living facility.
But many aren’t so lucky. Some older members of the LGBTQ community are forced to hide their sexuality or gender identity in long-term care or housing facilities because they’re afraid of discrimination.
LGBTQ elders are a vulnerable population — they experience high rates of social isolation, are less likely to have children to care for them and experience higher levels of disability and illness, according to research by the Human Rights Campaign. Discrimination only exacerbates these insecurities.
About 3 out of 4 LGBTQ adults age 45 and older said they’re concerned about having enough support from family and friends as they get older, according to a 2018 study by AARP.
According to Michael Adams, chief executive officer of the LGBTQ senior advocacy group SAGE, elderly LGBTQ people often fear they’ll be refused care, abused or neglected in senior living communities.”Re-closeting,” Adams explained, “looks like: People taking the pictures of their loved ones and their partners down off their walls because they’re afraid a homecare attendant will see the pictures and will mistreat them as a result of it.”
AARP found that respondents living in “unfriendly” communities were seven times more likely to report experiences of housing discrimination due to their sexual or gender identity.
“It looks like making believe that they’re straight when they’re not,” Adams added. “It looks like making believe that they don’t have same-sex partners, hiding their LGBTQ magazines … it means erasing a whole fundamental part of their lives in order to protect themselves.”
There aren’t consistent or explicit anti-discrimination protections for all LGBTQ people at a federal level. SAGE data shows that about half of all LGBTQ older adults live in states where it’s not illegal to deny access to housing or public accommodations based on someone’s sexuality or gender expression.
Only 18% of long-term care communities have policies in place that protect LGBTQ residents, SAGE’s research shows.
Bell can recall the many forms of anti-LGBTQ discrimination he’s experienced throughout his life. He’s part of what he calls the first “out” generation, which is now aging: “We have lived the entire 50-year arc of the LGBT civil rights movement. Everything from Stonewall onward is not history to us, it’s life experience to us.”
The sharpest memories of discrimination for Bell seem to be the HIV/AIDS crisis that killed hundreds of thousands of LGBTQ people across the U.S. during the 1980s. The epidemic peaked in 2004, killing 1.9 million in one year, according to UNAIDS, a United Nations advocacy agency.
Patients with HIV/AIDs, as well as other LGBTQ people at the time, faced discrimination in health care, employment, housing — and the community was forced to create its own safe spaces.
“Many of the brick-and-mortar institutions that exist in the LGBT community are those that we had to build ourselves because we could not seek shelter or care in other places,” Bell told ABC News.
Bell lives in one of few spaces created specifically for LGBTQ elderly people in the country. New York, California and Illinois are among the states where inclusive housing is easier to obtain, and organizations like SAGE are trying to help ensure access to more.
SAGE is working to build housing specifically designed for LGBTQ elders, to change laws and policies that protect elders from discrimination, and offer centers, programs and more to keep elders safe while they live alone.
They work with local legislators and partner on initiatives to address discrimination and safety issues.
However, Adams said, they can’t do the work alone.
“We need people in power — our legislators, our governors — to understand that our elders have given so much to our society,” he said. “They have worked so hard over so many decades, and it is profoundly wrong that because of who they love, and because of who they are, that in the later years of their life, they are left completely vulnerable to discrimination mistreatment. That has to change.”
Lujira Cooper, a 73-year-old lesbian woman, has never been had to hide her sexuality, but she said she understands the pain that being closeted, or re-closeted, can cause.
“It’s a form of isolation, traumatic, and I can see it creating a case of more suicides,” Cooper explained. “You don’t want to have to go through that again just to get a place to live and be safe and cared for and comfortable. And it’s a fight, and unfortunately it’s a fight that’s still going on.”
For National Coming Out Day, Oct. 11, Cooper urges people of all sexualities and gender identities to stand up for LGBTQ seniors — people who’ve played big roles in the gay rights movement’s success.
“Community is really important and finding like-minded people who will fight with and for you is a major task for senior LGBT people,” Cooper said.
Adams agrees: “We had to fight for the right to get old. We’re not willing to accept that we’re going to be treated like pariahs and made invisible in our old age. We won’t accept that.”
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Crushes & First (Same-Sex) Kisses
— Coming Out In My 30s Made Me Feel Like A Teen Again
A few years ago, my dentist tried to convince me to get Invisalign, along with a little bit of hardware as part of the full treatment. Braces? At 38? This was the final straw.
At this point, I had recently come out from a straight marriage and was dating women for the first time. In many ways, it was like being a teenager all over again: first (same-sex) kiss, first sexual experience, a desire to belong, feeling out of control at times, and a lot of angst and journaling. The thought of essentially getting braces suddenly made my experience of midlife adolescence far too literal. I recoiled at the thought of coming any closer to an actual teenaged-reality; I was having enough trouble as it was.
Although norms around sexuality and orientation have opened up dramatically in recent years, many women questioning or exploring their sexuality later in life find themselves in this awkward liminal space: an emotional coming-of-age without the support and understanding that comes with real adolescence.
I’m not sure that anyone would willingly revisit their awkward teenage years, but I’d like to make a case for adolescence at any age.
For me, it was like living a secret life: university professor and mother by day, baby queer on Tinder at night, having to curate my dating profile with the underlying fear of my own students seeing me on it. On my nights without my five-year-old daughter, I’d be out with my queer friends at the bar, drinking more and staying up later than most of my straight peers who were already in their deep sleep stage, and would not be hungover in the morning. On my nights with my daughter, I would physically be singing her to sleep while mentally daydreaming about my current crush.
My friends were confused by my sudden heartbreak and dating ups and downs — I’m a highly educated and intelligent woman, yet I was being thrown around by intense new experiences and drama I’d never navigated before. At times, I’d feel kind of small telling my “older” straight friends about it, as if my problems were petty compared to their “adult” concerns of mortgages and motherhood; yet, to me they felt so urgent and immediate.
And so did sex — this time around. In school, I remember my best friend hooking up repeatedly with her toxic ex. At the time, I never understood why she just couldn’t just stop having sex with him. It was so easy for me, much to the disappointment of my then-boyfriend. Not only had I not really cared about sex the first time around with men, but at times I tried to avoid it entirely.
As a baby queer, I’ve checked off a solid shortlist of bad dating decisions that love coaches warn you about, including a dramatic off-and-on rollercoaster relationship, and a long-distance relationship with a woman I’d only known for a few months. I’ve allowed myself to be love bombed and subsequently played, and tried to win the hearts of more emotionally unavailable women than I’d like to admit on paper. Sexual attraction sometimes completely suspended my logic. It also left me feeling shamefully inexperienced at times, regardless of how much natural instinct had finally kicked in.
All the firsts felt so huge and all the endings equally dramatic
Having all my inner wounds exposed through a series of less-than-ideal, yet somehow more authentic, queer relationships was hard. But the experience also helped me heal. Adolescence is a time when we take all of the “shoulds” and “should nots” that our family, school, and society have taught us, and test them.
As a blossoming people-pleaser, I mostly abided by them, internalising all the rules I was given. I wasn’t aware or courageous enough to discover and be my own self — the obstacles felt too great at the time. Maybe my midlife adolescence has been an attempt to capture this lost, queer version of my past, the closest I’ll ever get to a “do-over” and to getting a glimpse of an alternate version of my life.
Today, I’ve got a solid network of queers around me. I can share my dating stories and identity journey with them, but I’m still sort of the floater I was in high school — the one who seemingly gets along with the different cliques but is only truly close to a few people. Being older and a mother make me too odd-shaped to fit perfectly into queer groups that are largely younger and child-free. Still, I can now celebrate my ability to be comfortably alone after spending the majority of my life never really knowing myself; it’s nice to finally feel like home.
I can now celebrate my ability to be comfortably alone after spending the majority of my life never really knowing myself; it’s nice to finally feel like home.
I’m not sure that anyone would willingly revisit their awkward teenage years, but I’d like to make a case for adolescence at any age. Transitionary times like this naturally lend themselves to change and metamorphosis. They are opportunities to no longer hold yourself to the past and to let your former self suddenly be unrecognisable, to others and maybe most importantly, to yourself.
As British philosopher and writer Alan Watts famously said, “You’re under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago.” Looking back now, at age 41, it’s hard to believe that I was any of the previous versions of myself, and I feel ready to let go of this past full of strangers.
I see the humour in the messiness and awkwardness of my midlife adolescence, but I also see its power, because it’s when I too became someone new — just with the same old imperfect teeth.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Guidance and suggestions for caregivers of LGBTQIA+ youth
Despite conversations around gender and sexuality becoming more common and society’s attitudes becoming more accepting, it is still undeniable that LGBTQIA+ youth face a unique set of challenges growing up.
by Cara Williams
As a caregiver, it is important to create a safe, supportive, and understanding environment to allow LGBTQIA+ youth to explore their identity. Caregivers can do so by becoming informed, being respectful, aware of potential risks, and using helpful resources.
This article provides information for caregivers and discusses ways in which they can support the well-being of LGBTQIA+ youth.
It is important that caregivers create a supportive environment for LGBTQIA+ youth. A 2021 survey conducted by The Trevor Project shows that:
- LGBTQ youth who report having high levels of support from friends, family or a special person have a lower rate of attempted suicide than those with less support.
- LGBTQ youth with access to spaces that affirm their gender and sexuality report less attempted suicides.
- Transgender or nonbinary youth who have their pronouns respected by the people they live with have half the attempted suicide rate compared to those with pronouns not respected by others in the household.
However, the study also shows that only a third of LGBTQ youth report that their homes are an LGBTQ affirming environment.
PFLAG and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)Trusted Source list several ways caregivers can create a supportive environment for LGBTQIA+ youth, such as:
- Provide opportunities for open communication. By opening up a dialogue, caregivers can create a safe space for their child to discuss their gender and/or sexual orientation.
- Provide support. Showing support for an LGBTQIA+ youth’s identity can take many forms, such as complementing their clothing when expressing their gender identity or talking positively about LGBTQIA+ characters on television.
- Stay involved. Caregivers can demonstrate ongoing support to LGBTQIA+ youth by including them in events such as family gatherings and staying informed about their life, friends, and partners.
- Express unconditional love. It is often difficult for LGBTQIA+ youth to come out to their caregivers and so it is important that caregivers remind them that they love and accept them throughout their journey.
- Be aware of potential risks
LGBTQIA+ youth may experience challenges due to how others react to their gender or sexual orientation. Youth can spend as much, if not more, time at school as they do at home so it is important to be aware of potential challenges LGBTQIA+ youth may face when at school. Stonewall’s School Report found:- 45% of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender pupils experienced bullying for being LGBT at school.
- 45% of those who experience bullying for being LGBT never tell anyone.
- 40% of those who experience bullying for being LGBT have skipped school because of it.
- Over half of LGBT pupils report there not being an adult at school that they can talk to about being LGBT.
- Only 1 in 5 LGBT pupils have received education on safe sex in same-sex relationships.
- 74% of white LGBT youth, 79% of LGBT youth of color, and 87% of LGBT youth with a disability report having thoughts of taking their own life.
The extra challenges that LGBTQIA+ youth face in schooling can make it harder for them to reach their academic goals, as well as affecting their mental and physical health. Considering these extra risks that LGBTQIA+ youth face, caregivers can look out for signs of bullying such as frequent absences from school, a fall in their grades, or participating in risky activities such as drug use.
Caregivers and parents can help ensure that schools are creating a safe environment for LGBTQIA+ youth by remaining in close contact with teachers, pushing for supportive measures such as the creation of a Gay-Straight Alliance (GSA) and being vocal about any issues that should be changed.
A 2017 studyTrusted Source shows that LGBT youth are at higher risk of sexually transmitted infections (STIs) and substance misuse. They are also more likely to struggle with mental health such as depression, anxiety, and eating disorders.
However, systemic biases may make seeking medical treatment and support more difficult. Surveys from both Stonewall and the Trevor Project found:
- 48% of LGBTQ youth who wanted to see a professional for their mental health could not receive it.
- 1 in 8 people have gone through unequal treatment from healthcare staff due to being LGBT.
- 1 in 5 LGBT people do not disclose their sexual orientation when seeking healthcare.
- 1 in 7 LGBT people, due to fear of discrimination, have avoided seeking treatment.
To minimize these challenges, caregivers can attempt:
- searching for medical practices that prioritize making their services accessible for LGBTQIA+ people
- being present in medical appointments and speaking out against the use of any noninclusive or harmful language
- ensuring medical professionals are correctly using the LGBTQIA+ youth’s pronouns
- when possible, encouraging the use of support from mental health professionals
Ultimately, it is crucial for caregivers to challenge harmful behavior and language whenever possible, whether that comes from schools, medical professionals, or family members.
Respect confidentiality
Coming to terms with identity is a journey that may not be linear. Additional factors such as race, religion, and disability may impact an LGBTQIA+ youth’s decision as to when to come out.
It is important for caregivers to respect LGBTQIA+ youth’s wishes in regard to the disclosure of their identity. Communication with caregivers is vital for LGBTQIA+ youths’ development, but it is important that caregivers do not force their child to come out, or out them to others before they are ready.A caregiver’s journey
When LGBTQIA+ youth come out, it is a journey for caregivers as well as for the LGBTQIA+ youth themselves. PFLAG list some important factors for caregivers to keep in mind:
- Caregivers are not alone. 80% of people in the United States personally know someone who is LGB and 1 in 3 know someone who is transgender. There are many organizations that exist to support and connect caregivers of LGBTQIA+ youth.
- A caregiver’s reaction is valid. There is no one way to react to an LGBTQIA+ youth coming out. Caregivers’ reactions may range from being happy that their child has opened up to them, to denial that their child is LGBTQIA+. It is important that caregivers take time to address their reactions.
- Self-care is important. Self-care is crucial to being able to provide the best support for loved ones. Caregivers can utilize resources such as PFLAG to find safe spaces to discuss their feelings during their journey with others going through similar experiences.
List of resources
Caregivers and LGBTQIA+ youth may also be able to seek help online via several organizations that provide support and advice. These may include:
- PFLAG
- The Trevor Project
- GLSEN
- Family Acceptance Project
- Human Rights Campaign
- Johns Hopkins Medicine
- It Gets Better Project
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Do You Think You’re Exclusively Straight?
Influencing People’s Perceptions of Their Sexual Orientation
By
Scientific research has shown that sexuality exists on a spectrum. But how certain are people about where they fit on it? A new University of Sydney study suggests that people’s reported sexual orientation can change after reading about the nature of sexual orientation.
Published in peer-reviewed journal, Nature’s Scientific Reports, the study found that a significant number of heterosexual people report being less exclusive in their sexual orientation as well as more willing to have same-sex experiences after reading one of two 1-page informational articles.
Lead author, Dr. James Morandini, said: “Did we change people’s sexual orientation via our interventions? Surely not. I think our study may have changed how people interpreted their underlying sexual feelings. This means two people with identical sexual orientations could describe their sexual orientation quite differently, depending on whether they have been exposed to fluid or continuous ways of understanding sexuality.”
One informational article read by participants suggested that scientific research has found that there are many gradations of sexual attraction towards men and women, and people can fall anywhere along the continuum, from exclusive attraction to men to exclusive attraction to women. Another informational article showed that sexual orientation can change over time, and thus can be fluid.
All participants self-identified as ‘straight’ before the study began. Compared to a control group, after reading the first article, participants were 28 percent more likely to identify as non-exclusively heterosexual, and 19 percent indicated they would be more likely to be willing to engage in same-sex sexual activities. Overall, the rate of ‘non-exclusive heterosexuality’ more than quadrupled after this activity. Similar, albeit weaker, effects were found when people read that sexual orientation is better characterized as fluid rather than stable throughout life.
The study‘s senior author, Associate Professor Ilan Dar-Nimrod from the School of Psychology, said: “This is not that surprising given that ‘non-exclusive heterosexuals’ (as opposed to bisexual, gay or lesbian individuals), although being the biggest same-sex attracted group, are not well captured in our society’s representations and even vernacular.”
He added: “Given the social value that our society attach to these labels, however, such a shift may have far-reaching implications. It also suggests that certain level of same-sex sexual attraction may be much more common than previously estimated.”
Methodology
A national Australian sample of 460 individuals (232 women, 228 men) who identified as ‘straight’ prior the study took part in an online panel study.
They were instructed to read an article that suggested that scientific research found one of the following:
- There are many gradations of sexual attraction towards men and women and people can fall anywhere along the continuum from exclusive attraction to men to exclusive attraction to women.
- Sexual orientation exists in three discrete, non-overlapping categories: gay, bisexual, and straight.
- Sexual orientation can change throughout one’s lifetime.
- Sexual orientation is stable once a person identifies which gender they are attracted to.
- Control (no discussion of sexual orientation but instead discussing global warming).
They were then asked to rate their sexual orientation on a 9-point scale from exclusively heterosexual (1) to exclusively homosexual (9) and provide information on how certain they are about their sexual orientation and how willing they are to engage in same-sex sexual encounters.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Your Sexuality Belongs to You and You Alone
— No One Can Decide for You
by Tess Catlett
I’m not gonna lie to y’all. I’ve written a lot over the years, but, for the most part, I’ve avoided talking about The Big Stuff.
By that, I mean how I grew up, what my relationship with my family was (is?) like, how I came to *be*, and what the hell I’m doing with my life at present.
(No, surface-level sh*tposts on Twitter don’t count. Thank you, TweetDelete for saving my future self from my past and present self’s angst. Best $15 I ever spent.)
There are a lot of reasons for this. But, for me, what it all boils down to is the fear of what my mother would do.
But you know what? It doesn’t matter anymore.
I haven’t lived at home in over a decade. The worst thing that could happen to me — that I would be unable to speak to or be there for my younger sister — is no longer a credible outcome, at least not as the result of parental involvement.
The thing is, I’m not straight. I don’t remember a lot about my childhood, but I know that I never really “came out.” Not to myself, not to my friends, certainly not to my family — though I suppose this letter is likely doing just that.
It was just a thing that I noticed about myself and that was that. I liked boys, I guess. But I also liked girls, people who didn’t feel like those words described themselves, and people who never really thought about their gender at all.
My developing brain didn’t see why this was an issue, just that it was something that might drive my mother to make good on her threats to send me to a program for “troubled teens.”
That’s because, somewhere along the way, many years before I realized this about myself, my mother had already decided that I was gay.
I honestly don’t even remember what the first thing that set her off was. For all I know, it could’ve been that, when I was 8, I wanted her to cut my thick, dark brown, butt-length hair into something more reasonable for Mississippi’s scorching summer heat.
After all, your sexuality is determined by the style of your hair, and anything above the shoulders means you’re a lesbian, right?
Whatever the case, once she got it into her head that I might be something other than a cisgender God-fearing Christian woman who would one day marry a straight, cisgender man and do whatever it is straight Christian couples do, she never let it go.
Routine outbursts reminding me that I was going to Hell were the norm. Sleepovers with friends that were girls were forbidden, and, later, the possibility of her snagging my prepaid phone to go through my text messages loomed overhead like a never-ending dark cloud.
I even stopped journaling, because I knew that, no matter where I hid it, she would read it, “find something,” and send me outside to pick out a switch from the tree.
Who you are vs. who others want you to be
There wasn’t any room for me to be myself — or explore whatever version of me I was trying to parse through at the time.
And, because there wasn’t any space for me, there wasn’t any space for anyone who I cared about to fully exist in my orbit.
If I wanted to hang out with certain friends, I had to lie about who they were, how I knew them, and anything else that might reveal that their identity and personality fell outside the invisible spectrum of “acceptability” that my mother clung to.
I knew I could never bring some friends to my house, or around my family, because of how they would be treated.
Even though I knew I didn’t agree with what my mother thought, that her idea of what was right and what was wrong wasn’t rooted in good faith, hearing it day in and day out took a toll.
The slightest overstep — be it as simple as asking to check out the “Pretty Little Liars” series at the library — and I would be exiled to my grandmother’s computer room to watch online bible studies for hours on end.
The message? What I liked was immoral, the people I wanted to hang out with were unholy, and I needed to be better or else I’d risk eternal damnation.
Sexual repression and self-destruction
Trying and failing to conform to what was expected of me erupted in a number of ways. The balancing act of Christian guilt and perpetual self-loathing landed me in a locked bathroom with a single-edge razor blade and left a range of barcodes permanently etched into my skin.
As the years cycled through, razors turned into switchblades, switchblades turned into an eating disorder, and my troubles with food turned into troubles with substance use — all while throwing myself into schoolwork and extracurricular activities.
Disassociation was the name of the game, and whatever could keep me there the longest was a plus in my book.
All I wanted was to get out, but I didn’t think I could make it past 18. Between what I dealt with at home, and what I inflicted on myself outside, it was a toss up of which would kill me first.
I won’t justify my mother’s behavior or her beliefs, but I can’t pretend that she didn’t have her reasons. Trauma begets trauma, and generational trauma is the gift that keeps on giving.
Yet I’m still here. I moved out of state after high school and somehow managed to scam my way into an undergraduate degree that I’ll never pay off.
I made it to the West Coast, where I’m getting by in a city that I can’t afford to breathe in. I found a home in my friends and learned how to lean on them.
And I’m finally ready to stop picking and choosing which fundamental parts of myself I share online and IRL.
Self-advocacy as the key to sexual pleasure
That’s what this year’s Sexual Health Awareness Month is all about: standing in your truth and taking ownership of your identity.
Longtime Healthline writer Gabrielle Kassel kicks things off with a deep dive into “second queer adolescence,” which is the idea that queer people live their “teenage years” twice.
- Check back here on September 7 to learn more about what a second queer adolescence can look like, the potential highs and lows, and how to embrace your personal timeline — no matter your age or the timelines of those around you.
- Want to start reading now? Check out Gabrielle’s take on what it means to be “queer enough” to claim your identity.
On September 13, we welcome retired professional dominatrix Reb Holmberg to the site to talk about how BDSM can make pleasure accessible to people of differing ages, abilities, body shapes, and social skills.
- Over a 30-year career, they created thousands of experiences that have enabled clients, friends, and lovers to feel liberated from old age, immobility, body size, and gender dysphoria. And luckily for us, they’re going to explain how we can find the same joy.
- Want to start reading now? Sarah Aswell wrote a beginner’s guide to kinky sex, so you can brush up on the basics.
Catasha Harris, a Black sexual empowerment coach, finishes out the month with her September 20 debut.
- Here, she explains in-depth why Black women have never really been given the opportunity to sexually explore — and why this sexual awakening is so important at this specific moment in time.
- Want to start reading now? Check out this article, an impassioned plea from Gloria Oladipo to stop begging Black women to save you from the consequence of your own actions.
Something else on your mind? Our sex and relationships hub covers everything from cuffing during a pandemic and safer chest binding to having an orgasm after menopause, tips for being a better lover, and more.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Why has same-sex sexual behaviour persisted during evolution?
Same-sex sexual behaviour may seem to present a Darwinian paradox. It provides no obvious reproductive or survival benefit, and yet same-sex sexual behaviour is fairly common — around 2-10% of individuals in diverse human societies — and is clearly influenced by genes.
These observations raise the question: why have genes associated with same-sex sexual behaviour been maintained over evolutionary time? Given that evolution depends on genes being passed down through the generations via reproduction, how and why were these genes passed down too?
In a new paper published in Nature Human Behaviour, my colleagues and I tested one possible explanation: that the genes associated with same-sex sexual behaviour have evolutionarily advantageous effects in people who don’t engage in same-sex sexual behaviour.
Specifically, we tested whether those genes are also associated with having more opposite-sex partners, which might therefore confer an evolutionary advantage.
To investigate this, we used genetic data from more than 350,000 people who had participated in the UK Biobank, a huge database of genetic and health information.
These participants reported whether they had ever had a same-sex partner, and also how many opposite-sex partners they had had in their lifetime.
We analysed the association of millions of individual genetic variants with each of these self-reported variables. For both variables, there were not only one or a few associated genetic variants, but very many, spread throughout the genome. Each had only a tiny effect, but in aggregate, their effects were substantial.
We then showed that the aggregate genetic effects associated with ever having had a same sex partner were also associated — among people who had never had a same-sex partner — with having had more opposite-sex partners.
This result supported our main hypothesis.
Further exploration
We then tried replicating and extending our findings.
First, we successfully replicated the main finding in an independent sample.
Second, we tested whether our results still held true if we used different definitions of same-sex sexual behaviour.
For example, did it still hold true if we tightened the definition of same-sex sexual behaviour to cover only those individuals with predominantly or exclusively same-sex partners (rather than including anyone who has ever had one)?
Our results remained largely consistent, although statistical confidence was lower due to the smaller sub-samples used.
Third, we tested whether physical attractiveness, risk-taking propensity, and openness to experience might help to account for the main result.
In other words, could genes associated with these variables be associated with both same-sex sexual behaviour and with opposite-sex partners in heterosexuals?
In each case, we found evidence supporting a significant role for these variables, but most of the main result remained unexplained.
So we still don’t have a solid theory on exactly how these genes confer an evolutionary advantage. But it might be a complex mix of factors that generally make someone “more attractive” in broad terms.
Simulating evolution
To investigate how the hypothesised evolutionary process might unfold, we also constructed a digital simulation of a population of reproducing individuals over many generations. These simulated individuals had small “genomes” that affected their predispositions for having same-sex partners and opposite-sex reproductive partners.
These simulations showed that, in principle, the kind of effect suggested by our main result can indeed maintain same-sex sexual behaviour in the population, even when the trait itself is evolutionarily disadvantageous.
Crucially, our simulations also showed that if there were no countervailing benefit to genes associated with same-sex sexual behaviour, the behaviour would likely disappear from the population.
These findings give us intriguing clues about the evolutionary maintenance of same-sex sexual behaviour, but there are important caveats too.
An important limitation is that our results are based on modern, Western samples of white participants – we cannot know to what extent our findings apply to other ethnicities or cultures in different places and times. Future studies using more diverse samples may help clarify this.
On a final note, I am aware some people believe it is inappropriate to study sensitive topics such as the genetics and evolution of same-sex sexual behaviour. My perspective is that the science of human behaviour aims to shine a light on the mysteries of human nature and that this involves understanding the factors that shape our commonalities and our differences.
Were we to avoid studying sexual preference or other such topics due to political sensitivities, we would be leaving these important aspects of normal human diversity in the dark.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
What Is Heteronormativity?
— And How Does It Shape the World Around You?
It’s literally everything.
By Gabrielle Kassel
Maybe you recently decided to gift your social feeds the presence of LGBTQ+ activists and influencers. Or maybe you’re doing your part to be an informed LGBTQ+ ally. Whatever the reason — and no matter your sexuality or gender — odds are you’ve stumbled onto certain words that make you feel like you need a goddamn gender and sexuality Ph.D. to understand. And one of those words is heteronormativity.
That’s why we put together this Heteronormativity 101 explainer. Read on to learn the official definition of heteronormativity, as well as where it came from, and how it (negatively) impacts the day-to-day lives of so many people.
Heteronormativity, Defined
At its most distilled, heteronormativity is the pervasive assumption that every single person is heterosexual, cisgender, and allosexual, unless otherwise stated.
- Heterosexual: The term for those who are attracted to people with gender that is different from their own.
- Cisgender: The term used when a person’s gender aligns with their sex assigned at birth. For instance, a person assigned female at birth who is a woman.
- Allosexual: Allosexuality names the experience of enjoying regular sexual attraction toward others. It’s the opposite of asexuality, which means someone experiences little to know sexual attraction.
“[Heteronormativity] names the belief that being straight and cisgender [and allosexual] are the only normal and natural expressions of sexuality and gender,” and that everything else is deviant, explains Jesse Kahn, L.C.S.W., C.S.T., director and sex therapist at The Gender & Sexuality Therapy Center in NYC.
Queer theorists Michael Warner and Lauren Berlant coined the term in 1988 in their iconic queer theory text, Sex In Public, to put a name to the ways this assumption privileges people who actually are straight (and cisgender and allosexual) while disenfranchising anyone who is not. “By heteronormativity, we mean the institutions, structures of understanding, and practical orientations that make heterosexuality seem not only coherent…but privileged,” they wrote. “Its privilege can take several (sometimes contradictory) forms.” More on those forms below.
What Heteronormativity Looks Like In Action
Heteronormativity is inescapable. It’s folded into everything from who’s cast as the love interests in romantic comedies to the fact that people are still having gender reveal parties and the belief that you can discern someone’s gender and pronouns just by looking at them (you can’t!). It also fuels assumptions such as the idea that bisexuality is a phase and the expectation that someone is dating someone of a different gender from their own when they say they have a partner.
It regulates who dates who, who screws who, how people express their gender, how people dress, and how they express their sexuality, says queer sex educator and sex science researcher Eva Bloom, creator of the F*ck the Patriarchy, F*ck Yourself self-pleasure course for non-men. And through the baked-in assumption that there are just two genders (man and women), “it also erases non-binary people, transgender people, and any other gender-expansive people,” they say. It also inherently relies on the idea that biological sex is binary — meaning that someone is born either male or female — which is scientifically untrue, and thus erases the existence of intersex people, adds Bloom.
Where Did Heteronormativity Originate?
Humans have been having sex with people all across the gender spectrum forever, says Bloom. But Western society didn’t begin associating identity labels with certain sex acts until the 1920s and 1930s, when the terms “heterosexual” and “homosexual” — which were previously used as medical markers for “excessive” attraction to the opposite or same sex, respectively — underwent a linguistic makeover, according to OutHistory.org, an LGBTQ+ history website created by Jonathan Ned Katz, author of Gay American History: Lesbians and Gay Men in the U.S.A. The terms made their debut in the Merriam-Webster dictionary in 1923 with definitions in line with their medical roots, but in 1934, both terms got an update. “Homosexuality is the eroticism for one of the same sex,” read one of the entries. “Heterosexuality is a manifestation of sexual passion for one of the opposite sex; normal sexuality,” read the second. And with these, came the attachment of normalcy to heterosexuality and abnormalcy to homosexuality.
“Before that, any differentiation between good sex and wrong sex lied in the difference between procreative sex and non-procreative sex, where all different types of non-procreative sex (masturbation, same-sex sex, cisgender heterosexual sex for the sake of pleasure, etc.) were all deemed as being equally wrong,” explains Bloom. You can thank religion for that mentality, aka purity culture.
So, while the hetero/homo binary — and therefore heterosexism — may seem like an indestructible constant, it’s actually a nasty side effect of a dictionary entry. (For a full breakdown on the history of “heterosexuality,” check out the BBC article The Invention of Heterosexuality by Brandon Ambrosino.)
The Harmfulness of Heteronormativity Cannot Be Overstated
The material, physical, mental, and emotional consequences that LGBTQ+ individuals face at the hands of heteronormativity are very real. In an explicit and implicit way, “heteronormativity says anyone who is not heterosexual and/or cisgender and/or allosexual is strange, abnormal, deviant, and unnatural,” explains Kahn. This opens up opportunities for LGBTQ+ people to be discriminated against, rejected, and enacted violence on, he says.
“The stats about the violence, rejection, and discrimination that LGBTQ people face match this experience,” he says. One 2020 report by the Williams Institute at the UCLA School of Law shows that, overall, LGBTQ+ people are nearly four times more likely than non-LGBTQ+ to be victims of violent crimes, including aggravated assault, sexual assault, rape, and violent victimization. The pervasiveness of these occurrences, which disproportionately target trans women of color, create a dynamic in which LGBTQ+ people need to be hypervigilant of any potential harms, sending their central nervous systems into a near-constant state of fight-or-flight in the process, and exacerbating symptoms of anxiety. That’s just one potential reason why lesbian, gay, and bisexual adults are more than twice as likely as heterosexual adults to experience a mental health condition, according to the National Alliance On Mental Illness; meanwhile, transgender individuals are nearly four times as likely as cisgender individuals to experience a mental health condition.
These injustices don’t even take a break in the workplace or doctors offices: 25 percent of LGBTQ+ people report workplace discrimination, according to the National LGBTQ Workers Center, while 56 percent of LGB individuals and 70 percent of transgender individuals report being been discriminated against at some point in their life in medical settings. The result of these discriminations ranges from lack of job security and financial stability to worsened health outcomes. (See More: Transgender Healthcare Discrimination Is a Huge Problem You Need to Know About)
Wait, So What Is Homonormativity?
If you’ve heard the term “heteronormativity,” you may have also heard the term “homonormativity,” and while the two terms many sound similar, they operate very differently. Put simply, homonormativity names the phenomenon of LGBTQ+ individuals shaping their relationships to mirror the family structures, dress codes, and gender roles modeled by cisgender heterosexual folks. Not a harmless game of copy-cat, however, homonormativity distracts from actual queer liberation, which involves fighting for the rights of the most disenfranchised people, namely Black trans femmes. Many people say homonormativity is the reason, for example, that same-sex marriage was a legal priority for the LGBTQ+ activists rather than anti-discrimination laws. (Related: I’m Black, Queer, and Polyamorous — Why Does That Matter to My Doctors?)
Here’s the thing: Homonormativity is an important phenomenon for LGBTQ+ people to be aware of in order to hold themselves accountable for their most disenfranchised community members. But as Michael Warner and Lauren Berlant made note of in Sex In Public, “because homosexuality can never have the invisible, tactic, society-founding rightness that heterosexuality has, it [is not] possible to speak of homonormativity in the same sense [that we talk about heteronormativity].” In other words, while the consequences of homonormativity are, indeed, very real, heteronormativity is the first line of action.
How to Destabilize Heteronormativity
To be clear, the idea that heteronormativity can be dismantled by individuals making small gestures in their individual lives is actually heteronormativity in action. Heteronormativity is built into the systems that shape our lives. So, actually overthrowing heteronormativity requires a total re-working of life as we know it, and includes things like the disintegration of the prison industrial complex, the implementation of universal health care, and the dis-entanglement of rights from marital status. The idea that a single person can unpack heteronormativity is similar to the idea that combating global warming is as simple as individuals using paper straws.
That said, kudos to you for wanting to dismantle heteronormativity in order to help make the lives of gender and sexual minorities more livable and joy-filled. Because, yes, there are absolutely steps you can take in your life to create a more equitable world.
The first is to become aware of the existence of heteronormativity, which by reading this you have already conquered. The next is to use this new awareness to interrogate your own thoughts, prejudices, and assumptions around sex, sexuality, and gender, as well as how those prejudices shape the world around you, according to The Rainbow Resource Centre, a non-profit that serves the LGBTQ+ community in Ontario, Canada.
Some questions to ask yourself:
- What beliefs have I been taught about gender that have informed my ideas about what qualifies as “good” and “bad” womanhood and manhood?
- What assumptions do I make about the sexual health status, sexual tastes, sexual frequency, number of partners, and tastes do I make about people who I know are not straight?
- Does my social media, movie, podcast, and book consumption accurately reflect the gender and sexual diversity of the world? (Related: Reading Queer Memoirs Helped Connect Me to the LGBTQ+ Community — Here Are 11 I Recommend)
- What could I do to make my gym, work-space, and doctor’s office safer for LGBTQ+ people?
- Are there times when I could move away from gendered-language?
Ideally, you’ll be able to use the answers to the above questions to make impactful changes. At the very least, says Kahn, “these changes should include shifting away from heteronormativity include offering pronouns, using gender-neutral language (such as for partners and spouses), learning about and from LGBTQ+ people and experiences, and unlearning microaggressive language (like “preferred” pronouns, “real” name, and “regular” or “normal” as synonyms for heterosexual or cisgender).” (Next read: Tools to Help You Uncover Implicit Bias)
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
18 Types of Sexuality To Know for Greater Understanding About Yourself and Others
By Korin Miller
There are a number of different types of sexuality, and by learning about each, you can cultivate a better understanding about yourself and others. And since language is always evolving, staying abreast of the different types of sexuality is important for both creating an authentic relationship with yourself and being an inclusive ally for all people. “The constantly evolving lexicon provides more options that can help people explore themselves,” says Corey Flanders, PhD, sexual-health disparities researcher and associate professor of psychology and education at Mount Holyoke College. “The range of sexuality terms available means that more people will find something that resonates with their experience.”
Words matter, and when those words connect to nuanced forms of identity, they matter even more. Such is the case for why it’s so important for all people to understand the different types of sexuality. To contextualize it differently, consider Dr. Flanders’ following example about ice cream: “I had a teacher once who described it in terms of ice cream flavors,” she says. “What if your favorite ice cream flavor was kale, but you never knew that about yourself because it was never an option? And then one day, maybe you come across kale ice cream and love it, and now understand yourself as a person whose favorite ice cream is kale-flavored.”
“Sexuality is full of diversity, and awareness of different types helps build acceptance and understanding of these differences.” —Shannon Chavez, PsyD, sexologist
The implications of understanding the different types of sexuality are, of course, further reaching and more important than ice cream flavors. “Sexuality is full of diversity, and awareness of different types helps build acceptance and understanding of these differences,” says Shannon Chavez, PsyD, resident sex therapist with K-Y. “It breaks down stereotypes, judgments, and myths about different sexual populations. Sexuality is a central part of your identity and who you are, and learning more about your own sexuality as well as others’ can be an empowering and positive experience.”
To be sure, understanding your own sexuality can be beneficial for myriad reasons. It “can help you connect to other folks who share a similar experience, which we know is important for supporting the health and well-being of queer people,” Dr. Flanders says. “For me personally, I grew up in a time and a place where bisexuality and queerness weren’t options that were known to me. Once I met people who used those terms to describe themselves, it provided a framework for me to understand myself and my sexuality in a way that enabled me to communicate it to myself and others.”
And in fact, learning about the types of sexuality—even if you feel you already have a strong understanding of your own identity—can help destigmatize and remove shame surrounding the space for others. “I do believe we are going through a new sexual revolution where people are more open with their unique identities, bringing awareness to pronouns and gender identities, and freedom to express who you are sexually without fear and shame,” Dr. Chavez says.
While, again, the types of sexuality are constantly evolving and growing, below, you can find a breakdown of many up-to-date terms and their meaning, according to the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) and the University of Connecticut’s Rainbow Center:
18 types of sexuality to know about for a deeper understanding of yourself and others
1. Allosexual
This is a person who experiences sexual attraction.
2. Aromantic
An aromantic is one of many romantic orientations that describes someone who experiences little or no romantic attraction to another person.
3. Androsexual
An androsexual is sexually attracted to men or masculinity.
4. Asexual
People who are asexual have a lack of attraction to other people.
5. Bicurious
A person who is bicurious is interested in or curious about having sex with someone whose sex or gender is different from their usual sexual partners.
6. Bisexual
A bisexual is someone who is emotionally, romantically, or sexually attracted to more than one sex, gender, or gender identity. This is a term that is sometimes used interchangeably with “pansexual,” which more specifically describes someone who is attracted to people without regard to their gender identity.
7. Demiromantic
This is a person who has little or no ability to feel romantically attracted to someone until they form a strong sexual or emotional connection with a person.
8. Demisexual
A demisexual does not experience sexual attraction until they have a strong romantic connection with someone.
9. Gay
A person who is gay is emotionally, romantically, or sexually attracted to people of the same gender identity. This term is often used by men, women, and non-binary people.
10. Heteroflexible
People who are heteroflexible often identify as heterosexual but may experience situational attraction that falls outside of that.
11. Heterosexual
This term describes people who identify as men who are attracted to people who identify as women, and vice versa.
12. Lesbian
A lesbian is someone who identifies a woman or as non-binary who is emotionally, romantically or sexually attracted to other women. The term is used by women and non-binary people.
13. LGBTQ
This acronym is used for “lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer.”
14. Pansexual
A pansexual is a person who has the potential for emotional, romantic or sexual attraction to people of any gender identity or sexual orientation.
15. Queer
This term describes a spectrum of sexual identities other than exclusively heterosexual.
16. Questioning
People who consider themselves questioning are currently exploring their sexual orientation.
17. Same-gender loving
This is a term that’s used by some people instead of “lesbian,” “gay,” or “bisexual” to explain their attraction to someone of the same gender identity.
18. Skoliosexual
A person who is skoliosexual is attracted to people who are non-binary.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Why do men search for gym buddies on Grindr? An investigation
Grindr has both defined itself by and come to define the language of queer men. One of the most recent trends to be seen across people’s profiles is the rise of the hunt for ‘gym buddies’.
By Louis Staple
Downloading Grindr – then deleting it, before re-downloading it, only to delete it again – has become a modern rite of passage for queer men. The hook-up app revolutionised dating and sex when it arrived in 2009, inspiring the likes of Tinder and the digitised, swipe-heavy dating world of today. Grindr changed gay culture forever too: it created a visual map that proved that gay and bi men are literally everywhere (sometimes just feet away!). The app quickly became the most popular gay app in the world and, by 2014, it had seven million users worldwide. It’s been referenced in many TV shows and films too, from Glee to How to Get Away With Murder, The Real Housewives and, perhaps most fittingly, Trainwreck.
So many discussions about gay culture end up circling back to Grindr, from body image to sexual racism, “chemsex” and bottom-shaming. On the app, users often behave differently to how they would in “real life” and gay Twitter is often flooded with screengrabs of men behaving badly, brutally and straight-up bizarrely. There’s a whole glossary of emoji-driven codes and even visual “tribes” – such as “otters”, “daddies”, “clean cut” and “twinks” – which would take a very long time to explain to most straight people.
One trend that I’ve noticed – and have long been intrigued by – is men looking for a “gym buddy” on Grindr. On user profiles, it’s very common to see the desire for a “gym bud” listed alongside someone’s favourite drink (usually gin), height, body type and preferred sexual position. But why?
On the face of things, a gym buddy is just a friend to go to the gym with. Some people do use Grindr for platonic connections, particularly if they’ve just moved somewhere new, but it’s nevertheless an intriguing place to look for a gym companion. Michael, a 24-year-old gay man who enjoys group exercise classes and going to the gym with friends, thinks this trend makes sense. “Personally, I used to find the gym an incredibly difficult place to be. It was like hyper-masculinity on speed, with this immense pressure to be fit, strong and ultimately to know what you’re doing,” he tells GQ. “I think working out with somebody can break that intimidation because it’s a) somebody to back up what you’re doing and b) potentially somebody to guide or coach you. It’s safety in numbers in what can be a scary place.”
Personally, the idea of being sweaty and exhausted around someone I don’t know very well fills me with dread (particularly if he’s also a gay man which, no, I won’t be unpacking at this time!). But that’s not Michael’s experience. “In the age of athleisure and boutique gyms, the gym doesn’t have to be a gross and sweaty place,” he says. “People look good at the gym. Plus, they can suck each other off in the steam room or have sex in the shower.”
After speaking with Grindr users in London, I can confirm that Michael is right in suspecting that sometimes the search for gym buddies goes beyond a platonic friendship. There’s obviously a reason why men are using Grindr, specifically, in this way (there are already apps for finding a gym buddy, such as GymBuddy and SportPartner). Some guys, such as 26-year-old James*, were genuinely using Grindr to look for a pal to exercise with, because “Straight men might think I’m hitting on them or not be comfortable working out with me. Or, even if they aren’t thinking that, the feeling that they might be would make me feel awkward.” But others, such as 28-year-old Callum*, were hoping for “something more” if the attraction was there, because “You have more time to work out whether a guy is hot at the gym than in nudes he’s probably edited, or just before a hook-up, and it’s less pressure than meeting somewhere else.”
It’s hardly surprising that the gym might seem like a particularly fruitful backdrop for sex – after all, they are spaces full of sweaty men in not much clothing. On gay Twitter, it seems like everyone has a “gym crush” and there’s also an entire genre of porn that fetishises gyms and the locker room. In 2019, Vice UK investigated why so many gay men still go cruising at the gym, after a Virgin Active health club emailed its members saying it would be sending in undercover police to check for “inappropriate behaviour”. Many garments that have become part of the sartorial language of gay men, from jockstraps to tube socks and short shorts, are also rooted in sportswear. For some, there is clearly a feeling of empowerment in being legibly gay in a hyper-masculine space or reclaiming an aesthetic or pastime that they once felt excluded from.
Gyms are horny, but also quite anxious, places for some gay men. “So many of my clients are uncomfortable in gyms,” says Matt Boyles, founder of Fitter Confident You, a fitness company that helps gay, bi and trans guys get into exercise. When it comes to the link between “gym buddies” and sex, Boyles thinks it’s twofold: “The gym is how you can build your body and thus appear more ‘manly’. Speaking from personal experience, I used to think that would make me seem more ‘straight’.” Boyles also suspects that gyms can be a “stepping stone” for some gay men, because many have saunas and steam rooms, which can be a build up to visiting gay saunas. “This might appeal to men who are sexually attracted to men, but don’t want to seem overly ‘gay’ in any other way,” he says.
But why would men go to the trouble of auditioning a “gym bud” rather than simply going on a date or straight to sex? “Grindr is known for having users who don’t necessarily identify as gay or bi, so they’ve maybe experimented, or may identify as straight, but still want to have sex with men,” gay fitness writer Spenser Mestel tells GQ. “I think that looking for a ‘gym buddy’ is perhaps a way for them to engage with gay men, even though they aren’t able to express what their sexual desires are. If they’re not comfortable asking for the kind of sex that they actually want, this is a stand-in for that.”
Mestel is right that, on Grindr, a lot of the profiles looking for a “gym buddy” identify themselves as “straight”. Many don’t have photos on their profiles and some are in relationships with women. One man, who didn’t share his name, told me that he wouldn’t want to be seen on a date with a man as he’s not out. He also can’t host men at his house, because he’s married to a woman and doesn’t like sending pictures of his face on Grindr. So the gym is a risk-free place to meet men who might not otherwise agree to meet him. Another user, who specifically labelled himself as “Str8” and a “top” (the penetrative role in gay sex), tells me that he’s only into “masculine” men sexually but has no interest in any chat. “I always need to cum most after a workout, so the gym showers are the easiest place and gay men are more into NSA [no strings attached] sex than women,” he says.
It might sound perplexing to hear about men on Grindr identifying as straight, but it’s not uncommon for a distinction and hierarchy to be drawn between sexual activity and romantic relationships (this can be seen as far back as Ancient Greece). Some people also perceive a difference between a physical behaviour, such as sex with men, and the formation of a “gay identity.” Plus, even in the UK in 2021, not everyone has the ability to be open about their sexuality.
Social psychology might also tell us why men, particularly those who consider themselves masculine or straight, might highlight the gym as important to them on an app. Social psychologist Russell Spears theorises that when we go online in a more anonymous or semi-anonymous environment, where there’s less information about people, we rely more on social norms (such as, for men to be sporty and strong). Spears calls this tendency the “de-individualisation hypothesis”, which might be a reason why “straight” men on Grindr emphasise their commitment to exercise.
The gym and Grindr are both places where men might feel competitive with each other or insecure about their masculinity. Mestel thinks this affects gay men in particular. “I think already at the gym, for gay men, there’s a sense of ‘Am I attracted to this person? Or am I just jealous of them?’,” he says. “Our workout routines are very personal to us and intimate, which makes me think having a ‘gym buddy’ is less about working out and more about connecting in a masculine, sanctioned way.” Boyles thinks that it could also be about lessening the pressure of rejection. “If you just say, ‘Shall we go to the gym together?’ and get rejected, it’s less damaging to your self-esteem,” he says. “And it also allows men to justify their reason for being on a gay hook-up app: ‘I’m on Grindr, but I mainly use it for gym buddies!’”
These types of negotiations remind me of something PhD student Robin Craig observed while discussing why men might make an effort to appear more masculine over text. Speaking to GQ in April, he drew a parallel between how men talk on Grindr and the barbershop, as a nearly male-only space where men are seeking physical intimacy,” he said, remarking on how both spaces see an increase in men saying “man”, “dude”, “bro” and “mate”. “The use of male slang reinforces the speaker’s masculinity in a space where it’s placed in jeopardy, such as a gay male cruising app,” he added. Surely, then, the same parallel can also be drawn between the digital space of Grindr and the physical space of the gym?
At first, the search for gym buddies on Grindr might seem like a bizarre trend that isn’t noteworthy. But actually, it intersects with some big questions about how men (from gay to “straight”) feel like they’re supposed to behave in different spaces. The gym and Grindr actually have a lot in common: they’re both places where there’s an emphasis on self-improvement, where there’s a perception of competition, where masculinity is being flaunted, questioned and, crucially, where sex might be on the cards. So, really, how could men not be looking for “gym buddies” on Grindr? They’re natural bedfellows – pun intended.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Why I Refuse to Label My Sexuality
For some people, sexuality labels are grounding and empowering. For others (ahem, me), choosing one feels downright impossible.
By Amanda Chatel
I love labels. One look at my closet, especially my ever-growing designer shoe collection, is proof that labels are something I’m very much into — as superficial as that may sound. Maybe there’s a shoe out there for a quarter of the price of a Christian Louboutin flat, but at the end of the day, it’s not the same. So, I’m going for the Louboutin. What can I say? I love those red bottoms and people knowing that I’m rocking the brand. Again, I know this is superficial and shallow. We can blame the Libra in me.
But while I love the labels on my clothes and on my shoes, I don’t them on me. I know that as a cisgender, white woman (and Libra!), these are labels I can’t escape; they’re facts about me that, upon meeting me for the first time, are pretty evident. What’s not so clear, however, is my sexuality.
I have often asked myself, “Where am I on the spectrum?” I don’t feel comfortable calling myself “gay,” because that’s not completely accurate. I’m realizing, as I get older, the straight label I hid behind for the first half of my life doesn’t really fit anymore, either. As for being bi, I’m overcome with imposter syndrome, wondering if I’m “bi enough” to declare myself as such, especially as I see bisexuals being questioned for their sexuality, both in the straight and queer communities. I find this mostly is the case for my bisexual male friends who, far too often, are the subject to the archaic adage that being bisexual is just a layover on the way to being gay. (See: Read This If You’ve Ever Worried That You’re “Not Queer Enough”)
Although the Kinsey Scale (published in 1948 by sexologist Alfred Kinsey, M.D.) is often cited as being outdated, it was on the right track. The scale is presented as a sort of graph, in which a zero (on the far left side) represents experiencing purely heterosexual attraction and a six (on the far right side) represents experiencing entirely homosexual attraction. It was created to account for research findings that showed people did not fit into exclusive heterosexual or homosexual categories. This scale acknowledged that bisexuality exists, and defined it as being “equally heterosexual and homosexual” at number three on the scale, with both numbers two and four making room for people’s ability to not be strictly 50/50 in their sexuality. In the study published with the scale, the researchers also wrote, “The living world is a continuum in each and every one of its aspects.” This may have been Dr. Kinsey’s way of alluding to the fact that, yes, sexual fluidity is real.
Since high school, I’ve found myself attracted to both men and women. It was one woman in particular who, for the first time ever, made me question my sexuality. I was 16, she was 17, and the few times we interacted, I could feel every ounce of blood in my body rush to my face as I stumbled over my words to talk to her. She had the same effect on me as the boys I had crushes on back then. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss her, sit next to her and watch movies for hours, or be the little spoon to her big spoon. I just knew I wanted to be near her.
I’ve only had “serious” relationships with men, and only few (like, four) at that. As for dates, flings, and one-night stands, they’ve included both men and women. While I sometimes find myself leaning toward men, sexually, I also find myself leaning toward women when it comes to seeking companionship and a loving, committed relationship. When I try to envision whom I’d ideally like to grow old with, I don’t picture a man or a woman. I picture a person. Someone who makes me laugh, someone who calls me out on my B.S. when necessary, and someone who’s willing to put up with my idiosyncrasies for the long haul. And, because I see a person, it makes me double down on wanting an unlabeled sexuality. Frankly, I just don’t see the point in picking something.
“Finding a label for yourself is an incredibly personal process, and honestly, some people are overwhelmed by it,” says sex educator Cassandra Corrado. “If you find a label that fits you perfectly now, that’s great! And if you prefer to stick with an unlabeled sexuality, that’s perfect, too. Labels can help us situate ourselves in the world and better understand ourselves. They’re the lens through which we understand ourselves, our relationships, and how we might engage with things like sexual expression and gender presentation. Some people are empowered by them, but others are overwhelmed.”
I feel like slapping a label on myself not only puts me in a box, narrowing things too much for who and what I am and what I desire.
I do find the idea of labeling my sexuality to be overwhelming. I’m fortunate enough to live in a time where there are so many labels to choose from, and I applaud anyone who has found a label that fits them and is happy with it. I also applaud anyone who has changed their label over time, because sexuality is so fluid, and sometimes what fits for one stage in life no longer fits for another stage. I believe that sexuality and who you’re attracted to evolves over time and slides up and down the continuum Dr. Kinsey mentioned in his work. I feel like slapping a label on myself not only puts me in a box, narrowing things too much for who and what I am and what I desire, but it also leads to stereotypes — especially when it comes to how straight men perceive bisexual women. (Far too many times straight men have asked me if I’m bi and when I say no, nine times out of 10 they’ve expressed disappointment that their fantasy of having a threesome has suddenly been taken from them. Honestly, I wonder how these types of straight guys would actually fare if they had the opportunity to be with two women, but that’s a whole other story.)
“People might opt to stay unlabeled for many reasons; they may not see themselves in the labels they know, they might feel like their desires and understanding of their identities are still in flux, or because stigma has pushed them away from the label that feels like the best fit,” says Corrado. “Others may find labels restrictive. Ultimately, the important thing is to let people define who they are for themselves — whether or not that involves a specific label.” (Related: It Took Me Until Age 32 to Live Fully As My Polyamorous, Bisexual Self — and I’m a Sex Therapist)
Maybe someday I’ll find a label that works for me, that encompasses everything I am into one word, but I doubt it. One word just doesn’t seem to cut it when it comes to my sexuality. To quote from Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” whose own sexuality has been debated by historians:
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself;
(I am large, I contain multitides.)
— “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman
I contain multitudes. Whether it’s my sexuality, my political affiliations, my atheism, or even my disdain for pineapple on pizza. I’m not one thing; I am many things. And, honestly, my (unlabeled) sexuality is far from the most intriguing thing about me, so why do I have to try and search for an apt label to define it? I don’t, so I won’t. I just know that when I fall in love again, it will be with the person, who they are, their passions, their ability to empathize, their sense of humor, how we make each other feel, and all that good stuff. It certainly won’t have anything to do with what they happen to have between their legs.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Why You Shouldn’t Feel Pressure to Label Your Sexuality
Fear not: Sexuality doesn’t have to be black and white!
Q: Hi. I’m Sadie and I’m 15. Right now I’m really confused because I know that I’m romantically attracted to guys, but sexually attracted to girls. I just don’t know why I can’t like guys in the same way that I like girls, and I don’t even feel romantically attracted to girls. What does this mean?
A: Before we get to what all this means for your identity and relationships, let’s talk about what this stuff literally means, starting with the basics. “Sexual attraction” means feeling like you want to make out or engage in some level of sex with another person. “Romantic attraction” means feeling non-platonic emotional connection with or attachment to someone, but can also involve physical affection like cuddling. Romantic and sexual feelings don’t always go hand in hand.
As a culture, we fully accept this on an individual basis: Nobody would bat an eyelash if, say, one person loved hooking up with her classmate yet didn’t get enough romantic butterflies to actually date them. But as you’ve already noticed, this can happen with entire genders, too: One gender may inspire love, but not lust, and vice versa.
People can be homoromantic or heteroromantic, just like they can be homosexual or heterosexual. They can be sexually attracted to more than one gender (bisexual or pansexual) or romantically attracted to multiple genders (biromantic or panromantic). When people’s romantic and sexual attractions don’t match up gender-wise, it’s called romantic and sexual discordance. That sounds intimidating and long-winded, but it’s just a technical term you never have to use if you don’t want to. Discordance isn’t wildly uncommon; in a 2016 study of 414 adults, 10% of them reported having discordant sexual and romantic orientations.
“People can definitely be homosexual but heteroromantic” (which is what you describe in your letter) “although it is less common than being, say, bisexual and heteroromantic,” says Emily Lund, PhD, assistant professor of Counselor Education at the University of Alabama and one of the authors of the 2016 study. “People can also have different degrees of attraction to different genders and these can fluctuate over time.”
You describe feeling confused over your romantic and sexual attractions, and that’s perfectly fine. Lund says you shouldn’t feel like you have to commit to one identity now—or ever. “Sexual identity development is a process, especially for people who have a non-normative sexual or romantic orientation,” Lund says. “Many people go through several labels and identities to describe their sexual and/or romantic attractions before finding one that fits. And some people never find a label that quite fits.”
In other words, it’s totally OK to simply exist and date whoever strikes your romantic or sexual fancy, without an explanation. If you’re looking for models or support, it might help to seek out queer spaces for teens, particularly those that honor non-normative sexuality, like Asexuality Visibility and Education Network. (Their website has information about all kinds of identities on this spectrum.) As their founder, David Jay, told me a few months ago: A label is “not an inner truth, not a medical diagnosis. If it feels useful, use it. If it ever stops feeling useful, stop using it.”
Even if you do find an identity or term that feels right, keep in mind that at 15, your body and mind is raging with fluctuating hormones and information overload. “Fifteen-year-olds are often still developing in both their romantic and sexual attractions, so it may be that Sadie’s feelings and attractions will shift over time,” says Debby Herbenick, PhD, professor at the Indiana University School of Public Health. This is backed up by research: Psychologist Lisa M. Diamond studied 100 women over more than a decade, as they moved from adolescence into adulthood, and found that their sexual orientations often shifted according to their life stage. “This can happen with romantic feelings, too,” says Herbenick.
That’s not to discount your current attractions. After all, this may very well be who you are for the rest of your life, which is fine, too. What these experts are trying to say is that you should not feel pressure to label your sexuality yet, or ever. We as a society focus a lot on who and what people are — but our identities are ever-changing!
So let’s go back to your question: What does this mean? You may be worried about how you’ll be able to have both a sexual and romantic relationship with a single person. The comforting fact is that people work out all kinds of arrangements.
Perhaps you’ll gravitate towards open relationships or polyamory, feeling romantically close to one partner while sexually satisfied by another. Perhaps you’ll fall in love with someone whose gender you are not sexually attracted to, but still have sex with them gladly and generously. “People of all sexual orientations sometimes have sex not because they’re feeling strong desire, but because they want to help their partner feel good, and sometimes their partner does the same for them,” Herbenick says. You might also find someone whose gender matters little to you, who you’re both romantically and sexually attracted to. There are countless options.
The main thing to remember is that, no matter how your orientations develop, it’s possible to have a healthy, fulfilling romantic and sexual life. And again—I cannot stress this enough—figuring out your desires is going to be a conscious, active, lifelong process. It’s always a good idea “to explore and to check in every now and then and see how you’re feeling,” Herbenick says. “Whether you’re 15 or 55.”
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
What Does Heteroflexible Mean?
Here’s How it’s Defined
This identity straddles the line between queer and straight.
Sexuality is increasingly defined as being part of spectrum, with more people rejecting the idea that they are strictly heterosexual or homosexual. Because of that, the language surrounding sexuality has changed as well. Enter heteroflexible, a term dating back to the early 2000s to describe those who are heterosexual, but not exclusively. Here’s what experts ay about being heteroflexible, how it differs from bisexuality, and how to be an ally to those who fit this sexual identity.
What is heteroflexible?
Heteroflexibility is a valid sexual orientation; it typically applies to a person who is primarily heterosexual yet has some level of attraction to their own sex, Debra Laino, a clinical sexologist and relationship therapist based in Delaware, tells Health.
“Heteroflexible, like most labels, means different things to different people,” Casey Tanner, a clinical sex therapist in Chicago, tells Health. “It comes up most of the time when a person identifies as mainly straight with a slight propensity towards queerness in certain circumstances.” According to Tanner, heteroflexible can include people who are questioning or exploring their sexuality outside of heterosexuality but not quite ready to identify as queer.
Does heteroflexible fit into the LGBTQ+ spectrum?
Yes, since it’s way to describe sexual fluidity. “It’s not quite bisexuality, as the orientation remains ‘mainly straight,'” says Laino. However, whether someone who is heteroflexible chooses to identify with the LGBTQ+ community is entirely their choice. “The base root of the orientation is still hetero,” says Tanner.
Heteroflexible vs. bisexual
These to sexual identity terms might seem similar, but they aren’t. People who identify as heteroflexible primarily embraces heterosexuality. “The identification with heteroflexibility is primarily straight with hues of same sex experience,” say Laino, “whereas bisexuality is more open to both same sex and opposite sex attraction.” By definition, bisexual individuals are sexuality and emotionally attracted to people of their own sex and the opposite sex.
“Heteroflexibility can include bisexuality or pansexuality,” says Tanner. (Pansexual people are attracted to others regardless of the other person’s gender or sexual identity.) “There could also be no intention to pursue non-heterosexual behavior at all,” adding that many heteroflexible people may be in relationships that are or appear heterosexual to others.
How can I be an ally to someone who identifies as heteroflexible?
As always, don’t judge or make assumptions; let the other person describe themself and accept the terms they use. In her experience as a sex therapist, Tanner has found that some people who identify as heteroflexible may fear coming out as a queer individual and worry about the stigma that can arrive with that. As an ally, be respectful of their identity and how they choose to label their sexuality. “I would be affirming and open and make space for that person to be and share what feels safe to them,” says Tanner.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Why more women identify as sexually fluid than men
By magictr
The way we think about sexuality is changing. Where once there was a single, well-known rainbow flag, a symbol of pride, today a wide range flies to show the diversity of sexual orientations.
People seem increasingly open to discussing their sexuality, and less conventional identities, even previously “invisible”, have become part of an increasingly dominant discourse.
Open dialogue, sexual identities they have become less rigid and more fluid.
But the most recent data shows that this change is more prevalent in one group: In many countries, women are now embracing sexual fluidity at much higher rates than in the past, and more significantly, than men overall.
How do you explain this difference?
Experts believe that there are many factors fueling this progression, especially changes in the social climate that have allowed women to break out of conventional gender roles and identities.
But in light of this, the question remains: what does it mean for the future of sexual fluidity for all genders?
A remarkable change
Sean Massey and his colleagues at the Binghamton Human Sexualities Research Laboratory in New York have studied sexual behaviors for about a decade.
In each of their investigations, they asked participants to report their sexual orientation and gender.
They had never looked at the evolution of that information over time, until they realized that, in fact, they had a treasure in their hands.
“We thought, my God, we’ve been collecting this data for 10 years,” explains Massey, associate professor of studies on women, gender and sexuality at Binghamton University.
“Why don’t we check it out and see if there is any trend to be seen?”
And so they discovered that between 2011 and 2019 college-age women they had moved further and further away from exclusive heterosexuality.
In 2019, 65% of the women consulted said they were only attracted to men, when that percentage had been 77% in 2011.
The number of women reported having sex exclusively with men also decreased in those years.
Meanwhile, men’s sexual attraction and behavior remained mostly static in the same period: about 85% reported being attracted only to women, and about 90% said they had sex exclusively with women.
Other surveys conducted in other countries, including the UK and the Netherlands, presented similar findings.
In general, more women have been reporting more same-sex attraction, year after year, than their male counterparts.
Power and freedom
“This is all too complicated to attribute to just one thing,” says Elizabeth Morgan, associate professor of psychology at Springfield College in Massachusetts, USA.
But gender roles and how they have changed and how not, can be an important factor.
Massey and his colleagues largely attribute evolution to cultural changes, such as the progress of feminism and the women’s movement, which have significantly changed the socio-political landscape in recent decades.
However, these changes affected men and women differently.
“There has really been progress around the female gender role and less on the male gender role,” says Massey.
While she doesn’t rule out the effect of the LGBTQ + movement on people who identify as sexually fluid today, Massy believes that feminism and the women’s movement play a role in why more women identify in this way than men.
And he especially believes it because no equivalent men’s movement has allowed men to step out of historical gender-based constraints in the same way.
“Fifty years ago, you couldn’t have a life if you didn’t marry a man and you could only establish yourself if he supported you,” Morgan adds.
In that sense, avoiding exclusive heterosexuality could be seen as part of the breakdown of women with traditional gender roles.
Meanwhile, as women have been able to find more freedom, men’s gender roles have remained relatively static as they continue to hold power in society.
“[Los hombres] They need to defend a very masculine gender role to maintain that power, and part of masculinity is heterosexuality. “says Morgan.
Sex coach and educator Violet Turning, 24, also points to the “fetishization” of two women having sex or kissing, specifically from the male gaze.
According to her, this has also contributed to making same-sex attraction among women more socially acceptable, albeit for the wrong reasons.
Meanwhile, people seem to find the idea of two men having sex much less enjoyable, he notes.
A 2019 study that looked at attitudes toward gay men and women in 23 countries found that, for participants overall, “gay men are more disagreeable than lesbian women.”
An open dialogue
The spaces in which women can speak openly about their sexuality has also multiplied.
When Lisa Diamond, a professor of psychology and gender studies at the University of Utah, USA, began studying sexual fluidity in the early 1990s, her research focused on men.
Many of the study participants, he says, came from gay support groups, mostly male members, so the men were “easier for researchers to find.”
But Diamond wanted to inquire about women’s sexuality.
Thus began an investigation that lasted a decade and for which he asked 100 women every two years about their sexual orientation and behavior.
>Her book, “Sexual Fluency: Understanding Women’s Love and Desire,” was published in 2008.
In it he discusses how, for some women, love and attraction are fluid and can change over time.
This was at odds with the earlier line of thinking that described sexual orientation as rigid, a view that was arrived at from studies that had been conducted looking only at men.
Coinciding with the publication of the book, several famous Americans who until then had dated men, such as Cynthia Nixon and Maria Bello, made public your experience of same-sex attraction.
Star host Oprah Winfrey then asked Diamond to come on her show to talk about female sexual fluidity.
The concept and the practice had officially entered the general dialogue.
Likewise, Turning points out that language has evolved to recognize women as sexually non-binary.
For example, Turning says his lesbian partner belonged to a “gay heterosexual alliance (AGH)” at his high school, circa 2007.
That expression fostered the binary – the members were gay or straight, with no real options for those who might have identified somewhere in between, and it also didn’t contain any terms that specifically referred to female sexuality.
“Now, it’s like everyone has the option to identify themselves as queer, because it is widely accepted, “says Turning, who claims that the terminology has evolved to include people of all genders, including women.
What is the future of sexual fluidity?
Sexual fluidity may be on its way to entering more masculine spaces.
On TikTok he has become popular with young straight men pretending to be gay in his videos.
His followers, mostly women, enjoy it, according to an article by The New York Times on trend.
Regardless of whether these creators are really comfortable playing as queer or they do it to gain clicks, this trend suggests a shift in attitudes towards masculinity, which may pave the way for more men to embrace sexual fluidity in the future.
Sexually fluid women can also help pave the way.
More women talking openly about their fluent orientations means that more people will generally be arguing about alternatives to rigid sexuality.
“Our culture is very ashamed of sexuality,” says Diamond.
So, “anything that makes it easier and socially acceptable for people to reflect on desire without entering into judgment or being ashamed of it,” he adds, has the potential to get them to open up to the different possibilities or, at least, that consider the idea of doing so.
“We must start freeing men from compulsory heterosexuality [y] traditional masculinity, “adds Massey.
“It may have a different, or maybe the same, result (than it did with women) in terms of allowing for more diversity in sexuality.”
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
Choosing Everything
— Why Queerness Is Freedom To Me
First, I want to give thanks to all the queer people who didn’t have the luxury of being offered opportunities to write essays about their queerness, and certainly not for pay. I recognize that the privilege I have in writing such an essay, specifically about mid-life queer awakening, is because of all the queer activists who refused to be minimized. I honor every person who has a story they cannot tell, and every person who has one, but was refused a platform — or wasn’t ever afforded the decency of having their humanity recognized.
The first time I had sex with a woman I was 38 years old. This is not counting the times I participated in male-gaze-y sexual situations that were so performative I instinctively duck my head as I write this out of cringe.
In other words, when I was younger, I got drunk and felt up my friends in front of dudes sometimes. Because I knew they would think it was hot.
Throughout my early twenties, I was almost always the straight girl in a sea of gays. And while I was always attracted to women, I was also petrified of them. I was so detached sexually at that point in my life that the idea of connecting with a person anything like me — even if only in body — was a paralyzing thought.
Beyond that, from the vantage point of a femme, straight-identifying white woman who had no experience with homophobia save for speaking out against it on behalf of my friends, it felt disingenuous for me to identify as anyone other than this version of myself: straight, but up for experimenting.
If I were to sexually identify my early 20-something self now, though, it would be “imposter.” I was a woman masquerading as whatever the man I was fucking was turned on by; unable to articulate her own wants and needs and, frankly, unsure of what they even were.
But all of that changed when, after 14 years of marriage, I became single again at 37. What a relief it was to feel as if I could start over. I was my new life partner now, and to her I solemnly swore that the only gaze I would prioritize from now on was my own.
Entering a sort of reclamation phase, I opened myself up to every possible situation that excited me. There would be no labels on any of it. No expectations. Just freedom to move about the cabin without turbulence.
Unbuckled, wandering me.
Heteroflexible was a term I first heard via the sex positive dating app Feeld, and it was one that resonated immediately. It felt peripherally queer. Like strapping training wheels to my bike and exploring a new cul-de-sac. Beyond that, it suggested a sort of indefinability which appealed to the part of me who never wanted to be labeled again.
Sexually and otherwise, it felt like a misrepresentation for me to identify with a community that had been marginalized in a way I never felt I was — friends who had been kicked out of their homes, banished from their churches, spat on, beaten up or worse, all for coming out of the closet.
And as a cis, white, hetero-passing person, who has never struggled in the way so many of my friends have, I have found myself questioning whether or not there was even a need for people like me to come out. I live in Los Angeles after all. Queerness in our community is the norm. I can count how many straight-identifying girlfriends I have on one hand. Straightness comes as more of a surprise, if I’m being honest.
Not that we are, in any way, living in a post-biphobic society. Statistically speaking, bisexual people, specifically those with cis partners are the least likely to come out.
And it wasn’t until recently that it occurred to me that in the same way I claimed to be an imposter in my early-twenties — centering the male gaze as the only gaze that mattered — I found myself similarly centering all queer voices save for the ones I personally identified with: bisexual cis women.
Because we can pass as straight. Because we tend to engage in heteronormative sex. Because because because because because….
It wasn’t until I had my first solo, sexual, no-men-in-the-room experience that I realized, Wait, no, THIS is for me.
This is for me.
At one point I felt as if I’d left my body, so overwhelmed was I by the euphoria of connecting to another woman in a way I never had before.
When it was over, I cried. Beyond the sexual dynamic between women being so profoundly different, I felt like I had been reborn in my own image. The power of experiencing sex without men was overwhelming to me — not because I do not love sex with men but because, up until that point, sexual experiences without men didn’t exist.
It felt a bit like the dreams I sometimes have, where after years of living in the same house, I discover another room that had been there all along. How could I have missed this? Where have I been all my life?
This, of course, led to more experiences, which led to a love affair — my first and also hers — a coming-together so overwhelming I assumed, I would only ever love women after this.
I am done with men! There’s no going back! Cheers to a future with women ONLY.
But it wasn’t true, and months later, I am once again in a relationship with a cis man — one I happen to love very much.
I am now extremely aware of the fluidity of my sexuality, which is not unlike my fluidity when it comes to intimate relationships — the wanting, the needing of an open door. And a partner who not only respects that, but desires the same thing.
Many women who identify as bi, pan, or queer feel like the nuances of having a non-binary sexuality precludes them from being a part of the conversation. When you’re not queer enough to be gay and you’re not straight enough to be straight, your voice tends to come out as a whisper, your experience less validated. Perhaps because we have confused fluidity with fickleness; recognizing our inability to commit to a team without celebrating what that really means.
And even though I was in free-fall, life-altering-first-love with a woman, I found myself doing what I’d been working so hard NOT to do: pushing myself off the side, standing on the periphery, insisting that my experience was inconsequential. Not valid enough. As a person who claimed to be inclusive, why did I have such a hard time including myself?
There’s a conundrum in feeling empowered by new freedoms and unworthy of experiencing sexual relationships that might be unfamiliar: Because so many of us have spent years in traditional relationships, we never had the opportunities to pursue them. It’s not because we haven’t wanted to, but rather because monogamous heteronormative relationships have not allowed us to.
It is because of this that, for many of us, we don’t know where to begin. Additionally, it is not uncommon for women to come into our sexuality later in life, perhaps because we realize how much of it has been wrapped up in performative heteronormativity. We are told our early experiences were just a phase (Oh, her? That was just her “experimenting” in college) while also struggling with our own internalized monosexism, which suggests exclusive heterosexuality and/or homosexuality is superior or more legitimate because it’s specific. This is not to mention the various forms of biphobia claiming that women are only attracted to other women because of the trauma we’ve experienced with men.
And, because we are so conditioned to get specific — to pick a team — we still feel, even in 2021, that wanting sexual relationships with people of different genders, often simultaneously, makes us indecisive when in reality, many of us, after years of struggling, have finally arrived as our whole selves.
It makes sense if you think about how our culture is so obsessed not only with binaries, but also with choosing one thing. We don’t think twice about asking our children what their favorite color is. Or asking our date about their favorite film. We want so badly for people to choose, to be decisive about one person or one gender or one sexual orientation. And then we get confused when The One isn’t enough, when we realize we don’t work that way.
Queerness isn’t just about sexuality and gender. It’s also about embracing healthy lifestyles that do not fit into a white, patriarchal, heteronormative box. This goes beyond intimate partnerships and intersects with inclusion of all people who deserve love, autonomy, pleasure, and joy.
And isn’t that the whole point of Pride? To pull at the seams of limitation so that everyone, regardless of their past experiences, can pour through the ever-expanding opening? So that all humans — regardless of gender expression or sexual orientation — can experience such moments of intense realization without the fear of repercussions? I want everyone who feels similarly to be able to explore their feelings unencumbered, to experience the euphoria of connection without obstruction.
I have long made an effort to center those who have always identified as queer. But, as a way to understand how to include myself — while also being mindful of the many privileges I possess as someone who has never had to fight against anyone else’s bias to love who I love — I have also spent this time embracing my own version of heteronormative defiance. It’s one that is personal to me, and no one else. It’s a reminder to myself that a person’s truth is theirs to experience, define, and prioritize — not on the periphery of other people’s experience, but to center as our own.
All of this is why, in the end, I knocked the heteroflexible from my dating bio and replaced it with queer.
It is a beautiful thing to stay open. To liberate ourselves from all gazes beyond our own. That’s queerness to me. It’s about embracing the nuances of sexuality and gender and defining ourselves as indefinable. It’s about allowing ourselves to trust our bodies, to listen to our own wants and needs — especially as women and mothers who have centered everyone else’s for so long, only to wake up and realize we have never even asked ourselves what we want out of love — out of sex; out of connection.
And, as we collectively celebrate Pride this month, no matter where we are in our journey and what it took to get to queerness, may we remember that Pride was always a protest against the puritanical fear of queer liberation, acceptance and joy. It has always been a celebration of freedom to live and love and fuck with abandon, in bodies that are worthy of uninhibited truth — filtered through no one’s gaze but our own.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
How To Explore Your Sexuality In A Personal And Fulfilling Way
Hint: Labels don’t matter.
Maybe you got a tingle down there during Portrait of a Lady on Fire (#relatable). Perhaps you’ve only been attracted to women your whole life, but now you’re having wild sex dreams feat. your swoony male Peloton instructor. Or maybe you’ve been smooching people across the gender spectrum for years, and are just now trying to find a label that fits. Whatever the reason, if you’re exploring your sexuality (or want to be), you’ve landed in the right place.
“It is absolutely normal and common to explore your sexuality to figure out what and who you like and don’t like at one or more point in your life,” says queer sex educator Marla Renee Stewart, MA, a sexpert for Lovers adult wellness brand and retailer. In fact, one 12,000 person survey published in Journal of Sex Research found that sexuality changes substantially (substantially!) between adolescence and early twenties, and then again from early twenties to late twenties, which suggests that exploring your sexuality is not just common, but necessary in order to achieve self-knowing.
As for WTF your sexuality is exactly? Washington-based sex therapist Katrina Knizek says sexuality is a big, broad term that names a number of things. These include: who you are sexually attracted to, who you are romantically attracted to, your preferred relationship structure, how you like to be touched, the time of day you like to have sex, your erotic content preferences, your past and current beliefs about sex, your kinks and fetishes, your past sexual experiences, and more.
But typically, when people talk about ~exploring their sexuality~, they want to figure out who they have the capacity to be sexually, romantically, or emotionally attracted to (a.k.a their sexual orientation), Knizek says. And if that’s why you’re here, you’re in luck: Ahead, queer sex educators and therapists offer tips to help you Dora The Explorer your sexual orientation.
This content is imported from {embed-name}. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.
First of all, do I even need to label my sexuality?
Big nope! For some folks, labels offer identity security. Gabi, 28, Boston, says, “For me, identifying as bisexual feels like coming home.” Using the term, she explains, allows her to own and feel valid in her lived experiences.
“Labeling yourself also offers the benefits of helping you more easily find people with similar experiences to enter a community with,” says Knizek. (Think: lesbian book club or bisexual bowlers.) Having a label(s) can also be helpful when you’re actively dating. “It gives you something to put in your Tinder bio, or allows you to name the genders you’re interested in if someone offers to set you up,” she adds.
At the same time, others find sexuality labels suffocating. “I’ve dated people—women, men, and non-binary people—but I don’t want to identify as bisexual, pansexual, or omnisexual because labeling myself feels like boxing myself in,” Ash, 22, Hartford says.
Even still, some people find one label ineffective at naming their desires, and choose to stack two or more labels together. Personally, I identify as a queer, bisexual dyke because the trio names my lived experience better than any label individually.
Before you decide to buck labels altogether or add one (or more) of them to your identity laundry list, you should know what the common sexual orientation terms are. Here are several to consider:
- Allosexual: The opposite of asexual, people who are allosexual regularly experience sexual attraction or desire.
- Asexual: Asexuality is an identity and/or orientation that includes individuals who don’t experience sexual attraction to anyone, of any gender.
- Bicurious: Bicurious is a label for folks who are exploring whether or not they are bisexual. Typically, “bicurious” is seen as a temporary identity.
- Bisexual: Describes people who have the capacity for sexual, romantic, or emotional attraction to people with genders similar to their own, and dissimilar to their own. Sometimes also defined as attraction to two or more genders.
- Demisexual: An orientation on the asexuality spectrum, demisexuality describes people who only have the capacity to experience sexual attraction towards someone(s) they already have a romantic or emotional connection with.
- Fluid: Describes people whose sexual orientation changes over time, or is constantly in flux.
- Gay: Names individuals who are sexually attracted to individuals with genders that are the same or similar to their own.
- Graysexual: Also on the asexuality spectrum, “graysexuality” is a term people use if they rarely experience sexual attraction.
- Lesbian: The most historically accurate definition of lesbian is non-men who are attracted to other non-men. But sometimes, the term is also defined as women who experience attraction to people of the same or similar gender.
- Omnisexual: Used to describe individuals who have the potential to be attracted to folks of all genders.
- Pansexual: Names people who can experience attraction to any person, regardless of their gender.
- Queer: An umbrella term someone might use if they are not heterosexual, not allosexual, or not cisgender. Sometimes used by people who don’t fit neatly into any other sexual orientation category.
- Questioning: A temporary label for someone who is currently curious about their sexuality.
Okay, what if want to explore my sexuality, but I’m in a relationship?
Fingers crossed it’s a happy, healthy, and fulfilling one. And if your ‘ship is, good news: It’s still entirely possible to explore your sexuality and/or sexual orientation while boo-ed up. That holds true whether you’re in a monogamous relationship (meaning, you are each other’s one and only), or in an open or polyamorous relationship (you’re able to explore other people sexually, romantically, and/or emotionally).
“Your sexual orientation exists and is valid whether you are actively dating and sleeping with the gender, or all the genders you’re attracted to,” says Knizek. In other words, you’re still bisexual if you’re only sleeping with someone of a different gender than you, and you can still be lesbian if currently dating a man. “Self-identification, not current or past relationship or sexual history, determines sexual orientation,” she says. Noted!
How exactly can I explore my sexuality?
To start your sexploration, Knizek recommends filling your social feed with folks across the sexuality spectrum. “These influencers will give you a sense of who you can be, or what your future might look like,” she says. So, as you scroll, notice which creators you see yourself in.
If you’re a Very Offline Person™ (jelly!), you could intentionally and respectfully put yourself in queer spaces. For instance, you might grab a beer at your local queer bar, or buy your next read from a queer-owned bookstore. Also worth trying: listening to an LGBTQ podcast.
Next, reflect, reflect, and reflect some more. Knizek suggests spending some time noodling or penning on questions like:
- Who do I feel most magnetically drawn to in my life?
- In what ways do I want to explore my sexuality?
- Where did I learn compulsory heterosexuality?
- What label(s) feel good coming out of my mouth?
Oh, and don’t forget, you can masturbate! Defined as any practice of self-pleasure, a regular masturbation practice can help you understand what and who turns you on. “As you touch yourself, fantasize about a variety of genders, and watch straight and queer (ethical) porn, to discover who you’re most drawn to,” says Knizek.
Do I need to come out?
You may want to tell someone(s) that you’re currently exploring your sexuality, or that you did explore your sexuality and settled on a new label(s). Or, you may not want to. Either way, you don’t need to do anything. “It’s a personal decision,” says Knizek.
On one hand, “sharing your sexuality with other people can be a powerful, wonderful, and affirming experience,” she says. On the other, if the receiver doesn’t respond to the news with the kindness you deserve (*side eye*), it can also be a scary, stability-slashing experience.
Stewart’s suggestion: “If you are dependent on someone or if coming out could put you in danger, weigh the benefits and consequences of sharing this information to ensure your own personal safety.” And if telling someone does result in a sticky situation, do what you can to get to a place of safety ASAP. Maybe even call The Trevor Project, an LGBTQ youth service center, at 866-488-7386 for help or guidance.
The bottom line: Knizek emphasizes that while many people are nervous about exploring their sexuality, the process “can be fun and fulfilling.” And who knows? You might have some great solo, partnered, or multi-partnered nookie along the way—or simply find a new group of pals.
Complete Article ↪HERE↩!
You must be logged in to post a comment.