Meet Our Newest Volunteer

Hi, I’m Claire!

As a newly minted volunteer for LGB Alliance USA, I thought it was only right to introduce myself.

Gosh, it feels fantastic to be here, and it’s about time, since it feels like I’ve been screaming into the void for nearly a decade. (Oh wait, I have.) Some of that screaming was private, most of it was public, and none of it was official. It feels right to align myself with an organization I believe in and to be writing about something that comes from the depths of my heart- reverence for women, sexuality, and the energy of connection, love, and protection.

My current societal principles were formed through three lenses: 2000s-era self-love, libertarian party politics, and old-school academia. This formed a cacophony of contradicting ideas that I have committed to untangling, as well as a curiosity that propelled me into earnest intellectual pursuit. This gave me a strange and otherworldly first row seat to the early days of the gender critical movement, long before I could conceptualize what was to come.

I was a young girl during the heroin-chic era of feminism, where rail-thin models and actresses were slimming down and every teen magazine shouted “self-love” from its covers. Pornographied and cartoonish women were lusted after in private, and women were publicly expected to shave off cup and pant sizes in public. Exploring your sexuality was encouraged, and yet purity culture still raged as the very real risks of sex refused to yield to the desires of society (and, deep down, we understood that discernment and discipline are still credible values to foster within ourselves). It was a world of contradictions, based not on consistent principles but on ideals, fantasies, and vague concepts that followed the ever-changing whims of the individual. This period was, perhaps, necessary to break chains and walls.

However, a new feminist belief system was nurtured during this time, and it noticed the inconsistencies. This movement thought that because society couldn’t develop a cohesive opinion on what was right or good, an individual’s beliefs must be the highest good. This began rather innocently and with the best of intentions.

But from within the depths of this self-love moment was brought a raging beast of self-obsession. It began with makeup, shaving, and “sex work.” One day we were raging against the forces that coerced us into modifying and harming our bodies, and the next, we were fighting for our right to do so. The individual became god-like and individual choices became morally haloed above collective reason. Suddenly, choice became the ultimate “good,” no matter the choice, even if the choice was directly harmful to us or others. Everyone should agree and support your choice because you, an individual, had made it.

Pride raged, leaving behind glitter, rainbows, unicorns, and indulgent sexual deviancy displayed in front of the young. Pride became less about living your truth and more about your truth being metallic thongs and leashes. What was once a force to help the younger generation became something the younger generation needed to be protected from.

As a young girl who loved romance, reading, and longed for peaceful love, it felt neither safe nor welcoming.

While there are plenty of reasons I didn’t realize I was same-sex attracted until I was 30 years old, one overarching thought rings true- I simply didn’t want to be. It did not look enjoyable, and as someone who longed for a cottage in the woods, the tradwife community spoke to me more than the “queer” community did.

And then, from this parade of rainbows, rose the transgender movement. A movement founded in “yourself” instead of in reality. A movement that is committed to creating reality on the terms of the individual and forcing the world to alter itself around it. The same group that wanted higher taxes, government-supported healthcare, and a socialist state was fighting for the rights of the individual to alter the entire community based on their particular desires and fantasies, not unlike previous religious zealots.

Women’s marches were asked to remove female body parts from their parades, and we were discouraged from referencing anything that might make a trans-identified male remember that he was not a woman, or a trans-identified female remember that she is a woman. Womanhood- the lived reality of being a woman- was being removed from society. Because a few men want to opt out of manhood, or a few women want to opt out of womanhood, the meaningful categories of woman and man should be stolen by those few?

Even the pride flag was redesigned, slapping the blue-and-pink-binary overtop the rainbow and shoving the LGB movement beneath it. Somehow, all the colors of the rainbow weren’t enough, and instead of creating their own flag, they modified ours and took it for themselves, leaving us with half and calling us ungrateful when we questioned it. From attempting to force lesbians to have sex with “people with penises” (previously known as men) to infiltrating women’s sports, men could finally have undisputed access to women and young girls in whichever vulnerable spot they wanted. And women’s previous “no” became “no- unless he uses she/her pronouns.” The wolf’s desire to identify as your grandmother now meant you had to leave the door open for him and have a cup of coffee waiting.

Though once or twice in high school I parroted the phrase “transwomen are women,” I felt the lie like dust in my mouth and I choked on it. Quietly, I silenced myself, because above all, I hate lies, and it was better to be silent than to speak falsehoods.

The attacks I received in return were often vicious and primarily from women. I further distanced myself from my sexuality, burrowing myself deeper into the land of heterosexuality, where I felt that some of the men were reasonable. Far from compulsive heterosexuality pushing me from my sexuality, I was being rejected by same-sex attracted women long before I realized I was a part of that group. I pushed myself to reframe my relationship with men, longing for companionship and partnership.

The battle raged on. For nearly a decade, I had been open about my gender critical beliefs, sometimes being viciously honest on social media and with friends, and sometimes taking space and keeping my thoughts private. I was brutal, subtle, compassionate, unflinching, and truthful, sometimes more than others. I lost friends and acquaintances, was called names, and was publicly smeared.

For most of that time I believed I was straight. I knew what I was experiencing as a woman was nothing compared to what lesbians were experiencing. I thanked my lucky stars I was not in that dating pool and had access to more conservative, rational, and holistic men to build a life with. I was glad I was not under pressure to experience pride or be called queer or even have to wonder about what to call myself at all. To struggle with having the language to describe yourself, to have your voice taken away, is isolating. In my dating pool, men and women were still words that meant something useful.

I looked for men to rise, and I found them, plenty of them, standing up and by our sides, unemotional and yet refusing to break under unreason. I longed for their support and found it waiting for me to notice. And I rested within that, finally putting down my armor against men as a whole and welcoming the joys of the best of them into my life.

It took years of healing my romantic relationship with men from the poison that wounded men and women buried within me. I extracted it bit by bit, by finding and investing in men who protected, provided, and cared for women. Who were stable and built trust. As more people began speaking up for women, I began to feel safer.

And in the shelter of that peace, I was able to foster an undistracted love for women, one that was not born of political alliance or aligned enemies but of vision, devotion, and love. It wasn’t until then that I let myself soften and realize that my thoughts of women had not always been platonic.

Discovering my bisexuality took time, and it wasn’t at a pride parade. It began, as so many beautiful things do, with a woman.

And it grew like roots on our living room floor, month after month, slowly creeping up the sides, and blooming all at once, unveiling the truth.

I fell in love, and I blossomed.

Every day became a celebration of my sexuality with her. Every plain t-shirt I wore, every kiss we shared, every night I spent tracing my fingers down her palms. I had mistakenly gotten the impression that same-sex attraction was loud, but it was the softening of my heart, body, and soul that I felt the most.

And I was so blessed. No one in my life had a problem with my same-sex attraction. It was not hard to accept or tell, and it felt like releasing a held breath. It was my gender critical beliefs that I had to be careful with, and it felt like I knew what it was to be in the closet- society loves a silent woman.

In my first female love I found resiliency and peace. I took time away from politics and I lost myself in our relationship. I finally began to let my body respond to another, hope for a future, and understand what everyone was always fighting for. I learned that the whole world could be contained in one touch, and how to separate myself from the greater world. I learned that I could build a relationship on my terms, with one woman, and I could choose to let in others, or movements, or the world, in as much as I wanted. Though that relationship has ended, the hope remains, along with an even more furious commitment to protecting LGB people, women, and children as my personal connection to them deepens.

Because at my core, I long to foster unity, connection, and joy within the same-sex attracted community. I believe that bisexual people can provide a bridge between communities that might otherwise not have much in common, but must live in society together. Our investment for and with both sexes and all three sexualities gives us a unique lens that may be able to offer a different perspective, unveil hidden biases, and compare and contrast relationship dynamics in a way that monosexual people might not have access to.

I certainly understand the desire to parse oneself up into a “straight” half and a “gay” half. While splitting ourselves may make the community we’re interacting with more comfortable, I believe that maintaining our bisexual sexualities in both straight and lesbian dating pools is necessary. Internal division severs us from the real gifts we can offer to the LGB movement and society and dims our power, truth, and honor. And none of this lessens the whole, complete, and pure love we can carry for our partners of either sex.

This generation requires a familiar version of women's and LGB activism. Though we long-hoped for peace and gentleness, we have been asked to be reborn once again from fire. We must learn to harness our rage, burn our reputations and dance in the flames. Though women and LGB people long awaited the safety the pride parades now offer, we have been shunned from that safety and must learn to fight again. Women and LGB people’s unflinching courage in the face of certain ruin has always been a sacred inspiration to me, and I hope I can honor that tradition.

If you’re a woman interested in meeting other bisexual women who support the reality of dual-sex attraction, consider attending the monthly bisexual get-together through LGB Alliance USA. Taking place on the fourth Wednesday of every month at 8:00 pm Eastern/5:00 pm Pacific, it is free and open to all bisexual women who wish to build community and momentum behind this cause.

I deeply appreciate the LGB Alliance USA’s commitment to unity and for bringing this joy and community together. I hope I can provide some small benefit to their cause, and serve you readers well.

It’s lovely to be here!

xoxo, Claire