Every now and then Becca will shrug her shoulders and say, “We like who we like.”
It usually comes up in the middle of some completely ordinary conversation and, almost as quickly as it’s said, we move on. It’s never intended as a grand statement, but the more I’ve thought about it over the years, the more I think it perfectly sums up how I see the world.
I’ve not written much about sexuality or gender here, and I am aware this is something I probably should’ve written about publicly a long time ago. I guess I’ve always felt reticent because it was just a little too personal.
Partly because I’ve always thought, “Those who know, know,” and partly because my own sexuality has always felt like something that didn’t need announcing. The people who matter in my life know. Beyond that, it has always seemed like just another part of who I am, no more deserving of a dedicated blog post than the colour of my eyes.
And for a long time, perhaps too long, that felt like enough.
I’ve spent the best part of twenty-five years happily oversharing my thoughts on cameras, Apple software, cycling, photography, blogging and whatever random hobby has caught my attention that particular month, so I admit it’s slightly ridiculous that this is the thing I’ve struggled to write about.
Watching people simply trying to live their lives become the subject of endless political arguments has left me increasingly uncomfortable with saying nothing. And with the continued increase in hostility towards trans people and the homophobia that still exists in the UK, staying silent doesn’t feel quite right anymore. If this blog is supposed to be an honest reflection of who I am, then this has to be part of that too.
So let me state my position as simply as I can.
Everyone deserves the freedom to be themselves without fear of judgement, discrimination or hate.
Labels
If I have to choose a label, I’d describe myself as bisexual. Put simply, I find people attractive regardless of their gender.
Even writing that sentence feels slightly odd, not because I’m uncomfortable with it, but because I’ve never thought of it as a defining characteristic. It’s simply one thread in a much larger tapestry. I spent years assuming everyone noticed attractive men and attractive women. It wasn’t until much later that I realised this wasn’t everyone’s experience and, even then, I never felt any urgency to put a label on it. The label exists because it helps describe my experience, not because it defines me.
Although I identify as bisexual, if you looked only at my relationship history you could be forgiven for assuming I’m straight. Almost all of my relationships have been with women, and I’ve been happily married to Becca for many years. None of that changes who I find attractive. Sexuality isn’t measured by keeping score, and it certainly isn’t invalidated by falling in love with one person and choosing to spend your life with them.
I’ve also never really felt particularly “out”. My sexuality has quietly existed alongside everything else that makes me who I am: husband, dad, son, friend, cyclist, writer, photographer, hopeless collector of hobbies and someone who spends far too much time tinkering with this blog. It’s there, but it’s never demanded centre stage.
Joy
I’ve been to Pride marches over the years and, if you’ve never experienced one, they’re probably not what some people imagine.
Yes, there are rainbow flags. There are people wearing sequins at eleven o’clock in the morning and there is enough glitter to keep craft shops in business for decades. But what has always stayed with me isn’t the spectacle and flamboyance of it all.
It’s the joy.
Families walking together. Friends laughing. Elderly couples who waited decades for society to catch up with the lives they’d already built. Teenagers who finally felt seen. Parents proudly supporting their children. Complete strangers smiling at one another for no reason other than everyone was free, for a little while, to be unapologetically themselves.
That’s the bit that stays with me.
Not the politics.
The happiness.
The kids are alright
My relationship with Becca has highlighted to me why labels have never mattered that much to me. One of the things I admire most about her is how uncomplicated her view of people is. “We like who we like,” and that’s pretty much the end of the conversation.
I’ve always loved the simplicity of that.
My attraction to her has never been about her gender; it’s about her kindness, her humour, her patience and the values she lives by.
It’s also the sort of outlook I hope Jack grows up with.
I want him to see people before he sees labels. To meet two mums or two dads, a trans person, someone who’s non-binary or someone whose life looks completely different from his own and simply accept them as another person sharing the world with him.
Children have a remarkable ability to accept the world exactly as it presents itself and everything is naturally fluid because they haven’t yet been subject to being labelled. I see little examples with Jack all the time as he re-genders his toys; “No Daddy, he’s a girl now.”
Kids notice differences, but they rarely attach judgement to them unless someone teaches them to. If I can help preserve that openness as he grows up, I’ll consider that one of the better things I’ve done as a parent.
I identify as a cisgender man and I don’t particularly care how someone else identifies, where they are on their journey or who they love. Those things belong to them, not to me. They aren’t mine to question or approve of. What matters is that people are able to live honestly, safely and authentically as themselves.
Visibility
For years I’d convinced myself that silence was enough.
I wasn’t prejudiced. I voted for equality. I treated people with respect. I challenged the occasional inappropriate joke or comment when it crossed the line. I wasn’t complicit, so surely that counted for something.
And it does, to a point.
But over the last few years I’ve come to realise there’s a difference between quietly supporting equality and making it clear where you stand.
And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realised that silence can accidentally look like agreement. That isn’t who I am, and it isn’t the example I want to set for Jack.
If I’m happy to write thousands of words about all sorts of nonsense, I should be able to spare a couple of thousand saying, quite simply, that everyone deserves kindness and respect.
I don’t pretend to have all the answers, and I know there are experiences I’ll never fully understand because they aren’t mine to live. Being an ally doesn’t mean speaking over people whose voices deserve to be heard far more than mine. Sometimes it simply means making your own position clear.
I can be a better ally than I have been.
Part of that means being open about who I am. Part of it means not treating conversations about sexuality or gender as somehow awkward or off limits. And part of it means showing Jack, by example, that kindness isn’t something we reserve only for people who are just like us.
I don’t expect everyone who reads this to agree with me. That’s life, and this has never been a blog that exists to convince people they’re wrong.
It’s simply a record of who I am, what I think about the world and how those thoughts change over time.
If Jack happens to read this years from now, I hope he’ll know exactly where his dad stood.
I hope he’ll know that, when some people were being made to feel smaller because of who they loved or how they identified, I chose kindness over silence.
At the end of the day, we’re all just people trying to find our place in the world. We’re all looking for much the same things: love, acceptance, purpose, peace and happiness. Life is far too short to deny those things to someone else simply because they’re different from us.
That’s the world I want to live in.
We like who we like.
It turns out Becca was right all along.
She usually is.
I mentioned this topic briefly in a post a few weeks ago, but reading it back it felt a little performative, as though I was saying what I thought I ought to say rather than what I actually believed.
What are your thoughts?