I Soft-Launched My Bisexuality During the Pandemic

Now, years later, one writer reflects on what it was like to share her identity with others while in isolation. And what happened next.

- ANDREA BARTZ

On October 25, 2020, my finger hovered over Instagram's Post button. I was about to share a series of selfies I'd taken with Julia, the woman I'd begun dating a couple months earlier in them, we were on her rooftop, our faces close together, cracking up as we failed to center ourselves in the frame.

I'd told a few close friends about her. The rest of the world had no idea about her existence; no idea I was attracted to women, period. Among my 8,000 or so Instagram followers: my conservative parents, religious family, professional contacts, friends from all walks of life, strangers who followed me after reading my thriller books. The caption wasn't a heartfelt Coming Out. It didn't even identify Julia as my girlfriend ("Bad at selfies," it read, because self-deprecation is my defense mechanism.) Still, our intimacy was obvious; people would know, or at least suspect, the truth. I hesitated, aware that this one casual Instagram could forever change how people think of me.

Then I hit Post, flung my phone face-down on my bed, and vowed not to check it for the rest of the day.

I'm 36 years old and I've lived in New York City all of my adult life-two elements that make a this-late-in-life revelation unusual, if not unbelievable to some people. I had my first serious boyfriend two decades ago; through college, my 20s, and the first half of my 30s, I identified as straight. I couldn't possibly be queer, I figured, since I was attracted to men.