By Rachael Arsenault
Writing queer books and being in the closet can be fraught.
While I’ve never been a target of scrutiny myself (I would need to sell far more work for that to happen), I’ve watched it unfold with other authors. Authors who wrote the stories they needed to tell, who explored love and identity through fiction, who questioned by proxy through their characters. Some readers turned to them with a critical eye. They combed through bios. Checked over interviews. Determined the author must be straight because nothing was stated otherwise.
I understand the intent. They want to read Own Voices books (books in which the author and the main character share the same marginalized identity), and they don’t want people telling stories that aren’t theirs to tell.
But I think, sometimes, people forget what “invisible minority” means. And I think they miss how important that invisibility can be.
***
When I worked in food service in my early 20s, I made the split-second decision to come out to my coworkers as bi.
Not because I thought it was safe. Not because I thought I would find community. But because I was tired of hearing them throw around words like “fag” as a joke. If I just called them on it, I would be a buzzkill, and they would probably say it more. But coming out to them as bi meant they had to give pause.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”
(Then how did they mean it?)
“Shit, Rachael’s working. I can’t use my favorite word anymore.”
They stopped using gay slurs at work. But I don’t question that they continued using them elsewhere. Sometimes, I wondered what they called me when I wasn’t there.
I did not come out at my next job.
***
Not everybody has the luxury of being treated with acceptance, or even indifference, when they come out. Some face harassment. Some are forced out of their workplace, fired for bullshit reasons that cover up the reality of the situation. Some are attacked.
Anyone in the public eye faces additional risks. Even without the jeopardy incurred by being part of a marginalized or oppressed community, fame means attention, and attention can mean obsession. Stalking. Entitlement.
Add in factors like queerness, and the risks become that much higher.
And that’s just from strangers. If someone is publicly well-known and they come out, that means friends, family, and community members can easily learn this information as well. It might be fine to tell strangers across the globe that you’re queer. But telling your family? That’s a different story entirely.
***
The people in my life mean well, but sometimes understanding bisexuality comes with a steep learning curve.
“Wait, she got married? But I thought she was bi? Isn’t she just going to change her mind later?”
“I don’t know if she’s really bi, though. Yeah, she’s dated women, but her only long-term relationships have been with men. I think she just likes the attention.”
“He acts so gay, sometimes. But he has a wife! I don’t get it.”
It’s a lot to explain, and re-explain, and re-explain. Every time you think you’ve gotten through to someone, they parrot another one of these long-held misconceptions—or, worse, dig their heels in and insist on their point. It’s tiring. It’s tiring from the closet, and I didn’t want to imagine how much more tiring it would be if I stepped out into the light.
So I didn’t bring my true self into those conversations.
***
Watching other authors get harassed by champions of Own Voices stories to the point that they felt forced into coming out turned my stomach into a knot of dread.
I am not a well-known author. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I love writing, and I want people to read my stories, and I want to always write books with bi characters (especially bi women) at their center. What if early reviewers scrutinize my social media profiles, see no obvious indication of queerness, and declare me a straight author capitalizing on queer audiences? Will they believe me if I come out after the fact, especially when bisexuality is already seen as “fake”? Do I want to be forced into coming out, or do I want to come out on my own terms?
Can I even come out on my own terms?
***
In 2022, I added “bi” to my profile on my social media platforms. I did it as a preventative measure, for fear of being called fake or a liar.
Sometimes, that little word on my profile looks like pride.
Sometimes, it looks like I was backed into a corner.
I’m one of the lucky ones. Whatever misconceptions or misunderstandings the people in my life present toward my sexuality, I am in no danger. But for others, invisibility is a shield. Not being seen as their whole, true self means not being attacked, rejected, fired, kicked out, etc.
When I look at the “bi” on my profiles, and when I think of the harassment to others that spurred me into that decision, I think of how the protectiveness intended by Own Voices champions turned into its own kind of violence.
Nobody should feel forced to come out to anyone, for any reason. Privacy is safety, especially for invisible minorities.
Rachael Arsenault is a bi Canadian author who currently lives in New Brunswick with her son. She primarily writes contemporary fantasy featuring bi women who are in over their heads and some variety of plant magic.
Featured Image Credit: Mary Orloski