By Suzanne (Beers) Nassise
I read a Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) study released in April 2024. At its core, the study—of more than 100,000 women spanning the course of four decades—found that bisexual women in the study had a 37% higher risk of premature death compared with heterosexual women. I knew we, bi women, weren’t okay; the study printed it in black and white. We aren’t okay, not because of who we are, but because of the chronic stress and coping mechanisms we weave into our worlds to deal with biphobia and bisexual invisibility. But to understand my coming out at work story, we have to go back.
Like many of my fellow Gen X and Millennial peers, I grew up on the street. Sesame Street. This is where I learned what it meant to exist in community, and yet still sometimes be invisible.
Everyday I would tune in to see Maria and Mr. Hooper, our good friends Bert & Ernie, Big Bird, and Mr. Snuffleupagus. For me, Mr. Snuffleupagus caused massive amounts of anxiety in my little four-five-year-old brain and body. Not because of who he was—a massive 1,000-pound elephant-like creature, of the species Snuffleupagus, in fact—but because for the better part of a decade I watched the fullness of his identity all but erased, boiled down to Big Bird’s “imaginary friend.”
There they’d be, existing beautifully alongside one another, Big Bird and his best friend, Mr. Snuffleupagus, doing the things friends do: playing games, hunting for cabbages, eating meals together, comforting each other during rough times. At the end of their visits, “Snuffy” as Big Bird would call him, would round the corner towards home, and ultimately Big Bird would explain to a neighbor about their time together, only to have that adult or friend placate his story as the imaginings of one very creative Bird.
“TURN AROUND, MARIA!!! HE’S RIGHT THERE!!!” Kindergartener Suzanne would scream at the box TV set.
This persisted until 1985. The adults finally got their proof, although if I take this metaphor too far, obtaining proof becomes a bit of a different narrative. Not to digress…
What about being out at work? It only took me half a lifetime. Why?
The reality of this is nuanced. I feel that I, as many bisexuals, tried to find community, especially at work. I’d been a member of at least three different organizations’ LGBTQ pride spaces. The first two were comprised of out gay men, and the rest of us identified as allies. In these first spaces, I would find no queer-identifying women at all. Not an L, not a B. Not. One.
I try to be an honest person, or as best as I can be, and so my work life and my personal life diverged here a bit. I wasn’t out to everyone; coming out as bi is always so strained and awkward, but I’ve always been out to those who matter most, including and especially my husband and my children. I knew, after navigating isolation and invisibility in my youth and young adulthood, I had to be visible to my kids and their peers. It has been a necessity for my soul to do this. To feed the inner kiddo who needed me then but found no one; not on TV, definitely not in real life, just a big fat no one. And I have to say, anecdotally, it seems to be succeeding.
Okay, great! But cut to the *out at work* part already!
It sort of happened in two phases. The first was when I joined my current company’s Pride Employee Resource Group (ERG) in 2022 and folks were introducing themselves in an online chat forum. I saw a flesh and blood lady I know IRL say in printed words, “Hi I’m *DivaLady* from IT, and I’m a B in the LGBT.”
Reading her words felt visceral, and I jumped at saying the same! This was a closed and safe forum, only members of the nascent group were there, and we adhere religiously to not outing anyone outside of that space. So even though it was maybe 30 people, I knew so many of them, we worked together, and they weren’t all queer themselves. But I did it—I wrote the words!
I know visibility is not equally available to everyone. Coming out at work requires a level of safety, support, and trust that not everyone has; some people do not have the option to remain invisible, and others do not have the option to safely be visible. I am grateful that, in this moment and in this workplace, I was able to choose visibility.
I felt laid raw, and yet so much lighter. It’s confusing and cathartic. I could wax poetic here, but I wasn’t fully out at work, not yet. That took another year and a half, during which I surgically reached out to those important in my life, and I let them know about me. I invited people in.
It went as you’d expect. Lots of questions. Some erasure. Sometimes the folks I thought would be accepting were less so than the folks I thought might give me trouble, and vice versa. “But aren’t you married for 20 years now?” is of course my favorite. But a couple folks said some of the most affirming things in the world: “I always thought so!” “Congratulations!” “I am proud of you.”
I think if you’re reading this, this array of responses likely resonates.
So, on we noodle through my journey—back to the JAMA study. When I read the findings of the study, it literally sent chills through me. Here was empirical evidence that illustrated the real-world consequences of the invisibility and erasure we navigate. In a loop. Straddling two worlds, yet finding no real community. Then constructing elaborate coping mechanisms: we smoke more, we drink more, we hold the stress of hiding or explaining or being afraid of never being enough. We exist, yet we are invisible. When humans experience chronic stress without enough support, the brain looks for relief. We can’t be ourselves fully, so we try to find ways, often quite unhealthy ones, to exist.
So the following month, our Pride ERG asked if I wanted to include on the company website (1200+ people) a short biography for Pride Month. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more awkward, or more free, than the day that was published. It began:
“Hi, my name is Suzanne and I use she/her pronouns. I am a senior analyst in Information Technology and I have been with the company for two years. I am a wife, a mother to two amazing daughters, and a bisexual. In my free time…”
Like a tiny ripple in a pond, my next step was to do a presentation to our ERG about what that all meant to me and to the bi community. I got some presentation chops, learned a lot about bi erasure, and spoke enough to learn that my words impacted others. My visibility made them feel seen and safe. Others came out because I came out. We are a community.
So, yes, I am out at work, and these are some of the reasons why.
Suzanne (Beers) Nassise lives in Easton, Massachusetts, in the U.S., with her husband and their two daughters. She is an IT analyst and LGBTQ+ advocate passionate about visibility, belonging, and human rights.