It was never a choice.
In hindsight, all the mental energy I spent agonizing over the decision as to whether to come out as bisexual or continue to masquerade as heterosexual was always going to lead to the same conclusion. Because I didn’t pick who I am.
I came out to be authentic. I came out because being in the closet SUCKED. I came out because a big piece of me was missing.
Growing up in the Modern Orthodox Jewish community, it was well known that one type of relationship was okay: between a man and woman. The Torah, and every sign around me, said so.
As I began to understand who I was attracted to, I realized I had a big problem. I liked other boys. That realization, which happened around age 13, was catastrophic and unacceptable, so for a while it was pushed away.
Soon, I realized that I also liked girls; which for adolescent me was a huge relief, because we all have weird things about ourselves, right? And the whole liking boys thing didn’t have to be life-altering, right? I liked women, so I could marry one and live a ‘normal’ life. Why should I deal with all this LGBTQ meshuggas?
This way of thinking worked for a few years, and while in the closet, I dated several women and had meaningful connections with them. But a huge piece of me was missing, locked behind a concrete wall of shame and secrecy. That shame, which surfaced every time I had a thought about another man, led to significant depression and anxiety with which I still grapple at times. In my worst moments, I felt disgusting and self-loathing. I thought I was cursed with something gross inside me that I had to push away. And worst of all, I was going through all of this alone, because the idea of sharing it with another person felt more painful than actually ripping my skin off.
During this difficult time, I had several lifeboats to which I clung. I had many friends who seemed to want to be around me, and didn’t seem to have strong feelings about how their friends lived their lives. I had the Torah and Halacha, which while at times were complicated and painful, also gave me a blueprint for how to live and provided a lot of meaning. I had loving parents, who, while never shy about their traditional beliefs, always made me feel that I was loved. So while I was feeling tremendous shame, I think I always had a sense of my inherent goodness and worthiness as a person.
These lifeboats helped me move towards more self-love and self-compassion. In doing so, it became untenable to believe that my sexuality was shameful, that it was a problem, that I needed to keep it in and refuse to explore relationships and communities that might be meaningful for me, enriching, and make me feel whole.