• The Everyday Terror of Coming Out

    Any member on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum will tell you that you don't only come out once. You come out practically every single day to new people you meet and it's always at least a little nerve-wracking. It's not always a grand announcement--sometimes it doesn't even include the words "I'm *insert orientation here*." For me, it usually comes in the form of a correction:

    "Actually, it's my wife."

    This has taken on various forms throughout the years: "Actually, it's girlfriend." "Actually, my fiance is a woman." Or even a simple, "She." (As in, "What does he do for a living?" "She works in an animal hospital and saves furry lives.")

    It sounds easy when I write it out. But the mental gymnastics behind that one moment are extraordinary. There's a checklist to run through: Am I safe? Am I near someone who already knows and supports me? Who is this person I'm talking to? Do they seem like they'll be okay with this information? No, really, am I safe saying this thing to this particular person? Is there an exit plan if they react badly? Am I even in a place where I can leave (for example, is this happening at work where I need to remain professional)?

    There's a pit in your stomach. There's a small hitch in your breathing. There's a forced nonchalance because if I act like this is no big deal, maybe they will too. But then am I being too breezy? Almost forcefully so?

    All of this happens in the millisecond before you have to decide what you're going to say because, hey, that's how conversations work.

    Let me take a moment to make something clear: I don't give a fuck what people think of my orientation. I am proud to be bi and I'm extra proud to be married to my wife. I'm going to keep living my life and no homophobe is going to stop me or make me feel bad about my life. But all of those things mentioned above? They still happen. Every time.

    And there's sometimes the thought: Is it worth it? Is it worth it to make the correction, to give this stranger this piece of information about me, does it even matter? Sometimes the answer is going to be no. And that's okay too. But for me, more often than not, I'm going to do it. It's worth it to be visible, to offer representation, and mostly to brag that I got that amazing woman over there to put a ring on it.

    But here's the kicker from a bisexual perspective: You've probably still just mislabeled yourself. You were assumed straight, which was wrong. Now, you're assumed gay/lesbian...which is also wrong. Correcting that particular issue mid-conversation is something I haven't figured out for myself yet. If you have figured out how to slip that in without making it into a ~moment~ or making things really weird, please, find me on social media and let me know. 

    Jennifer Lee

    Project Manager

    We Thr3e Queens Productions

  • An Introduction To Jennifer Lee

    You might recognize me as the one who brought the Bi to the VisiBIlity Show back in August (sorry—I’ve been carrying that pun around with me for a while and had to get it out). Anyway, my name is Jennifer Lee and I can’t even express to you how giddy I am to get to work with We Thr3e Queens Productions. 

    I first realized that I wasn’t totally straight when I was around 23 years old. In hindsight, I should have known earlier. I had some female friends that I was fiercely protective of for no reason (Dear Younger Jenn—those were crushes, you absolute dope). I could never really picture what my future spouse was going to look like (Dear YJ—because your little bi brain couldn’t decide on what gender to make them). And I really liked wearing leather jackets and sitting in chairs in strange ways (Dear YJ—some of the bi stereotypes are true).

    I’ve thought a lot about why I didn’t realize it sooner and I think it all comes down to representation. I lived in a liberal household with wonderful parents. My mom’s best friends were two gay men who were around all the time and I loved them to death but apparently, we never spoke about them being together and what it meant. I still remember the lightbulb moment when a family friend asked my mom how they were doing—“That gay couple.” Suddenly, it made sense why they lived together and were together all the time. I was in middle school. 

    But I didn’t know any WLW. I didn’t see them on TV. Girls kissing girls was something done for male enjoyment, so if I wanted to kiss a girl…that didn’t mean anything, right? I did theatre in school and was around gay men all the time. I understood that. But I didn’t understand what my feelings could mean because I didn’t see it around me. I was actually pretty biphobic myself. I remember being kind of a dick to a female friend of mine who told me she would be open to dating a woman. So…oops.

    Then I saw the movie Kissing Jessica Stein. And then I watched The L Word. Then Callie came out as bi on Grey’s Anatomy. Representation, while not always perfect, started popping up and my own lightbulb went on.

    I can honestly say that I’ve rarely come out to anyone in a large profound way. I find myself coming out in small ways all over the place, which I’ve done from the beginning and I still do to this day. It’s almost harder now that I’m married to a woman. I’m sure everyone that I’ve corrected by saying, “Actually, my wife” after they mention my husband then assumes I’m a lesbian. I don’t correct that part of it, but it does feel a little inauthentic to myself and my identity. (Although I do enjoy when I get to tell people, “I’m not a lesbian. But my wife is.”)

    At the end of the day, being bi is probably the least interesting thing about me. At the same time, it is a part of me and I know how important it is for me to remember that and celebrate it.

    I’m so excited to bring my experience and perspective to We Thr3e Queens. We have some amazing things in the works, so stay tuned!



    Jennifer Lee

    Project Manager