Dear Roe,
I’m a girl in my 20s and I have realised in recent years that I like girls. I have just finished college and I have had a group of friends since first year. My friends are aware I like girls. I have told them about dates I’ve been on. I’ve recently become aware that I don’t feel comfortable talking about these dates or girls I like with them. I thought that this was just me not being in a place where I am comfortable with myself yet, but I don’t seem to feel uncomfortable around other friends outside this group when I talk about dates. I brought it up with one of my closest friends in the group. I asked her how she felt about me liking girls and she said she doesn’t understand it, but it doesn’t bother her. I told her I don’t feel comfortable around the others and she tried to justify why they would feel uncomfortable. She said “maybe they think you like them”, or “maybe you’re the first gay person they’ve met”. I also asked why she said she wouldn’t date someone who is bi, and her answer was that she didn’t want to compete with two genders. Ever since this conversation I haven’t known what to do about the friendship. Any help is appreciated.
Oof, I can feel this question in my bones, feel that apprehensive tension in your body as you notice something about the way people treat you shift. This is a subtle but very common crossroads that a lot of queer people experience. You’re noticing and naming that important friendships that have seen you through formative experiences and milestones and growing pains and inside jokes suddenly don’t feel as safe or as welcoming. They suddenly can’t hold all of you. That realisation is hard and painful but important. You’re on a journey of self-love and authenticity, and that’s incompatible both with people who make you feel judged, and with pretending to ignore this shift in dynamic is indeed happening.
You’ve been doing the work of discovering who you are and what you want, of learning to speak openly about the women you like and the dates you go on. That’s a tender and expansive process, and it deserves to be met with curiosity and support and warmth. When it’s instead met with blankness, awkward silences, or small dismissive comments, it’s no wonder you feel uneasy and unsafe. You are not imagining this. You are responding to the very real social cues that tell you these friends are, consciously or not, uneasy about your queerness.
I ended my situationship six months ago but I’m still not over him. How do I move on?
Where can my wife and I access porn that is both legal and erotic?
I think I’m in love with my ‘situationship’ but he doesn’t feel the same
‘My brother-in-law wants to move in with us but I don’t think my marriage will survive it’
[ ‘I’m 28 and gay but have not come out yet. I’m afraid it’s too late’Opens in new window ]
Many straight people like to think of themselves as accepting in theory – they believe in equality, they “don’t care who you love”, they maybe even repost something for Pride month – but in practice, when real queerness enters their immediate world, they start to fumble. They don’t know how to respond to your joy or attraction without centring themselves or their discomfort. That’s why you hear comments like “maybe they think you like them”, which is a relic of an old, tired, homophobic myth that queer attraction is threatening or boundary-less. Or the also tried-and-tested line of “I don’t understand it, but it doesn’t bother me” – a line that sounds neutral on the surface, but it’s actually a distancing move that says “I’ll tolerate this from afar”, rather than, “I fully accept and respect and celebrate experiences outside of my own”, or even just “I care enough to try to understand you”. It’s tolerance with an equal slice of othering. These are signs of people who are comfortable with queerness as a concept, but uneasy with it as a presence.
And then there’s that classic line about not wanting to date someone bi because she “doesn’t want to compete with two genders”. This one is textbook biphobia. Even if born from ignorance rather than cruelty, it perpetuates the idea that bisexuality and hypersexuality are synonymous, where bisexual attraction is something greedy, threatening, controllable, or inherently unfaithful, as if being capable of attraction to more than one gender means being attracted to everyone all the time.
What’s hard is that your friend who trotted out this classic biphobic assumption probably doesn’t even see it as prejudice, and thinks it’s just her “preference”. But preferences aren’t formed in a vacuum; they’re often soaked in bias.
I want to give your friends some benefit of the doubt. It is very possible that these are great people who are fumbling right now at the very awkward end of a steep but swift learning curve. They could be very open to learning and in the future be mortified for the mistakes they’ve made with you so far. Sometimes that’s okay. The goal, even. We often talk about calling people out on their mistakes but sometimes, when people have good intentions, what we need to do is to call them in: to call them into knowledge; to gently highlight their blind spots and biases; give them the room and resources to let them learn and grow, and let them become better.
[ I’m 25, gay, single and insecure that all my straight friends are settling downOpens in new window ]
That isn’t to pretend that calling people in doesn’t come with a cost. It’s hard to be put into the role of educator, translator and ambassador for queerness in a group that may not have had to think much about it before. It can be an exhausting role to play, especially while personally navigating their shifting behaviour towards you. You do not have to take up that mantle if it hurts too much. You’re allowed to say: “If you want to understand me, you can do some of that learning yourselves.” They have the entire internet in their pocket at all times; they can figure it out.
That said, you have options. You don’t have to make a grand declaration or end the friendship tomorrow. You could start by testing their openness in small ways. You might say to one or two of them, “I’ve noticed I hold back when I talk about girls I like, and I think it’s because I’m not sure how comfortable you actually are. I don’t expect you to have all the right words – I just need to know you care enough to try.” Or you could tell them that something they said made you feel uncomfortable and was unintentionally biphobic/homophobic and ask if they’d be open to listening to you.
Their responses will tell you everything. If they apologise, meet you with curiosity, ask questions that aren’t defensive, then maybe this friendship can grow alongside you. But if they respond with defensiveness or dismissals, that’s your cue that they’re not ready to meet you where you are. And you do not have to, and should not, keep shrinking to stay at their level.
This doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing situation. You might still keep some contact, but shift your emotional investment. You might decide these are people you love for the history you share, but not the people you turn to for belonging any more. This is a bittersweet experience for many folks in life, but especially queer people – realising that some friendships were built for who you were, not who you’re becoming. That’s not failure, that’s evolution.
However you decide to navigate this situation with this group of friends, please make space for new friendships and connections, especially for queer people and allies who never ask you to translate, shrink or soften your experiences for their comfort. Those friendships won’t just make you feel understood – they will expand your sense of what’s possible.
