I used to think calling myself a bisexual was like playing a game of Among Us — there was a high chance I was an imposter. I remember being convinced that who I was could never be a gay woman, that if I could like women and they could like me, I would certainly be different. Instead, it felt harder to call myself straight.
In November 2019 I had to get my acrylics off for a school project and thought it would be the perfect time to actually exchange more than three words with a female Tinder match. Yep, it was all about the short nails for the project and definitely not about the pretty girl that had asked for my number and I’d been texting all weekend.
She was an older varsity athlete at York, and sports was not something my theatre degree educated me on. Here I was thinking my world was the gay world just because I was an art kid. Did I manage to simply avoid the concept of women’s rugby my whole life?
I asked her out and she said yes.
I met this woman in front of the Presto machines at the York University subway station, and proceeded to discover the full extent with which I could be enthralled with someone. The next few months were wild and the orgasms were even better.
Her debut on my Instagram was on February 29, 2020. I posted this picture to my story, and it is undeniably more about the cider than the girl. Easily passed as gal pals, right?
(Courtesy of Céleste A. LaCroix)
It was our first stop on our evening adventure. We went to dinner, bailed early on a party, ended up running around the city partying together, got pizza, and danced in clubs. I posted to my story maybe 20 times, and I’m glad I have those posts as memories from what I now know to be the night we fell in love.
Little did we know, the pandemic was coming. When COVID-19 shut the world down, we did the lesbian thing to do: we moved in together and I posted a couple more stories.
(Courtesy of Céleste A. LaCroix)
On May 28, 2020, I asked my followers if we were a couple or just friends — friends won by too much for it to have been a joke.
I looked through the voters and realized that the people from my life before York were the ones who made up the majority of my social media following. The stories weren’t cutting it if they still didn’t know. By the summer we were official, and it was now a socially acceptable time to post photos with her on my actual page.
(Courtesy of Céleste A. LaCroix)
I thought I made it pretty clear…
On October 31, 2020, I had another Instagrammable couple photo, but I had to take a deep breath before I hit “post.” This time, everyone that would see it would know.
(Courtesy of Céleste A. LaCroix)
This is the most liked photo on my page.
I came out on Instagram. I didn’t sit anyone down or make some big announcement, it was just these pictures on this app. Since this last post, more and more people have been reaching out, congratulating me and wishing me well, but the messages haven’t been from anyone at York.
My community at York watched me only date men and still never put me in a box labelled “straight.” You can see for yourself that York hardly had anything to do with my coming out story and for that I am beyond grateful — grateful for the home I’ve found here and the family that shares it with me.
My experience coming out was a luxury compared to many. We have to stop perpetuating that people are one way until proven another and contributing to a norm that doesn’t include everyone. This contributes to people growing up in a world they don’t see themselves in.
