Chronically Ill Kat

This year has been a big year, in a lot of ways. It’s been very difficult, think corona, and I have also had more than my fair share of rubbish this year. But I have also had a lot of realisations and grown a lot this year, and in that way it has been very exciting. I have talked before about the way in which starting this blog, learning about disability pride and being involved in the chronic illness community has helped me to become much more comfortable with being disabled, and to accept it. What I have not talked about at all this year is the other big realisation I had.

As you’ve seen in the title, as it turns out, I’m queer. I’m not yet sure which letter I am: maybe leaning towards lesbian, but maybe not. What I know for sure is that I am very not straight. And you’d think I’d have known long before this – given that, even in secondary school, people would call me a lesbian behind my back, but compulsive heterosexuality totally had me! Alongside that processing both my chronic illness and sexuality has taken time. In fact it’s taken a good 25 years to realise that I am gay – although it turns out this realisation has yet to surprise anyone! So let’s go into it – because I am sure that anyone who has followed me for a while will have loads of questions.

Compulsive heterosexuality

What is compulsive heterosexuality? How did I not realise I am gay? Compulsive heterosexuality is the idea that being straight is assumed and subtly enforced, through culture, on everyone. This means that people tend not to question being heterosexual, because that is the assumed ‘normal’ – and any other sexuality is deviant. In practical terms, what this has meant for me, is that I have always assumed I must be into men, without really questioning it, or considering other genders as a possibility. And so I haven’t been attracted to them.

So I, somewhat naively, just thought that I didn’t get attracted to people very often. I have been attracted to about three people in my life, two of whom I was in a relationship with. Turns out I was just looking in the wrong place, and rarely attracted to men! And instead of questioning my sexuality, I assumed this meant I just didn’t fall for people easily. That is compulsive heterosexuality.

Other signs of compulsive heterosexuality include being attracted to more feminine men – which might explain why I always found Legolas more attractive than Aragorn, in Lord of the Rings!

Interestingly, my mum actually asked me, a couple of times, if I thought I was gay, and reassured me that it was cool with them if I was. She grew up in a strongly gay social circle and had clearly been pondering the possibility – but even then, I still did not really engage with the thought.    

It was ultimately something called the ‘master doc’ that helped me – as it has many others within the lesbian community – to realise how far I was enmeshed in compulsive heterosexuality. For anyone who is questioning, it definitely makes an interesting read!

After 25 years of being straight what changed?

I can’t tell you exactly what changed. I have always been a very strong supporter of LGBTQ+ communities, and it just so happens that most of my friends are queer in some way, so I have been consuming and a part of LGBTQ+ culture, for a long time. One day, while watching the video of an LGBTQ+ youtuber that I have followed for some years, where she talks about realising she is gay, something struck a chord in me.

After that, I spent some time on TikTok – which has a thriving LGBTQ+ community – and to which the algorithm sent me immediately. It’s not particularly interesting, but the more I heard about compulsive heterosexuality, the more I realised that I tick almost every box!

But Kat you married a MAN this year?

And this is the thing I am more nervous about: you see, for several years now, my partner and I have been in a polyamorous relationship. That means that, provided we have talked and discussed boundaries, we are able to have other partners/lovers.

Just as I do not have one single best friend, in fact I am lucky enough to have several, and my relationship with one friend does not change how I feel about another friend, this logic can apply equally to romantic and sexual relationships. Again, it is not the way that society conditions us to think, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work, with the right communication. 

It is not the case that every relationship you have will be both romantic and sexual: the joy of polyamory is that you can have purely sexual or purely romantic connections with different people – and pursue a connection wherever it leads you. This, of course, is not always easy, especially with the fun of a chronic illness thrown in, but it with a lot of work it has been helpful for us. Nor does it mean that we are constantly entangled with queues of different people. It simply means that the possibility is there to explore, should you meet someone that you feel is worth it – and everyone involved is fully accepting of the situations of the other people involved.  

This means that realising I am queer doesn’t really have to change my relationship with my partner. He is clearly an exception to my attraction to women – or maybe I am attracted to specific men. Only time will really tell – and I don’t feel any particular need decide that now. But being queer does not stop the fact that I very much love my husband, whilst also wanting to form connections with women – and he loves me for who I am, not what I am.

Chronic illness and sexuality: a delayed realisation

I suspect that one reason I took quite so long to realise my queerness fully is due to my chronic illness. I have spent the last several years in survival mode, trying to keep going with a very life-altering illness, and coming to terms with being disabled. There has been very little mental energy left to figure out other aspects of my identity, so my queerness was an undertone to which I have never given any head space. There was not enough space to process both my chronic illness and sexuality. Having, this year, finally got to grips with my thoughts and feelings about my disability, I’ve had more space to think about other things, such as my sexuality.

Alongside this, not having very much energy has meant that I did not ever get the chance to go through the partying, meeting random people, feeling attracted to them and hooking up – perhaps the most common way for people to explore their sexuality. Sex itself plays a far smaller role in my life than in that of the average person: I spend a week in bed recovering from having sex. It is, after all, exercise – and I am intolerant to exercise. Sad but true! All this means that it was not possible for me to experiment with my sexuality, in the usual ways, so I did not have any experiences with which to challenge compulsive heterosexuality.

But now I know!

Now that I have realised my queerness, a lot of things in my past make sense – as do a lot of my insecurities. It is weird looking back at things with such a changed idea of myself and seeing how that affected a lot of my life. It is something I am realising more and more. The specific interaction between my chronic illness and sexuality is something that I look forward to exploring more in the future.

So, all in all, this year has been an interesting one for my identity. It’s been a big year of change, and I think it has made me far more comfortable and connected to myself than I have ever been. I am looking forward to a fully vaccinated and corona free future where I can wear my chronic illness and sexuality with pride and really enjoy the new, more fully realised, Kat 3.0.