I’m a proud bisexual and I adore our queer culture, so why do I still doubt that I’m allowed to take up this space?

I remember the day I came out to my mum. Standing at the end of her bed one grey and drizzly evening, I used a sudden surge of confidence to tell her that I am bisexual. Initially, she didn’t understand. How could I like more than one gender if at that time I had a boyfriend? I did my best to answer her questions, and fortunately, she accepted me.

But I was still grappling with self-doubt, compounded by casual, maybe even unconscious, bi-erasure from those around me. My friends would joke that the worst thing I could do was end up with a man – I’d be betraying myself, and my attraction to men surely couldn’t be real.

I laughed too, as a bead of sweat rolled down my face. I was an imposter. I wasn’t queer enough. Quick! Someone play Chappell Roan and cleanse me of my sins! Should I overcompensate and date a woman immediately? The pressure to prove myself at times felt overwhelming. I didn’t feel good enough for my own community.