Digging and Dreaming

I'm a bisexual, (mostly) cis-gendered woman. I identify as queer and place myself within LGBT and feminist political movements. This places me in an often uncomfortable intersectional, personal and political position.

You see, a lot of monosexual people within LGBT and feminist movements regard me with suspicion, because I claim queer identity, yet I'm in a long-term relationship with a man. Apparently this means I have across-the-board heterosexual privilege.

Yeah, right.

It's taken me a long time to sort out my thinking about privilege in relation to my sexual orientation. (For those of you unfamiliar with privilege as a term, I suggest you go here.) On the surface, being in a long-term relationship with a man does give me some of the benefits of heterosexual privilege. I can talk about my partner openly in mainstream society without fear of hate speech or violence. I can go to any mainstream venue with my partner, hold hands and kiss in public, without fear of hate speech or violence.

But heterosexual privilege isn't just about that.

Here is a heteresoxual privilege questionnaire, which I have amended to test whether bisexuality gives me heterosexual privilege. (It's long. Feel free to skip to the bottom! I found it here.)

( Behind a cut tag, because it's long. )

So, that's a definite YES to just 2 out of 40 questions, i.e. according to this questionnaire I have just 5% heterosexual privilege. So why do so many 'radical' feminists - and a fair number of normally apolitical lesbians - insist on telling me that I have it in spades?

I think it's because that's what they see: they see me being able to go anywhere with my male partner, hold hands, kiss in public, talk about him at work, get married (if we wanted to), be treated as human beings in mainstream society, without reserve.

But what they see is only a tiny part of the picture of my life: they see me passing in public as heterosexual, whether I want to or not. And passing? Passing is not privilege. It is a daily, grinding reminder of how much I don't fit in. It confronts me with and rubs my face in all of the ways in which I am not understood, all of the ways in which there is no place for me in either mainstream or queer society, except as a travesty of myself.

It's no accident that bisexual people have much worse mental health than either our heterosexual or our lesbian and gay counterparts. The dissonance between what we know ourselves to be and what we are perceived to be and is projected on to us - even if we are continuously and loudly OUT - can be unbearable. And when all our attempts to be out are met with reassertions that we are either gay or straight, the effort can become too much.

Even in academia, in a social science/research environment, where people should really know better, my friends have talked to me as if they believe that they are greater experts in my experience than I am, that there is no alternative to 'choosing' between gay and straight, between women and men (never mind all the other gradations and expressions of gender which exist).

My very existence is daily erased. And this is something I share with my trans sisters.

The same 'radical' feminists who tell me that I have heterosexual privilege are busy telling trans women, loud and long, that they have male privilege. And it strikes me that trans women, and genderqueer people assigned female at birth, are in a similar position in this to bisexual women.

Because when trans women are born, right up until they transition and beyond, they are passing as boys and men, whether they want to or not. (If you doubt that, I refer you to Lana Wachowski's moving HRC Visibility Award acceptance speech:



(Here's a link in case the embed doesn't work.)

The same applies to trans men, of course. And passing, if one goes on mental health experience, is much more distressing for trans folk than it is even for bi folk. Because while sexual orientation is an important aspect of identity within society, sex and gender are foundational. We don't need to know why or how or when those aspects of identity emerge or are shaped to know that.

Passing is not privilege. It corrodes our sense of ourselves. It stymies our attempts to be and feel part of society, whether mainstream or queer. It eats away at our sanity. And people who claim the personal is political as their watchword need to recognise that.

I haven't been here at this blog in way too long. It's like I've just woken from a long nap, looked around and realised exactly how much time has past: "I haven't posted here since 5th December? Really?!" (And a lot longer if you're reading this at LiveJournal.)

But I have been writing, and posting, at A Sense of Place, a blog I had the idea for back in October, and came to fruition at the beginning of December, thanks to Christine Hoff Kraemer, the managing editor of the Patheos Pagan channel.

So far I've written on the complexities of relating to the spirit of place in the modern world, building relationships with the Sidhe, being a country girl who grew up in the city, and how to know you're in Britain at Yule.

It's a lot of fun, and I hope you'll join me over there :-)

On Wednesday, 14th March this year, at about 6.50pm, a fire started inside the wall of our kitchen, due to a process called pyrolysis. Within 10 minutes, the house was full of smoke; within 20 minutes, the roof had started to burn away. My partner and I stood outside, waiting for the fire brigade, me in just a t-shirt, knickers, dressing gown and my wellington boots.

Despite the fire brigade's best efforts, this is what our house looks like now:


Mid Raeburn after the fire
But that's not what this post is about. This post is about what it takes to receive kindness, and to feel true gratitude.

Meeting our survival needs: shelter, water, food

The two of us and our two dogs piled into the 4x4 and drove over the bridge to keep out of the way when the fire engines arrived. As we sat there, my partner reporting the fire to our insurance company, I got a call on my mobile phone from a friend at the other end of the valley, asking me if we needed somewhere to stay. 

As you can imagine, I was somewhat surprised, but extremely grateful. The insurance company had been trying to get us temporary hotel accommodation, but with the nearest town 15 miles away, and two very large dogs in tow, that was proving to be a challenge. So the prospect of accommodation within the same area, with people we knew, was amazing.

(And how did he know to call us? The farmer who lives a mile up the track from us had posted on her Facebook page that our house was on fire. Social media may have its issues, but I have been a solid gold fan since that moment.)

When we arrived at our new, temporary home, it was midnight, yet our friend stayed up to make sure the room we were staying in was warm enough, that we had Internet access so we could let our families know we were safe, and even made us supper when he found out we hadn't eaten since lunchtime.

Caring for our self-esteem: cleanliness and clothing

Even though it was 1am by the time we got settled in, we had to shower before we went to sleep. Our clothes and hair stank of smoke - not the sweet scent of woodsmoke, but the cloying, tarry stench of burning paint, wires and fibreglass. Our friend had provided us with soap and made sure there was plenty of hot water. Still, the prospect of putting on our smokey clothes again the next day wasn't one we relished. 

Fortunately, we didn't have to wear them for too long. On Thursday afternoon, an acquaintance showed up with a big bag full of clothes - some from her, some from her neighbours, and some from the nearby Buddhist centre - along with a smaller bag full of toiletries: shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, toothbrushes and toothpaste.

Even though they were items which would not be missed by their previous owners, this felt like such a huge act of generosity to me, it was all I could do not to cry on the spot. 

What it takes to receive others' generosity - or why 'charity' gets a bad name

We were in genuine need, and our friends' and neighbours' recognition of our need, and generosity towards us in meeting it, was equally genuine. We were recipients of charity, and very, very glad of it.

But so often when people are in need, they reject the very idea of receiving kindness from strangers, neighbours, friends or even family. "We don't need charity," people say. It is as though the honest movement of the human heart to help another person has become confused with an attempt to denigrate the recipient as less than - less capable, less valuable, less worthwhile.

Particularly in societies and cultures like those of the USA and to a certain extent the UK, in which self-sufficiency is seen as the ideal, any need for 'hand-outs' can easily become a trigger for perceiving one's social and self-esteem to be under threat, and lead to a knee jerk reaction of misplaced pride. And for those who are donating, charity can sometimes become a way of saying "I'm doing alright, because I'm better off than those people." Giving becomes a way of separating, of reinforcing an 'us and them' mentality.

But In A Course In Miracles, it says, "To give and to receive are one in truth." Real charity bring us together; it is an expression of the truth that we are part of one another, and that in meeting my neighbour's need, I am meeting my own.  As human beings we are social animals; we have evolved to take care of one another as well as ourselves. We need to untangle our sense of our own worth and value - which should be permanent - from our ability to meet all of our own needs - which is always going to be temporary.

For me, recognising my needs, having people around me open their hearts and homes to meet that need, and opening my own heart to receive their generosity, was a deeply moving experience. My sense of self worth and value actually increased, because along with the gifts of shelter, food, cleanliness and clothing, I was being given something even more valuable: evidence that I am part of a web of relationships with all sorts of people who are ready to catch me and support me when I fall. 

I welcome your comments and look forward to hearing about your experiences with kindness and gratitude. Just click 'Reply' at the bottom right of this post.


This post is a part of the Soul Salon, a monthly discussion of the topics that move our Spirit. For a list of all of the Soul Salon posts check out the full line up here: http://openroadscoaching.com/soul-salon-gratitude/

I am very excited indeed about Danielle Laporte's new book, The Desire Map. It promises an entirely new way of planning everything - guided by desire and feeling. AWESOME.

Will you be joining me at the launch party?

I used to dread autumn: not the turning of the leaves, green becoming gold and brown and red; not the bounty of the harvest of apple, parsnip, cabbage, cauliflower, potato and swede; not the wonder of frosty mornings, every leaf edge and fence post turned to lace; not the sight of geese in a trailing arrow across the morning sky; simply, the coming of darkness.



My body is firmly of the opinion that I should be allowed to hibernate. In an average year, the slowing of its functions begins in September, intensifying until a week before the winter solstice, when I shut down almost completely. Planning any kind of activity between 14th December and 6th January which involves me stepping beyond home without company every step of the way is an exercise in absolute futility. All I'm capable of entirely by myself is staying at home and, on days when I can get out of bed, baking up a storm of cakes, biscuits and sweet breads.

I don't properly emerge from this depleted state until anywhere between the middle of March and the end of April.

That is what Seasonal Affective Disorder looks like. It's acronym - SAD - is bitterly appropriate.

Last year, though, I learned to use the portable light box my mum bought me the year before for my birthday properly. I still slowed down, but my mood, my energy and my will were within acceptable tolerance for working, socialising and generally living during this period for the first time I can remember since early adolescence.

I'd also just recently been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Anyone who's languished with a chronic conditions for years and then got a definitive diagnosis - even when there's not curative treatment available - will understand the sense of grounding and the heady burst of energy that comes with knowing that you're not imagining things or malingering, that your state of being has a name.

Of course, I'm settled into the diagnosis now, and the light box went the way of almost all of tanais's and my possessions in the house fire in March.

It shows.

I'm sure my SAD symptoms are no worse this year than they are in a normal year, but I am noticing them much more, and the impact they're having on me is much greater, much earlier. Today has been a bad day. I've stayed in bed all day, unable to do very much of anything.

A few years ago, how I felt today would have made it a relatively good day, one in which I would have gone to work and socialised, despite the fact that I would have been running on fumes - no actual fuel in my tank at all.

I'm grateful for all of the support I've had - personal and chemical - over the past few years that is enabling me to recognise when I need to rest, and for my flexible working situation, which let's me actually take that rest.

To add a comment, click 'Reply' - at the bottom to the right.

Like all of us, I'm a being of many aspects, many parts. I've been struggling with one particular part of myself for some time now: my felt need to control everything around me.

It's not something I was conscious of, at all, until last year, when my counsellor pointed it out to me. I've always thought of myself as a go-with-the-flow kind of a person, ready to surrender to the direction of Life. But when it comes to the day to day of living in the world, with other human beings... Well, let's just say I find it a challenge to find my way, and to feel safe.

I always have. I'm an introvert by nature; as much as I enjoy company, and like to show off, it's only by being by myself or with one or two trusted friends that I can recharge my batteries. 

I don't know whether it's a common thing with introverts, but for me, I can only feel safe and secure when I know what the relationship is between me and other people, when I know how to place other people in my world.

I know. Meeting strangers in controlled environments works well for me: meeting a friend of friends, teaching or learning in a class on something I'm passionate about, being part a team working towards a common goal, chatting to someone at a bus stop or on a half-empty train carriage, interacting with a shop assistant.

Outside of those environments, where roles aren't defined, where I don't know how I relate to people, how to place people in my world, life gets stressful, and, if I can, I retreat into my shell. When I can't, I'm constantly putting effort and energy into subconsciously monitoring and attempting to manage myself and my environment to bring it all under control, to make it safe.

Even with people I trust, who I know how to place, this tendency arises. When the other person's perception of me matters, when how they judge me affects my self-perception, I leap ahead in time, trying to work out what they're thinking and why they're thinking it, trying to anticipate their movements of thought and feeling several steps ahead.

The closer the person is to me, the more often I get it wrong, and the worse the emotional consequences. 

I'd not made the connection before, but I'm wondering if that's why I've recently reincorporated silent meditation and contemplation into my regular spiritual practice / self-care: learning again to be present, to step out of fear and into a deeply rooted feeling of safety in myself.

So mote it be.

Comments, thoughts and stories from your own experience are welcome here - click reply below right.

Today is Celebrate Bisexuality Day. Here are some things I want monosexual people, straight, lesbian and gay, to know:

1. There are as many different ways to be bisexual / pansexual (attracted to both men and women and/or attracted to people regardless of gender) as there are bisexual and pansexual people. Saying 'bisexual people are...' makes no sense in reality.

2. Saying bisexual people are 'greedy' is like saying that being attracted to both people with blue eyes and people with brown eyes is 'greedy'. It's nonsense.

3. Everyone's self-exploration around their sexuality and their identity deserves respect. For *some* people, a bisexual identity is part of their self-exploration which eventually leads them to an identity as a lesbian or a gay man. For some people, a lesbian or gay male identity is part of their self-exploration which eventually leads them to an identity as bisexual or pansexual. Each person's journey is their own, and each identity which is part of their journey is equally real.

4. Just because bisexuality or pansexuality is outside of your own range of experience, doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

5. Polyamory is not a necessary part of bisexuality. Some bisexual people are polyamorous, just as some straight people, lesbians and gay men are. Some bisexual people are monogamous, just as some straight people, lesbians and gay men are.

6. I'm in a long-term, monogamous relationship with a man. This doesn't mean I've made a 'choice' to be 'straight'. It means I've chosen one person to share my life with. His gender doesn't enter into it.

7. Bisexual people most often end up with people of another gender, because there are more people attracted to 'the opposite' gender than themselves (i.e. straight people + bisexual/pansexual people) than there are people attracted to the same gender as themselves (i.e. lesbians/gay men + bisexual/pansexual people). Plus, there are plenty of lesbians/gay men who refuse to even consider a relationship with a bisexual or pansexual person.

8. Bisexual people do not benefit from heterosexual privilege by being bisexual. Those of us in a monogamous relationship with a person of 'the opposite' gender are assumed to be heterosexual; we pass as heterosexual, whether we want to or not. Even when we're out as bisexual, most monosexual people ignore our statements and categorise us as straight. This is not heterosexual privilege, but something far more complex, and, in fact, psychologically damaging.

9. If in doubt, ask. Comments open for any and all questions. Click 'Reply' at bottom right - if you don't have a Dreamwidth account choose either 'Anonymous' or 'Open ID' option.

Last week, a couple of Patheos bloggers had some things to say about forgiveness.

First, Fred Clark, a progressive Christian blogger, wrote about perverting and inverting forgiveness. Then, Star Foster, a Pagan blogger and editor of the Pagan parts of Patheos, wrote about why she doesn't believe in forgiveness.

I think there's a lot of confusion about the concept of forgiveness; so many people use it in different ways - as you can see in those posts and in the comments to them.

Here are some of the things that forgiveness might be:


Obligation: (a) Something that you have to do to show to your peers that you're a good Christian / Buddhist / New Ager / whatever, regardless of whether you have that movement of heart going on or not.

Obligation: (b) A way of earning entry to heaven / Nirvana.

These two are quite clearly, to me, toxic ideas about forgiveness, which do a huge amount of damage, and allow cultures of abuse to remain intact and to flourish. They also, in my view, amount to self-harming, forcibly ignoring one's own emotions and experience of pain, in favour of an idea about 'being good'; a self-delusion of piety, to be avoided like the plague.


Something that a hurt person does to let their offender off the hook for their actions and the consequences of them.

The effects of this way of looking at and 'doing' forgiveness varies according to the relative power of the hurt person and the offender, but it almost always results in a continuation of the particular power dynamic in effect.

If a more powerful person forgives a less powerful person in this way, it acts to bolster their power, as a magnanimous act of the 'Lady Bountiful' variety; also, the chances are that it was the powerful person who got to set the rules as to what is and isn't an offence in the first place, with no input from the less powerful party.

If a less powerful person forgives a more powerful person, it is likely to be because, as far as social rules go, the more powerful person is 'owed' their forgiveness, or perhaps because there is no viable way for the less powerful person to hold the more powerful person to account, so the only option available to them is to forgive. Alternatively, it may be a way for the less powerful person to feel some power over the situation, however illusory.

This kind of forgiveness can also result in perpetuation of abuse - for example, a child forgiving an abusive parent - if there is not a balancing, sincere feeling of contrition and action of atonement on the part of the offender - preferably a public one.

Of course, if the relationship between the hurt person and the offender isn't an ongoing one, it can be a way for the hurt person not to have to think about the hurt any more, and thus not hurt themselves further.


Letting go: (a) a way for a hurt person to release anger or hurt that's past it's sell-by date and has become poisonous to them.

Letting go: (b) letting go of what we want to be the case, and letting situations and other people be what and who they are.

When I was having counselling last year, I talked about forgiving someone in this way with my counsellor. She rejected the idea that I was talking about forgiveness at all, and suggested that what I was talking about was simply acceptance. Either way, my experience is that both (a) and (b) are very healthy things to do.

I may wish that the person who hurt me hadn't; but the truth is that they did what they did, and I was hurt in consequence.

I may wish that the person who hurt me would show some regret; but the truth is that they don't.

I may wish that our peers, who observed the other person's actions and the hurt it caused me, had stepped in to support me; but the truth is that they didn't.

Going over and over what happened doesn't change any of it. Initially, my hurt told me that something was wrong, and my anger told me that it was something that needed to change. But if the wrong isn't righted, and the change doesn't happen, despite my efforts, then thinking about it all the time and wishing things were different is just self-harming; like repeatedly poking at a wound, it prevents healing.

This kind of forgiveness is often, necessarily, accompanied by an ending of a relationship with an individual or a group. If a person has hurt me and is not willing to take responsibility for their actions, and if the group of peers around us has done nothing, then it is probably in my best interests to cut myself off from them, at least for a while, until my emotional wounds are not so raw.

If I choose to re-associate with them, I can go back forearmed with knowledge of what signs to look out for that the past might repeat itself, and a clear set of boundaries - a firm inner sense of what behaviours I will and will not tolerate - and how I will respond if they are breached; or I can choose to still be linked to them, but never to see them again; or any option in between.


Dropping a demand for recompense or change - whether physical, behavioural or emotional - from an offender, when it becomes clear that they simply cannot, for whatever reason, pay it.

This is very similar, in many ways, to letting go, and also may require a cutting off of a relationship for the person doing the forgiving not to put themselves in a situation of continued harm. It has the added element, however, of compassion - both for oneself, in not continually focusing on something that isn't ever going to happen, and for the offender, in recognising their (current) limits.

It is treating both oneself and the other person as human.

If the offender sincerely wants to offer recompense and to change, but finds themselves currently unable to, this mode of forgiveness can lead to a deeper, more loving relationship - albeit probably one in a different form - by focusing on the connection in the present, not on the hurt in the past. For example, an abusive person who is sincerely sorry and wants to change, but currently finds it very hard to do so, may not be someone who their partner is able to continue living with, but friendship at a distance may be possible - especially if external support, such as counselling and supportive peers, is available.


An operation of Grace, a mysterious movement of Spirit within the human heart and mind, leading to a transformed relationship.

Buddhist teacher, Jack Kornfield, in his book A Path With Heart, describes forgiveness as an unwillingness to eject another human being from your heart. He talks about a meditation student of his who had experienced terrible sexual abuse at the hands of a relative when she was a child.

She had gone through all of her emotions, her anger and fear and all the rest, and had come to a place of peace. In this place of peace, she found that, although she knew absolutely that what had been done to her by this relative was a terrible wrong, she was not willing to put him out of her heart. The same week of her realisation, she received a letter from him, expressing his deep sorrow for his actions, and offering her a sincere and heartfelt apology. 

I do not recall whether or not she began a new connection with this relative, or whether she was simply able to continue in peace and an open heart with the knowledge of his contrition, as well as her own healing. Either way, this kind of forgiveness, this unwillingness to close one's heart, offers cleansing and wholeness; it has a mysterious operation not only in our own lives, but in the lives of those who we refuse to hold apart from love. 

This kind of forgiveness does not belong to the realm of offence and recompense, of power dynamics, of justice; it is not something to replace the offering of apology and atonement. It belongs to the realm of Love. It is outside of time and space, where there is no separation between the person who is hurt and the person who hurt them.

This kind of forgiveness cannot be faked, cannot be forced, cannot be brought into being through ignoring our pain, or pretending that nothing happened, or through an act of will. It is an action of Grace, a movement of Spirit, a blessing. 

All we can do is be willing, perhaps, one day, to allow it space in our hearts.


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