When I think about my sexuality, I go back to my earliest crushes. I remember being completely smitten with both Ariel and Prince Eric in The Little Mermaid. I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but I knew I felt drawn to both of them. Still, when I played with my kindergarten classmates, I only talked about Prince Eric. That felt easier. That felt safe.
The same thing happened when I watched Married with Children as a kid. I had a crush on Buck. Yes, Bud Bundy (short kings forever) and a big crush on Kelly. But even then, at eight years old, I had already learned not to say anything about the Kelly part. My family teased me about boys and boyfriends, never once asking about anything outside of that. The message was clear: boys like girls, girls like boys, and that’s that.
As I got older, those messages got louder. In high school, I was drawn to the only out girl I knew, but I only talked to her when no one else was around. One of my first sexual experiences was with a friend who was a girl, and afterward, a few older students pulled me aside to warn me. They told me people were talking. They said I would get myself into trouble if I kept this up.
I revisit these memories often. Not because I doubt myself now, but because, for a long time, I did. I looked for “proof” that my bisexuality was real. I needed something to hold onto. I wondered if I was confused or just going through a phase. I worried that maybe I was just “boy crazy” or trying to get attention. I questioned myself constantly.
When I finally came out, I hoped it would feel like a relief. And in some ways, it did. A few people responded with warmth and validation. Some even said they had always known. But a lot of others didn’t know what to say. Some friends told me I was probably just experimenting. Others said I didn’t need to put a label on it. A few told me that as long as I dated men, it didn’t really matter anyway.
Over time, I started noticing the way bisexuality was treated… or not treated at all. I picked up on the erasure over time through assumptions, exclusions, and the sense that I had to prove something. That invisibility didn’t only come from straight people. I started to see it in queer spaces too.
What Is Bi+ Sexuality? Understanding Bisexual, Pansexual, and Plurisexual Identity
Sexuality isn’t something you can see. People like to joke that things look “queer” or “straight,” but in reality, there’s no reliable way to tell someone’s sexual orientation based on how they look, act, or even who they’re partnered with. Sexuality is internal, personal, and fluid.
Bisexuality is the potential to be attracted romantically and/or sexually to people of more than one sex and/or gender. Plurisexuality and pansexuality are broader terms that include bisexuality and refer to any sexual identity where there is attraction to more than one gender. We’ll use the term bi+ to encompass these identities throughout this article.
Our society tends to teach us to see the world in binaries: gay or straight, man or woman. So when something doesn’t fit neatly into one of those boxes—when it lives in the in-between—it often gets dismissed as illegitimate or overlooked. Most of us have been socialized to feel uneasy with anything that doesn’t fit those categories, and that discomfort is a big part of why bisexuality and pansexuality are so easily erased.
What Is Bi+ Erasure? How Bisexual Invisibility Impacts the LGBTQ+ Community
Bi-erasure is the systemic tendency to ignore, dismiss, or misrepresent the existence and legitimacy of bi+ people. We’re not just talking about biphobia, which certainly exists; we are talking about how cultural, academic, and even queer spaces often render bi+ people invisible.
Legal scholar Kenji Yoshino calls this an “epistemic contract.” Basically, it’s an unspoken agreement—shared by both straight and gay communities—to stick to a binary way of thinking about sexuality. Within that framework, bi+ identities often get written off as a phase, dismissed as confusion, or left out completely. Whether it’s purposeful or not, this kind of erasure keeps happening because bi+ sexuality doesn’t play by the usual rules. It challenges the idea that being attracted to only one gender is the norm or the default.
Bi+ people have always existed, yet we are repeatedly being left out of our own queer history. There is a long and ongoing pattern of bi+ erasure. As Juana María Rodríguez recalls, even in 1980s lesbian feminist spaces, bi+ sexuality was seen as apolitical or disloyal. And while current data show that bi+ people make up a majority of the LGBTQ+ population, we are still underrepresented and actively excluded from many queer representations.
What Does Bi+ Erasure Look Like? Real-World Examples of Invisibility and Misrepresentation
Understanding bi+ erasure matters because it helps us see how it shows up and how it impacts both mental and physical health.
Bi+ erasure operates in both subtle and overt ways. It appears in casual interpersonal assumptions, in media tropes, in the absence of bi+ specific research, and even in LGBTQ+ spaces themselves.
Bi+ invisibility is reinforced by the epistemic contract mentioned earlier. Put simply, bi+ people are routinely assumed to be monosexual based on who they’re dating or married to. This falsely assumes that a person’s current partner fully defines their sexual identity. Because of this, bi+ people in relationships that appear heterosexual are perceived as “not queer enough” by those around them, which leads to internalized shame and self-denial. These assumptions are not usually made out of malice, but they do reflect a cultural habit of simplifying what we can’t easily categorize.
This kind of cultural shorthand contributes to larger structural erasures and discriminations. The tendency to categorize people based on visible markers influences how researchers and institutions collect and report data. Bi+ individuals are regularly excluded from academic research and theory. When they are included, they are often folded into other categories based on the gender of their current partner. This approach creates a misleading data landscape; one that confuses the actual presence and needs of bi+ people. Without reliable data, it’s harder to understand bisexual mental health disparities or advocate for adequate support and policy.
Sexual education and curriculum also center monosexuality (heterosexuality and, only more recently, homosexuality). Bi+ sexuality and sexual fluidity are rarely paid any attention or addressed directly, leaving bi+ youth with fewer role models and a lack of institutional recognition.
Bi+ media representation is also bleak. Bi+ characters are frequently portrayed as deceitful, unstable, or overly sexual. Bi+ people are rarely allowed to just exist as bi+. Instead, bi+ sexuality is framed as a stepping stone toward a “real” identity, which reinforces the idea that bi+ sexuality is not a valid or lasting sexual orientation
How Does Bi+ Erasure Show Up Differently Across Intersecting Identities? Bi+ Erasure and Intersectionality
Bi+ erasure doesn’t show up the same way for everyone. Understanding how intersecting identities affect the experience of bi+ invisibility is essential to this conversation. None of us exist as just one thing. We all move through the world carrying multiple identities that influence both how we understand ourselves and how we are seen, treated, and understood by others.
Studies show that only 12–14% of bi+ men are out, compared to around 70% of monosexual queer people. Dominant narratives insist that bi+ men are either closeted gay men or confused straight men, reinforcing a cycle of isolation and discouraging openness. Without visible examples of what bi+ manhood can look like, many bi+ men choose silence over scrutiny, making it even harder to find one another or build community.
Bi+ people of color experience a distinct form of erasure shaped by the intersection of their racial and sexual identities. For bi+ men of color, this often means having their masculinity and loyalty questioned, along with facing heightened stigma related to HIV. Bi+ women of color report being hypersexualized and perceived as “exotic,”; they also experience higher rates of isolation compared to other bi+ groups.
Most queer organizations and nonprofits in the U.S. are predominantly white and often operate according to Western, monosexual norms. As a result, bi+ people of color simultaneously experience an erasure of their sexuality within their cultural communities and an erasure of their racial and sexual identities within these predominantly white queer spaces.
For some bi+ people of color, the emotional safety found in cultural or racial communities can feel more dependable, even when those spaces aren’t affirming of their sexual identity. Tolerating biphobia within those communities can feel safer than entering spaces that ignore or misunderstand their full identity.
Many bi+ people of color report feeling alienated and unseen in predominantly white queer spaces, where their racial identities are notably overlooked. This erasure can be especially painful, given that their race is rarely ignored outside of these spaces and is generally a source of discrimination. When this reality isn’t acknowledged, their needs go unrecognized and unmet. Dismissing either their queerness or their racial identity prevents them from being seen as a whole. And without that acknowledgment, there can be no true sense of psychological safety.
How Does Bi+ Erasure Affect Mental And Physical Well-Being? The Mental and Physical Health Impacts of Bi+ Erasure
When who you are is repeatedly questioned or minimized, it affects both your emotional and physical well-being. Most bi+ identifying people, at one point or another, have had to grapple with feelings of internalized shame or confusion. In many cases, this results in delayed self-recognition, painful self-questioning, and difficulty feeling secure in relationships and community.
Across all studies and demographics, research shows that bi+ people experience higher rates of anxiety, depression, substance use, and even suicidal thoughts than both straight and gay/lesbian peers. And the chronic stress of being consistently unseen or misunderstood can also lead to higher risks for cardiovascular disease, high blood pressure, and other serious physical health concerns.
As mentioned earlier, when there’s so little visible bi+ representation, it can be really hard for people, and especially for bi+ men and youth, to picture a future where they can live openly and feel fully seen. If you rarely see people like you living out their truth, it’s easy to start questioning whether your identity is valid or whether a life that feels whole and authentic is even possible. This is why visibility, affirmation, and access to community make a meaningful difference in building self-acceptance and supporting long-term mental health.
Bi+ people of color can face an even more complex set of challenges. For bi+ POC, the racial aspect of their identity is either overlooked or actively sidelined in many queer spaces. Without spaces that reflect or even actively accept the wholeness of who they are, bi+ people of color are asked to choose between parts of themselves, a choice that leaves them feeling fragmented and unsupported. This lack of full recognition can lead to deep emotional fatigue, chronic stress, and a pervasive sense of unbelonging.
How Can We Fight Bi+ Erasure?: Caring for Your Mental Health and Pushing Back Against Bi+ Erasure
If erasure is the problem, then visibility, affirmation, and care are part of the solution. And while the weight of that work shouldn’t fall only on bi+ people, there are things we can all do—both personally and collectively—to challenge erasure and support mental health.
Living in a world that overlooks or questions your identity can take a real toll. If you’re bi+, it’s not just about being visible; it’s about feeling safe, grounded, and affirmed in who you are. Here are some ways to take care of your mental and emotional well-being:
Find Bi+-Affirming Therapy
Not every therapist understands the unique challenges that come with being bi+. You can look for providers who name bisexuality, plurisexuality, or pansexuality explicitly in their bios and are affirming. You deserve a space where you’re not asked to explain or justify your identity.
Protect Your Energy
Although it may be difficult, it can help to set boundaries with people who dismiss, minimize, or question your identity, even if they mean well. You don’t have to educate everyone, especially when it comes at the expense of your own well-being.
Be Mindful of Your Media Diet
Some media portrayals and online spaces still rely on tired tropes about bi+ people. If you notice something consistently making you feel smaller, misrepresented, or drained, give yourself permission to disengage. You don’t have to stay plugged in to everything.
Create Identity-Affirming Rituals
Small, consistent practices—like journaling, lighting a candle, reading bi+ authors, or listening to affirming music—can help reconnect you with yourself when the outside world feels confusing or invalidating.
Make Space for Joy
We talk a lot about the pain of being bi+, and that’s important. But there’s also joy. Find the spaces, stories, and relationships that reflect the beauty of being bi+. You deserve more than representation; you deserve celebration!
How to Support Bi+ Mental Health as an Ally, Friend, or Family Member:
Bi+ people need support that goes beyond “love is love.” Here are ways you can show up meaningfully:
Use Clear, Inclusive Language
Say “bi+” when you mean bi+. Don’t collapse bi+ experiences under the word “gay.” Try to be specific because it matters.
Believe People the First Time
When someone tells you they’re bi+, don’t second-guess it. Please don’t ask who they’ve dated or suggest it’s a phase. Instead, believe them. Your acceptance helps build safety in the relationship with you.
Challenge Stereotypes
Speak up when you hear others dismiss or stereotype bi+ people. Gently correct assumptions that tie someone’s identity to their current relationship.
Offer Small Signals of Support
Wearing a bi+ pin or sharing a thoughtful post on social media may seem small, but they can be meaningful. Research shows that these micro-affirmations can help buffer against stress and foster resilience.
Bi+ people are not a footnote in the queer community; we are the majority. And yet, we’re often erased, questioned, or left out entirely. That kind of invisibility doesn’t just impact representation; it also affects mental health, belonging, and overall well-being.
Fighting bi+ erasure means recognizing this pattern and working together to shift it. Whether you’re bi+ yourself or someone who cares, your actions and your voice matter. When we make space for complexity, nuance, and identity beyond binaries, we create a world where more people can feel whole. And if you’re bi+ and struggling with invisibility, anxiety, or the weight of feeling misunderstood, you’re not alone, and you don’t have to navigate it by yourself. Please reach out to us; we would be honored to support you in exploring your identity, finding community, and building a life that feels true to who you are.