“No you’re not…” is a phrase usually accompanied with looks of disbelief when people find out, but nevertheless it’s a phrase that often gets my blood boiling.
How would you know me better than I know myself? The difference is I’m just me; I’m not fitting into any version of ‘gay’. I’m not butch, fem or baby dyke. I’m what could be called ‘heteronormative’. I present as ‘straight’, I’ve done the ‘traditional’ thing and been married to a man, and now I move around my space as a black queer/pan, empowered, divorced mother of one.