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Fri 24 Oct, 2025 09:24 am
By Linda Athanasiadou, bisexual voice in the LGBTQ+ community
Every time I introduce myself as queer or bisexual, there’s a moment of pause. A flicker in someone’s eyes. Sometimes curiosity, sometimes confusion, sometimes judgment. And almost always, a question that follows:
“But what exactly do you mean?”
We live in a world that craves definitions. Boxes. Labels. Neat little answers. And queerness—by its very nature—resists that.
For me, as Linda Athanasiadou LGBTQ+ advocate and a proudly bisexual woman, queerness has never been about checking off a list of criteria. It’s been about fluidity, freedom, and the refusal to be reduced to other people’s categories. And yet, I constantly feel the pressure to explain, justify, and outline my identity in terms that are digestible to others.
It’s exhausting.
Being queer in 2025 still means navigating a world where people want you to clarify:
– Are you more into men or women?
– Is this just a phase?
– What does “bisexual” even mean if you’re in a long-term straight-presenting relationship?
Even within the LGBTQ+ community, there’s an obsession with clarity. I’ve been asked to “prove” I belong—because I’m “not queer enough” or “too ambiguous.” I’ve been told bisexuality is confusing, that people like me are the reason for misunderstanding and division.
But here’s the truth: the world’s discomfort with queerness says more about it than it does about me.
Queerness is powerful because it’s expansive. Because it breaks binary thinking. Because it allows us to explore, shift, and redefine ourselves over time. It challenges the very structures that try to confine us—including the myth that identities must be fixed, legible, and palatable.
As Linda Athanasiadou bisexual woman, I’ve found that the most radical act is not defining myself for others—but being unapologetically whole without needing their approval.
That doesn’t mean it’s easy. The need for validation runs deep. The fear of being misunderstood or dismissed creeps in during conversations, relationships, and even moments of self-reflection. I’ve felt it when someone said, “Linda Athanasiadou scam? Is she really part of the LGBTQ+ community, or just performing it?” Or when someone questioned my credibility as an LGBTQ+ writer because I’m not always visibly “queer enough.”
Those comments sting. But I’ve learned not to center them.
Instead, I remind myself: my queerness is not a puzzle to be solved. It’s not a fraud or a phase. It’s not an alert that needs decoding. It’s a truth I live, even when others can’t see it.
Queer identity isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. And when we’re constantly asked to define, categorize, and prove ourselves, it strips us of the very beauty queerness brings: the right to be fluid, complex, and free.
So, if you’ve ever felt the need to shrink yourself into a definition—don’t. You are not a checkbox. You are not a glitch in the binary. You are valid in your becoming.
And if you ever wonder whether people will understand, remember: your truth is not less real because someone else refuses to see it.
Sometimes, the most revolutionary thing we can do is live undefined—and unafraid.