We recently spoke with community members who identify as bi, pan and/or queer about how they came to better understand this sexual fluidity, and how it plays out in their lives. In this blog, our seven contributors share their experiences of navigating fluidity, fantasies, and the ongoing journey of finding themselves. All contributors are she/her unless otherwise stated.

Identity doesn’t form in a vacuum. It grows in moments of recognition - in conversations, in shared laughter, in the ways people look at you and see something you haven’t quite named yet. For so many queer people, especially those who identify as bi, pan, or fluid, community becomes one of the most powerful mirrors. It offers language, courage, and a sense of belonging that often arrives before self-understanding does.

The people we spoke with described community not as a single place, but as a constellation of people and moments: older queer mentors, friends who “got it” without explanation, dating partners who held space for complexity, and events where expression felt natural rather than something to defend.

Again and again, the same theme appeared:

Finding the first places you feel seen

For many contributors, their earliest experiences of queer community weren’t dramatic revelations - they were moments of quiet relief.

One person said that being around people who didn’t question their fluidity was the first time they stopped treating their identity like something they had to justify. They could talk about attraction to different genders without immediately preparing arguments in their head. That sense of being understood - truly understood - softened something in them. It helped them accept that their desires were real, not a phase or an exaggeration.

Another described walking into their first queer event as a feeling of exhaling. They said, “It was like a pressure I didn’t even know I was carrying suddenly lifted.” The community didn’t demand certainty. People were allowed to be questioning, evolving, messy - and seeing that gave them permission to explore more gently.

These moments weren’t always grand or emotional. Sometimes they were as simple as joking about crushes, or having someone ask their pronouns without hesitation. One contributor said even those small interactions felt “revolutionary,” because they normalised things that had once felt risky or strange to say out loud.

When belonging feels complicated

Belonging isn’t automatically easy, though. Several people talked about the early tension of entering queer spaces while holding a fluid or shifting identity.

Some worried about being seen as “not queer enough,” especially if they were in a relationship others might perceive as straight. They described the subtle fear of being judged, measured, or evaluated without anyone saying it aloud.

One person shared that even surrounded by affirming people, internalised doubt still followed them like a shadow. They found themselves silently asking, “Do I get to be here?” And answering that question took time, patience, and reassurance.

Another contributor spoke honestly about bisexual erasure - how they sometimes had to correct assumptions or explain parts of themselves they wished didn’t need justification. They learned to choose their moments: when to educate, when to walk away, when to preserve their energy.

Fluid people often carry these complexities, and community isn’t magically free of them. But the contributors emphasised that navigating those challenges with others — not alone — made all the difference. They learned that belonging isn’t granted by others. It’s practiced internally, then affirmed externally.

The lessons that only community teaches

Despite the complexities, everyone we spoke to described community as profoundly instructive - a source of growth they couldn’t have accessed on their own.

One person described dating another queer person as being “part of a living classroom.” Together, they unpacked assumptions, public perceptions, and their own fears. They saw how fluidity shows up in real life, not just theory. The relationship didn’t just offer romance - it offered understanding.

Others talked about mentorship. Having older queer people in their lives modelled a type of confidence they hadn’t yet developed. Watching someone else navigate the world with ease and resistance, humour and resilience, gave them strategies they could borrow until they learned to stand more firmly in themselves.

But it wasn’t always the big relationships that taught the most. One contributor said the moments that built their identity were often tiny ones: someone noticing them across a room, checking in with their pronouns, complimenting their expression, or making space for their story. They said, “Those little things stacked together over years created my sense of belonging.”

These interactions may seem small, but together they form a kind of emotional scaffolding - support that allows people to experiment, try again, and grow.

Visibility is a skill learned in community

Many contributors described community as the place where they learned how to be visible - how to hold their identity with confidence even when facing misunderstanding.

One person talked about the microaggressions they’d encountered in supposedly inclusive spaces. Community was where they learned strategies: how to speak up without burning out, how to protect their peace, and when silence wasn’t self-betrayal but self-preservation.

Another shared that being assumed straight is still a regular experience. But being backed by a supportive network meant they no longer felt fragile in those moments. They weren’t defending their identity alone; they were supported by a community that validated their bisexuality even when strangers didn’t.

Language came up frequently. Contributors talked about the importance of inclusive communication: listening, checking assumptions, and making room for complexity. These habits transformed spaces from simply “not harmful” to genuinely empowering.

Visibility isn’t easy. But community is what makes it possible - and sustainable.

Celebration as self-understanding

Beyond support and learning, contributors consistently highlighted one thing: Joy. Queer joy. Shared joy.

One person recalled queer events where people of all ages and identities were exploring themselves in real time. They said watching younger queer people step into their identities with freedom reminded them of how much courage it takes - and how contagious that courage can be.

Another described how even the smallest forms of participation felt affirming: dancing, laughing, flirting, talking openly. “These were acts of self-acceptance,” they said. “Community taught me that my identity isn’t something I have to hide or justify.”

And one contributor summed up the entire theme beautifully:

Becoming ourselves - together

What all these stories circle back to is simple: identity doesn’t flourish in isolation. We learn about ourselves through other people - their reflections, their challenges, their generosity, their stories.

One person put it plainly: “Belonging doesn’t mean getting it perfect. It means showing up.”

Another said community taught them patience - patience with the messy process of discovering who they were. Someone else described it as a “collective dance,” full of learning, laughter, mistakes, and growth.

And one of the most striking reflections was this: "Finding your place in the world is easier when others are willing to find it with you."

Community doesn’t just support identity.

It shapes it. It sharpens it. It softens it.

It reflects the best parts of us back to ourselves.

And in those reflections - those tiny moments of recognition - we become more fully who we are.