Me and Compulsory Heterosexuality

My homosexual awakening was Sharpay Evans. And as much as I had attempted to convince my Year 5 classmates that it was, in fact, Chad I was pining after, I was yet to convince myself. It was the (now) aggressive Femme stereotype that had captured my interest. When I look back now and remember how many times I would rewind High School Musical 2 to see Sharpay’s rendition of ‘Fabulous’, I am reminded that I am so gay, even back then. It forces me to ask myself the question, how could I ever have doubted myself?

My first fictional crush was a woman, as was my first real life crush and yet I still found myself interlocking hands with a boyfriend behind the playground benches so I wouldn’t get caught by the dinner ladies. Eight years later and I was still holding hands with a different boyfriend. I’d had a girlfriend by this point, but the assumption was that I was bisexual. And if I’m being honest, I never gave any other option a second thought. For me, attraction to men was just a given, I never considered that it wasn’t present. When I would pick men to fancy at random, developing a new ‘crush’ almost fortnightly, it was a flaw in my own personality. I was easily bored and flighty, a typical Gemini. 

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The first UK lockdown in March 2020 forced me to re-analyse myself. Like for so many others, there were far too many hours in the day spent by myself, far too many hours to sit and think. Although I now look back to that time with a certain relieved fondness, in hindsight, I was struggling far more than I ever let on. Too many hours were spent crying over what was a lack of feeling anything when I looked at the men who had entered my life. And I felt broken when I realised there never had been anything. Platonic emotion? No doubt. Romantic? It was as if I was going numb. It was only when scrolling through Tik Tok (because isn’t that where anyone learns anything nowadays?) that I discovered I’d fallen victim to ‘comp het’, or ‘compulsory heterosexuality’, for the majority of my teen years.

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Compulsory heterosexuality, a term popularised by Adrienne Rich in her 1980’s essay titled ‘Compulsory heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence’, is the idea that heterosexuality is assumed and enforced by a patriarchal and heteronormative society. It is important to bear in mind that comp het is a burden carried by the whole LGBTQ+ Community.

Unfortunately, we live in a society that pushes heteronormativity so far down our own throats we are forced to swallow it from the very moment we are born. Think of the classic, “Oh! He’s going to break all the girls hearts when he’s older!” from the distant family friend who hasn’t seen the children in a few years since the move. Straight is the default setting. It is not amiss, however, to suggest that those who identify as WLW in any capacity (women-loving-women, with the inclusion of non-binary identities) carry a heavier weight. One that is enforced by a patriarchal society that places men at the so-called centre of our universe. From a young age, we are taught to be beautiful for men, to work harder to reach the opportunities men are handed so-readily. We are taught to be confident, but not too confident, in order to gain the attention of men in the hopes that one day we will make ourselves a wife. From the get-go, men are presented as the most viable option. 

For those that are queer, this then manifests itself in any number of ways. For me, it was the assumption that I must be bisexual. It took a lot of self-reflection to come to terms with and feel comfortable ID’ing as a lesbian. But eight months down the line, I’ve never felt more in tune with who I know I’ve always been at my core. From stumbling across the term on Tik Tok, to now, I will speak loudly at any given opportunity in order to create discourse about the impact of comp het on those that identify under WLW.

Currently, there’s a level of understanding and discussion present, but, as always, there is room for growth. Therefore, I encourage others to read into, research and continue the discussion in the hopes that a higher awareness of the notion will lessen its impact. And for those that may be struggling in a similar way I had: It is okay for men to merely orbit your universe, women, and anyone else can and do belong in the centre.