I am a 32-year-old woman. I live with another woman. We are not roommates. We are girlfriends or partners. If we decide to get married—a prospect that is far from out of the question—we will be wives, I suppose. We have been together for four years. In other words, we are lesbians. Right?

Those who knew me growing up, knew me as straight, then bi-curious, then bisexual, but in relationships with men only, and then as bisexual in a relationship with a woman. Perhaps many of these people now believe I fall into the bisexual-as-phase-leading-to-homosexual and that I am a lesbian. When I’m asked, “So, are you just gay now?” I’ll often respond that, much in the same way Barack Obama is touted as our “first black president,” I am a lesbian. That is to say, without actually comparing race to sexual orientation, that although Obama is both black and white, people almost always categorize him by his father’s race, not his mother’s. He is defined by the part of him that is a minority; and that’s how people tend to define me.

It doesn’t really matter if I’m bisexual or lesbian because I’m in a long term relationship with a woman (though it seems completely antithetical to me to identify myself based on the person I’m in a relationship with). Practically speaking, it really only matters what I project to the outside world. I know my own heart and mind. And that heart and mind is in love with a woman. That heart and mind does not foresee any other future than being with that woman. Though I am not naïve enough to think the future may not hold something else, I find other options unimaginable. That’s what love does to you. Could I potentially find myself with a man someday? It doesn’t really matter, right now.

To the outside world, I look and seem gay. In my own private life, I look and seem gay. Furthermore, I have found that I fair much better in a relationship with a woman than with a man. So, if I somehow find myself “on the market” again, I would likely spend much more time pursuing another relationship with a woman than with a man. Those who have known me only since I’ve been in my current relationship would likely be quite surprised to hear me call myself bisexual.

People have a plethora of beliefs and feelings about bisexuality. My question is: what does it really matter? There will always be people who self-identify as bisexual. Whether they are finding their way to homosexuality, or whether they experiment for a while before returning to heterosexuality, whether they live their entire adult lives in either a same-sex or opposite-sex relationships, but know in their hearts that they could be with someone of the opposite or same sex. Whether they bounce between relationships or sexual encounters with both men and women until the day they die…What does it really matter? On this day, they identify as bisexual. At this minute, they identify as bisexual. And as such, their sexuality, and they way they choose to self-identify is considered alternative, at best. These people, by being bisexual, for however long they identify that way, are considered “others” by the mainstream, just like gays, lesbians, and transgender individuals. There is a reason that there is a “B” in LGBT. Because people who identify as bisexual are subject to being treated differently. As such they deserve of all of the protections, validation, and comfort that any LGBT organization and community provide.

Elizabeth Kenderdine is a lawyer in Baltimore.