“We Grew Up Without Role Models”: Reflections on Adulthood from a Lesbian Woman and a Bisexual Man

In the colorful and crowded pride marches that have grown over the years across Latin America, it is increasingly common to see a wide variety of genders, expressions, and generations. Mothers with their children, grandmothers with their partners, groups of adults or young people claiming their existence can be seen. Amidst all this color, it often goes unnoticed that this was not always the case. It is a result of many years of social struggles, legal battles, political activism, and cultural transformations.

Two people who have lived these changes firsthand explain them. A lesbian woman and a bisexual man agree that we must remain vigilant against the regressive rhetoric gaining strength, particularly from governments like those of Javier Milei in Argentina or Donald Trump in the United States.

Sara, 54 years old: “It would save a lot of suffering for new generations if they could discover their sexuality calmly”

The harmony of love was the driving force that led Sara Mestre to come out of the closet. Meeting her current wife gave her the strength to publicly identify as a lesbian. She did so at nearly 40 years old, around two decades ago. However, her first emotional relationship with a woman occurred much earlier, when at 19 she left her hometown of Valledupar to study in Bogotá. She felt that the label of “relationship” was foreign to describe the turbulent bond that lasted 12 years. She knew it was a young woman with whom she occasionally kissed, but in Colombia during the eighties, when homosexuality was just starting to be decriminalized, it was a luxury to think that attraction was something more fundamental. Sara decided to consult a psychiatrist, who diagnosed her with codependency due to unresolved childhood issues. The reality was that Sara was a lesbian.

“I think that’s why I left, I needed to find myself.” She flew far away. In France, for the first time in nearly 30 years, she found references: women who publicly announced that they liked other women. It was a great revelation. She returned to Colombia with a stronger career that allowed her economic independence, fell in love again, and gradually began to tell her closest circle that she liked women. She was 32 years old. She recalls that by then, as the new century was dawning, there were only a couple of “gay-friendly” bars in Bogotá. They were the only places where sexual diversities felt safe, where they were free.

Several more years had to pass before Sara’s sexual orientation found an explicit place in family conversations. This happened when she met who is now her wife; love stripped her of fear and created a plan to tell her parents about her partner. Despite her age and life journey, it was not easy. “There was a beautiful process with my mother, and now she feels very proud of me, I am her exemplary daughter. This came after many years in which I felt she disapproved of me,” explains Mestre, who associates that rejection with the fact that, in addition to her sexual orientation, she never fit into the hegemonic femininity of the Caribbean.

As she approaches her senior years, she acknowledges that those prejudices caused her unnecessary suffering in her youth and much of her adult life, when her affective relationships were marked by taboo. “It was painful because I had to pretend to everyone. I experienced it as torture, as I could only be happy behind closed doors,” she asserts. Sara wishes young women could jump to freedom much earlier. “If you feel accompanied, it’s easier to come out of the closet,” she adds.

Daniel, 41 years old: “Being bisexual opened up the possibility for me to express affection and tenderness for another man”

Daniel Saldaña found freedom and his identity through theater and writing. In these spaces, he had his first erotic explorations while growing up in conservative Cuernavaca, in the State of Morelos, Mexico. “For the boys, it was always evident that I didn’t fully belong to the obligation of heterosexuality,” he says. He experienced his sexual awakening in a society where the concept of bisexuality was just beginning to emerge from the shadows. “I didn’t grow up with any type of visible or close bisexual model. During my sexual awakening years, I never thought that such a possibility existed. It was either being gay or heterosexual,” he adds.

Like Sara, his clear discovery came far from home, during his professional literature studies in Madrid, Spain. The setting was different, but discrimination persisted in a community where biphobia has been constant. “A thousand times gay friends told me that bisexuality didn’t exist or that it was a transition.” Between the lack of certainty, discrimination from those considered close, and his own doubts, the bisexual experience was one of the most challenging within the LGBTIQ+ community. “There should be greater flexibility regarding the ideas we have about sexual diversity. Understanding that there are people who live their sexuality differently within this community is necessary, and it needs to be recognized that there are nuances,” he states.

He was able to articulate himself from there much later, with more mature reflections and references he identified in literature, but also with the need to take a stand against discrimination. “The label [of bisexual] in itself doesn’t interest me as much as the group of people it opens up to me. However, I believe there is a specific experience of bisexuality that requires the use of the word. I need it to talk about a specific experience, even if it’s not homogeneous,” he explains.

Daniel emphasizes that bisexuality opened the door for him to construct a dissenting masculinity, even more unusual in Mexican society of the 2000s. For him, that has been one of the most important reflections. “At some point, I understood that, beyond the purely sexual aspect, I had the possibility to express and live tenderness towards other men, when it is often taught that what should prevail among us is competition. Some of that orientation reconciled me with the world,” he asserts.

He is currently married to a woman who identifies as bisexual, which has made their love intertwined with a similar way of approaching and living the vast abyss of sexuality and identity. Like Sara, he hopes that other bisexual men can find themselves from new places, perhaps ones that can challenge the macho mandates of what it means to be a man. “Maybe younger people find it beneficial to know that there are people who identify as bisexual and reach 40 with a career, with a life. As one ages, the critiques matter less; there’s not as much pressure to ‘perform’ a certain masculinity,” he emphasizes.

Both Sara and Daniel have accumulated a good streak of pride marches, although they agree that over the years it becomes harder to keep up with these events, which are massive in both Bogotá and Mexico City. In 2024, at least 260,000 people attended in Mexico City, while in Bogotá the number exceeded 50,000. Daniel and Sara, in different cities and without knowing each other, are united by their resilience. That resilience keeps them firm in who they are, what they feel, and whom they love.

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In Colombia, the NGO Colombia Diversa has documented 46 murders of people with diverse sexual orientations and gender identities this year; in Mexico, there were 80 hate crimes registered in 2024, according to the specialized media letra ese.