Many of us are struggling with our mental health at the moment: it’s really hard to live in the world right now without everything going on messing with our well-being. I’ve lived with anxiety, depression, and obsessive-compulsive disorder for around 15 years. I’ve taken various medications and tried a few types of therapy over the years, as well as taking the usual lifestyle advice: exercise, get enough sleep, don’t keep doomscrolling. Oh yes, and I’m also bisexual.
That might not sound relevant, or like it doesn’t fit alongside everything else. Why is it that bisexual people in particular seem to struggle? If you live with a mental health condition, you might not be surprised to hear that a growing body of evidence backs it up.
What the research shows
A study of cisgender gay and bisexual people in Hong Kong published in 2020external link, opens in a new tab indicated that bisexual individuals showed higher levels of depressive and anxiety symptoms than gay men and women. Another from the UK in 2023external link, opens in a new tab found that bi adults – and bi women in particular – report poorer physical and mental health outcomes compared to any other sexuality.
We also know, per the American Psychiatric Associationexternal link, opens in a new tab, that bisexual people are underrepresented in LGBTQ+ mental health research, despite the risk of suicide in bisexual people being higher than in straight or gay people.
Across different countries, the evidence is clear. Bi individuals from all walks of life report poorer mental health outcomes than both straight and gay people. But why?
How stress can show up in real life for bisexual people
Some of the potential reasons for poor mental health outcomes in bisexual people are those we might share with other queer people, like homophobia, but some are more unique.
Some bi people experience homophobia in much the same way as a gay person might. For example, a bi person in a gay-presenting relationship may experience homophobia in the same way. A bi guy who presents as more stereotypically feminine might struggle in much the same way as a gay, or indeed, straight, man who’s more feminine. I realized in my early teens that, while I fancied the same female celebrities as my peers, I wasn’t entirely heterosexual. And this certainly affected my mental health at the time.
It didn’t help that I went to secondary school (from the equivalent of sixth grade to 10th grade) in the UK in the early 2010s. While a better environment for LGBTQ+ students than it would have been in the past, not least because Section 28 was repealed in 2000external link, opens in a new tab, it was at the tail-end of phrases like “that’s so gay” being ubiquitous. Already not the most overtly masculine guy, realizing that perhaps I wasn’t straight was confusing—though I knew what bisexual was, I didn’t know any ‘out’ bi people—and added to my feelings of isolation.
But bisexual people can also deal with biphobia, ignorance and stigma from other people within our own LGBTQ+ community, being seen as not sufficiently ‘queer enough’ to be part of the community. Indeed, the 2020 study found that bi people were more likely to feel a weaker sense of connection to the community as a whole. And, of course, bisexual people experience similar bias among straight folks: we’re not straight enough to be straight, not gay enough to be gay, and even queer, which used to be nomenclature meant to include us, can feel less and less like a welcome place for us sometimes.
Bisexuality is seen as temporary by many people, even though it’s usually not for bisexual people. People can act like it’s a phase, like it disappears at a certain point, or can be explained away depending on who you’re with. If you’re with someone of a different gender than you, people might assume you’re straight. If you’re with someone of the same gender, people might assume you’re gay. Having to constantly defend or explain your sexuality can be exhausting. No, I’m not magically straight now that I’m in a long-term relationship with a woman. I still find people of different genders to be attractive, for example, and so does she.
Being between two worlds
It can be easy to feel caught in the middle when you’re bi, as though you’re trapped between two worlds. It doesn’t help that bi people are a minority within a minority, too. We can face homophobia, biphobia, and discrimination from straight people and society more widely, but then struggle to fit in among our fellow LGBTQ+ people, too.
Our stress can come from several directions at once, and the minority stress modeexternal link, opens in a new tabl helps explain the effect of bisexuality on mental health. The idea is that chronic stress from things like stigma, discrimination and prejudice can lead to poorer mental and physical health among people from marginalized groups—it’s a sad truth that not everyone is in this position.
The minority stress idea can be brought in here, too. People with multiple marginalized identities will often experience more stress from issues like discrimination and prejudice than I do as a cisgender, white, able-bodied man.
That’s not to say that those of us who are more privileged can’t have our own struggles, or aren’t entitled to struggle, but I do appreciate that some of my fellow bi people are statistically more likely to have poor mental health.
And alongside these broader risk factors, some people have their own internal struggles to contend with. One factor the Hong Kong study highlighted was that bi people were more likely to report identity uncertainty. This might involve questioning your own identity, which many of us do, particularly when we’re growing up and figuring out who we are, or stem from external sources, like other people invalidating us.
For me, when I was younger, I wasn’t sure whether I was actually straight – was my sexuality going to be a passing phase? I wondered if I was pansexual, before identifying as bisexual. But even now, years later, I sometimes wonder if I’m “bi enough,” even though I know deep down that I am, and that I’d never hold anyone else to the same standards I do myself.
Questioning your identity is something a lot of bi people will do at some stage, and it doesn’t make your bisexuality any less valid.
Finding support
If you are struggling, there is support out there. Scarleteen has a wealth of mental health advice, which can provide a great starting point. If you’d like to speak to someone, there’s the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifelineexternal link, opens in a new tab in the US and 988external link, opens in a new tab in Canada, Samaritansexternal link, opens in a new tab in the UK, Beyond Blue in Australia, and 1737external link, opens in a new tab in New Zealand.
Koothexternal link, opens in a new tab, The Youthlineexternal link, opens in a new tab, and the organizations and helplines on Scarleteen’s External Resources page may also be able to help you.
If you don’t have it already, you may benefit from therapy. Psychology Todayexternal link, opens in a new tab’s therapist directory can help you find a therapist or counselor in your area, or one who can do appointments by phone or online. The Association of LGBTQ+ Psychiatristsexternal link, opens in a new tab (AGLP) can also help you find one who is a member of the LGBTQ+ community or an ally, too.
Finding spaces where bisexuality is recognized, validated, and understood can really help, whether that’s Scarleteen itself, other places online, or groups or spaces in the real world.
And remember, poor mental health being more prominent among bi people doesn’t mean that every bisexual person will struggle with their mental health, or that someone who does is any more bi than someone who doesn’t. But knowing some of the potential causes, and where you can go for support, can help us better understand our own brains, and it’s certainly helped me make sense of mine.
