I recently flew home for my aunt’s surprise 70th birthday party. It was a beautiful celebration, full of family, laughter, and lots of good food and catching up.
I love my family, and I know they love me.
Still, whenever I visit home, I’m often asked whether I’m dating, and if not, why not. I regularly hear talk of who bought a new home or recently got married.
Meanwhile, I’ve had a pretty full year. Last October, I got licensed as a therapist, and that same month, I received a publishing contract for my second book. I’ve also been spending time exploring the possibility of living in Mexico City, nurturing a strong spiritual life, and focusing on my health.
Writing my second book has been a passion project of mine. I was recently telling a friend that so much of writing isn’t even writing. The stories and experiences a person is writing about have to be lived first. A book is an extension of the writer’s life, and mine reflects my life and the passion I feel about my work.
I’ve also been single for a long time, and I used to believe something was wrong with me for not being in a relationship. I’ve even explored my propensity for being single in therapy. I’ve turned over a lot of rocks, and what I’ve discovered is that I’m happily single.
Many gay men leave their hometowns to find community in larger cities, where there’s greater access to other gay people and more affirming environments. It’s part of what brought me to Los Angeles.
While I was home, I kept wondering why so few people asked me about my book, my work, what it’s been like starting a private practice, my spiritual interests, or my love of traveling and my dream of living in Mexico City. What’s more, when I did try to talk about these things, it seemed as though there wasn’t as much interest as there was in kids, weddings, and new houses. What I’ve been reflecting on since is how heteronormativity can influence the questions even the most loving people think to ask.
By the time I left, I found myself wondering if something was wrong with my life. I’m not married, I don’t have children, and I live alone. Yet when I’m in Los Angeles, I don’t feel lonely or that anything is missing.
When I got back to LA, I told a friend about the trip and admitted how much the experience had made me question my life. Was I the lonely single gay man living in a big city without a family? As we talked, he told me he’s felt similarly whenever he’s visited family back home. I hear the same thing from many of the gay men I work with in my practice.
What I realized is that I chose not to have children, and I’m choosing to be single. I’ve also never had a desire to own a home. None of these things mean my life is lacking. What I had been feeling was the weight of heteronormativity’s unconscious demands, projections, and expectations.
What Is Heteronormativity?
Heteronormativity, the assumption that heterosexuality and heterosexual relationships are the norm, is a lens through which many people perceive what a person’s life is supposed to look like, including whether they are married, have children, or own a home.
Heteronormativity is connected to broader social hierarchies of worth, in which society assigns greater value to certain ways of living than others. These assumptions can operate even when someone doesn’t consciously hold homophobic beliefs.
It reminds me of an episode of Sex and the City called “A Woman’s Right to Shoes.” At a baby shower, Carrie takes off her shoes at her friend’s request, only to discover that they’ve been stolen. When her friend refuses to replace them, Carrie points out how much money she has spent celebrating her friends’ weddings, anniversaries, and children. She eventually registers for gifts to celebrate her “marriage to herself” and asks her friend for the shoes.
The episode raises an interesting question about whose life choices we celebrate and whose we question. Why are marriage and children milestones that deserve gifts and celebration, while a single person’s choices and interests can be treated as less worthy of the same recognition?
Heteronormativity informs how we think, and how we think informs our beliefs. Our beliefs, in turn, inform the questions we ask and how curious we are about another person’s life. The more our thinking is filtered through heteronormativity, the more likely we are to misunderstand someone else’s life. Depending on what we believe is normal, we can unconsciously project our opinions and judgments onto others.
Most of my family is straight, and while their questions come from love, they also reflect heteronormativity, which can limit what they’re able to see beyond their own experiences.
Across generations, gay and straight people have been taught that a successful life means getting married, having children, and buying a home. Surrounded by these societal expectations, it can be easy for many gay men to feel as if we’re falling short, not measuring up, or that our lives are missing something essential.
When we absorb other people’s projections without recognizing them, we can measure our lives against heteronormative ideals that don’t align with our personal values, desires, or interests.
The next time you find yourself wondering whether something is missing from your life, I’d invite you to consider what you want for your life—not what you think you should want.
For those who love the gay men in their lives, I invite you to get curious about the fullness of our lives, including our work, our passions, our friendships, and anything else that makes us come alive. You may discover that the life you were worried about is fuller than you imagined.
