Being asexual and the path to pride

Being asexual (often referred to as “ace”) means that a person experiences little to no sexual attraction.

Like all sexualities, it is complex and perhaps best visualized on a spectrum that includes emotional, romantic, and spiritual attraction. For example, while an asexual person may not experience sexual attraction, they may experience some degree of romantic attraction. Likewise, an asexual person may experience no form of attraction to other people at all.

No matter where an asexual person falls on the spectrum, it does not affect the quality of their relationships or their meaningfulness. Most importantly, and this is what took me the longest to accept, asexuality is not a lack of anything. It is not a lack of libido or a phase; it is a sexuality with its own status and it is real.

Queer identities

As young women, we are constantly and relentlessly told that our sexuality is our value. We are oversexualized in the media, our bodies are commented on like commodities, and we are taught that the language of sex is the only way to make ourselves heard. My first boyfriend at 14, who was only 16 himself, knew that he would “break up with me” if we didn’t have sex; in his eyes, I was there for that.

Sex, we are told, is a very basic human desire. It is the passion and fire in our blood and what makes us human. So what is a human being who does not experience that? What value does my wife have if I am asexual?

Denying that a person might not feel this “basic human nature” has been with me through my formative years as a teenager, through asking for the help I needed during times of vulnerability, and even today, during Pride month, when I have to face the question: Why don’t you tell people about your sexuality?

I came out in a long-term, heteronormative, cisgender relationship. I’m somehow both accepted and not. Even when I talked to my close friends, I was confronted with inappropriate questions about my sex life, how things were going with my partner, what he thought, and whether he would stay with me.

Perhaps the questions were well-intentioned, but I stopped talking about it shortly afterward and have chosen to remain anonymous for this blog. It’s worth noting that half of asexual respondents say they have never come out to any of their peers, compared to 18% of the broader LGBTQIA+ population.

June is Pride Month

Within the LGBTQIA+ community and during this wonderful month, sex is celebrated, and rightly so. Being asexual does not mean denying other people’s sexuality. Since I was in school and first discovered queer relationships, the number of letters in the queer alphabet has more than doubled. Slowly, as I began to accept myself as a member of the community, I learned that there is so much more depth and complexity even in the letters. You are not one and therefore not the other. I am asexual and yet I am a woman, a human, a fiancée, and so much more.

It was very important to me to find peace or belonging in a sense of recognized identity and pride, and that feeling has meaning. But ultimately, the number of letters in the queer alphabet shouldn’t be so large, and I hope we move toward a time when we don’t feel the need to explain ourselves with letters or labels. We’ve made so much progress and expanded our knowledge base about queer identities and the diverse ways to experience relationships, but more letters doesn’t mean more acceptance if we’re still expected to stay in that box.

We still have a long way to go before we embrace the values ​​of Pride. We still need to find ways to accept the ephemerality of sexuality and gender, we still need to not police the boundaries of these letters, and we need to teach people this month and onward that there are more ways to be human than letters.

What does this mean for mental health and wellbeing?

I spent most of my teenage years in an abusive relationship. Doctors told me that the pain I felt during sex, the detachment and the emotional distress were the result of trauma; but the availability of psychosexual therapy was almost non-existent, they couldn’t even tell me where to look. Despite the sexual nature of some of these problems, nobody asked me about my sexuality.

If I had known about the existence of asexual people earlier, would that have prevented me from being traumatized again by these experiences?

The LGBTQIA+ community is not prone to mental illness, yet members of this community are much more likely to engage in self-harm and common mental health issues such as anxiety and depression. For example, two in five people with asexual homosexuality experience mental health issues.

For me, moving from a position of allyship to representation has been a challenge I didn’t expect. As an ally, I was confident, assertive, and – when necessary – vehement in defending LGBTQIA+ rights; now, as a member of the community, I feel scared, responsible, and at times like an imposter. I’ve chosen to remain anonymous on this blog because there is still a very real threat to my mental health as a member of the queer community; a threat from people who won’t accept me, won’t believe my experiences, and may try to undo the work I’ve done on the path to self-acceptance. I’m lucky that I’m unlikely to be abused because of how I look, but I share the fear for people, especially trans people, who don’t have that option. It’s not a privilege to hide who you are for fear of judgement.

I have considered whether my anonymity is at odds with the essence of Pride, but my name does not lend credibility to my story. So please think of me as your friend and imagine for a moment that your friend is carrying this burden. How will you help him?

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To learn more about asexuality, listen to the podcast Sounds Fake But Okay.