An Ace Up My Sleeve
Recently, I’ve been approached by several individuals searching for support in their journey with their asexuality. I’ve been so glad that my DM’s could be a safe zone for each of them to discover more about themselves and who they are. It’s made me realize how important it is for people like me to be open and public about their own journeys, to create that space for others who are questioning or afraid. So, in honor of International Asexuality Day, here is my story.
Looking back on my childhood, it was very apparent that I’ve always been on the asexual spectrum. I didn’t really ever have that one fictional character who awoke some kind of sexual feelings within me like many of my peers. In fact, when my peers talked to me about their crushes, I always assumed that “hot” meant aesthetically attractive. It never occurred to me that being attracted to someone meant you wanted to be sexual with them. I remember telling my best friend that I never wanted to get married or have kids because that meant I would have to have sex, or that if I wanted kids, I would adopt. I remember being so confused as to why a high school boyfriend of mine broke up with me with, from my perspective, absolutely no warning. I held on to that confusion for years before remembering how he used to ask me about sexual contact and I would react with discomfort or as if he were joking. So, in retrospect, the writing has always been on the proverbial wall.
By the time I went off to college, I had decided that I did want to get married. So I entered into my first relationship as an adult with the intention of trying to make it work very long-term. He was several years older than me, so when he started requesting sex, I said that I was too young and not emotionally prepared. I figured he was expecting too much from me since I was just out of high school and he had so much more experience than I did. When our sexual relationship did develop, it was deeply unsatisfying for both of us. For him, having sex once every week or so was not nearly enough. And for me, it was just another chore to do, like doing laundry. You don’t want to do it, but you know you have to. This is when I first discovered the label of “asexual” and something inside me just clicked. When I tried to explain it to my partner, he didn’t understand at all and thought I was just saying that I’d rather be dating someone else. I felt broken in some way, like I should be able to just force myself to experience sexual attraction to my partner. And I tried for a long time to push asexuality to the back of my mind. Of course, I couldn’t, and the relationship ended.
After that relationship, I began noticing that my desire for sexual contact was increasing. I was more comfortable with sex in general and I began thinking about my crushes in a sexual context. I thought maybe I’d been wrong and was not asexual after all. Maybe I was just deeply unhappy in that relationship and that’s why I didn’t want to be intimate that way with him. But with each person I dated, I found that sex was definitely not the first thing I cared about with them, nor was it the second, third, or even tenth. And this disturbed me deeply. I kept fighting my identity as an asexual. Maybe if I just ignored it hard enough, I wouldn’t be broken.
This is when I met my husband, Luke. When I came out to him, he was incredibly understanding. It was rough at first, explaining that my lack of sexual attraction did not mean a lack of any kind of attraction. That emotional attraction and aesthetic attraction meant so much more to me than sexual attraction ever could. And at first, he felt a little weird that the person he was dating wasn’t sexually attracted to him. But one thing I absolutely adore about Luke is that he loves to learn. And he allowed me to help him learn about how my brain works and what it means for me to be asexual. I never felt more comfortable in my sexuality than I felt with him. It wasn’t unfortunate or a let down, it was just another piece of me, who he loves.
Luke’s support helped me find my own comfort within my identity, fueling my desire to help others find their way as well. It is so hard to feel broken when it comes to your sexuality. It is hard to feel broken in terms of any piece of yourself in general. But as my confidence as a proud asexual grew, I found myself able to be that source of support for other people in their journey towards self acceptance.
I share this blog post today not just to celebrate International Asexuality Day, but also to put this passion into context. The best first step you can ever take in healing is a first step in self acceptance, no matter what that looks like for you. Whether that is finding the people who deeply know you and support you, or just looking at yourself in the mirror every day and saying “You are enough.” No matter where you are on the road to self acceptance, know that you are not broken. You’re a work in progress. We all are. And that acknowledgement, my friends, can be a real ace up your sleeve.