Making Sense of Love: My Self-Discovery of Asexuality

By Anonymous

I have a confession to make: I don’t get the appeal of kissing. It makes no sense to me why touching my lips together with someone else’s would be appealing or make me feel anything. Theoretically, if there was someone I felt comfortable enough with and in an established relationship with, there’s maybe something vaguely appealing about it. I would do it. I would probably like it, or at least not mind it, but it’s not something that I have any type of strong desire to pursue. 

I understand sex a little more, if nothing else out, of biological necessity. I at least occasionally feel some sort of vague, hard-to-define attraction that would be best described as sexual. However, it’s never been something I prioritize or really care about in a potential partner.

For most of high school, I only barely questioned my sexuality not because I was confident in myself or my sexuality, but because I was too busy living in my own head to realize the things changing around me. Perhaps I saw it in my peripheral vision, but my excuse for not participating evolved from being too young to want it to be with the right person. Eventually, I realized that most of my peers had started to experiment. Most had dated or at the very least had their first kiss. I began wondering if I was just insecure if the root of my problem was that I was simply not putting myself out there. The thing is, this is perhaps not such an insane line of questioning. I’ll fully admit I’m insecure, and I’ll also admit that I’m not particularly good at “putting myself out there,” so to say. Even now I sometimes question if this is the case, but I’ve come to realize that this simply isn’t the primary reason. I haven’t put myself out there sexually because I’ve realized I’ve been mostly not interested. Even when I do have crushes, I desire not so much physical intimacy as a sense of security and emotional closeness. 

At first, I rationalized that I would eventually care but simply wasn’t ready yet. That desire never really came, at least not in the way that it did for everyone else. I was right in some regard; over time I have slowly figured out how attraction works- for me- and what it means- for me, but I’ve never felt like I experience it in the way that’d be considered “normal.” I’ve had a couple major crushes and several more minor ones, but when they happen I constantly find that they breach the line most people draw between friends and romantic interests.

 I’ve never understood the purpose of this line. I don’t think a romantic versus a platonic relationship should be mutually exclusive, and I don’t think that the idea of being in the “friendzone” should be a bad place to be. The people I choose to spend my time with, at least in an ideal sense, are the people that I like spending time with and generally embody the traits and personality of someone that I would feel safe around. I by no means have an undying attraction to every single one of my friends, but truthfully, I would probably consider dating a pretty significant portion of them. A romantic partnership in the way that I want it is to be mutual confidants who share a high level of understanding and support for each other. I don’t feel the need to date any of them, but in my mind of course I’d probably pick someone I already know and trust if I were to take that step. 

Sex or sex appeal has very little to do with it- if anything at all. It’s not going to change anything, and I don’t mean to say this to claim moral superiority (to be perfectly clear: you do you). When it comes to real people I just can’t muster up the ability to desire someone just because they’re societally hot. Sometimes when I’m alone, I almost think I’m lying to myself. I’m able to have fantasies, and I’m able to recognize people are cute in a manner that goes beyond aesthetic attraction- at least theoretically. Inevitably, however, when I see these people in public I don’t particularly desire reciprocity. For pretty much all of the people I’ve liked, I probably didn’t really notice them the first time I saw them. If I did, it was probably something they said or the way they carried themself, but never about how they look. At first interaction- though never first sight- at most I have the slightest hint of a romantic crush, but even if I do it probably doesn’t grow into anything significant or particularly meaningful until at least a few weeks down the line. 

Even then, sexual attraction and romantic attraction aren’t strictly dependent on each other. Almost always, a romantic attraction forms first significantly before I really ever consider whether I would want to be physically intimate with them. Even when sexual attraction does eventually form, it still doesn’t feel particularly overwhelming. At best, it’s mild. It’s something that sounds generally appealing, but truthfully I could probably live without it.

What I should have realized is that I fall under the umbrella of asexuality, or possibly even aromanticism. Until recently, I don’t think I really ever considered that to be a possibility because I do experience minimal and/or vague sexual attraction or desire, because I do fairly regularly have crushes (though I now realize they develop differently than most people’s typical crushes), and because sex is seen as a prerequisite for romance in today’s culture and society to the point that I never thought to consider that they could be two separate forms of attraction that aren’t entirely dependent on each other.

It’s painfully obvious looking back that I’m ace, yet it took me several months into Covid to identify asexuality as part of my identity. I don’t think- as much as I don’t love labels- I realized how much being able to identify my experience as aspec (asexual/aromantic spectrum) would help me become more confident in who I am. I also identify as bi, but I’ve come to realize that my identity as aspec is more important to me in contextualizing my experience than any other part of my still otherwise queer identity.

In the end, I know that I am capable of living a perfectly fulfilling life with or without romantic partnership. I still don’t really know exactly what romantic partnership means to me, but I know it’s something that I’d like to experience, and sooner or later I’m sure I will. Sometimes, it’s frustrating, especially when the differences between me and my peers and often the people I like glare most brightly. Sometimes I’m jealous of the people that make romance and attraction seem straightforward and easy. I don’t want to be them though. I don’t want to participate in hook-up culture or the cycle of new crushes every other month. I’d like something to work out, preferably even sooner rather than later, but if I’m going to go down that road I’m not about to force it. I’m going to do it my own way on my own terms in my own time. Or, I’m going to be happy on my own, and I’m okay with that.