For whatever reason, I’ve seen an uptick in posts on social media that have been lumping all asexual people together in criticisms of certain behavior. I’m not here to discuss the validity of those criticisms. But I would like to try and broaden the perspective of what being ace on the internet looks like, because the focus and the representation seems very narrowly defined to me.
I’m thirty-one years old and I identify as asexual. I’ve seen it insinuated that being ace is a “stepping stone” sexuality, something you identify as when you’re younger before you realize your “true” sexuality later, something you grow out of. I learned about asexuality when I was 24, and didn’t start identifying as such until I was 26. Before that, I identified as straight, bisexual, and pansexual. I don’t intend to imply that those are sexualities you grow out of, either. I mean to say that everyone has their own journey, and sometimes the journey ends at ace.
Realizing I was asexual probably saved my life. I had a pretty significant drinking problem in college and for a while after, which was due to both untreated anxiety and depression and to feeling like I was broken when it came to sex and relationships. Finding a good therapist helped significantly. So did discovering asexuality.
I still feel broken sometimes. I still get lonely sometimes.
I’m out to some people in my life, but not most, and probably never will be. I’ll probably also never be entirely comfortable talking about my sexuality regularly and freely. I exist in a place somewhere between “out and proud” and “in the closet,” and that’s probably where I’ll remain. Sometimes, it helps to hear that other people exist here, too.
I’ve had sex with people of multiple genders. I might have more in the future. To me, sex is kind of like going to the ballet - I recognize it’s something a lot of people enjoy, and something that can be inherently beautiful. It just doesn’t do a whole lot for me. I can appreciate it when it’s particularly good, and I can be a willing participant when it’s something a partner really enjoys and wants to share. But I’m not looking for opportunities to go the ballet, and if I never went again, it wouldn’t phase me.
My sex-positivity does not negate the experiences of sex-negative aces. My asexuality also doesn’t negate the experiences of people who aren’t ace. Sex is awesome for people who want it, and also I think our culture relies far too heavily on sex as a universal touchstone when people’s relationships with it are so varied and nuanced. All these things can be true at once.
I most strongly identify as queer. I know a lot of people aren’t comfortable with that term. I will never call you queer if you don’t want to be called queer. I also am going to continue calling myself that. I don’t want to be called gay. That’s an umbrella term that doesn’t work for me. It’s not an experience I identify with.
I actually don’t write about being ace much, but I do really love exploring non-sexual intimacy, which are the parts of relationships I find most fascinating and most attractive, romantic or otherwise. Tenderness, physical and emotional closeness, different ways to communicate affection - that’s the good shit.
I don’t talk about being ace much, either, because I still struggle with anxiety and depression and mostly want to stay out of people’s way. But it’s been difficult to see some of these assumptions when my experience has been so different. Narrow, maybe. Under-informed, probably. But valid, and worth sharing.
I’m ace, and this is how I exist.