Growing Into My Lens: A Demisexual Lesbian’s View on Connection
Demisexuality lens on viewing love and romance...
Love is an ambiguous term — and I mean that. It’s an umbrella concept with many layers. It isn’t a single emotion but a multitude of them happening at once. We label different types of love based on context, yet none are definitive, because love is a combination of bodily and emotional responses.
Feeling calm and safe can be associated with love. Enjoying the moment can be considered love. However, based on personal biases and perspectives, so much gets attached to the umbrella term “love.” Attraction can be labeled as love. There’s conditional and unconditional love, transactional love, and even performative and non‑performative love. Dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins can be mistaken for love. Comfort can be mistaken for love. Nurturing can be mistaken for love, even though, for some, caring for others without expectation is instinctive. This is why love has no fixed definition or placement.
I’m not simplifying a complex experience. People often try to simplify things because they want the world to feel less complicated, but existence is far more intricate than anyone can explain. Look out into nature; the connections between species are complex. It’s easy to misinterpret what we see because of deeply entrenched internal biases. We process the world differently, shaped not only by awareness and experience but also by biological responses.
As a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian, I view love through a different lens than an allosexual person. The difference lies in the wiring — the “ignitor” that sparks sexual and romantic attraction to women. I’ll use women as my example because that’s my lived experience.
An allosexual lesbian often feels attraction at first sight. They can imagine being sexually or romantically involved without first forming an emotional connection. They build that bond later — the emotional connection that leads to commitment.
For me, as a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian, it’s the opposite. I need an emotional bond first — to know someone deeply — before I can feel sexual or romantic attraction. I describe it as my apertures opening and my focus narrowing onto her; everyone else fades into the background. When that bond forms, her beauty intensifies in my eyes. Because my attraction is rooted in emotional connection, I rarely feel tempted by others unless I’m emotionally neglected — and even then, I end the relationship. Once the bond breaks, the physical desire disappears.
Demisexuality falls under the asexual umbrella because we process attraction differently. I don’t feel an urge to pursue anyone unless I consciously choose to. Dating can be exhausting, so I have to summon the willpower to connect.
Most allosexual lesbians mistake my quietness for disinterest. That’s why mainstream lesbian advice doesn’t always apply — I’m aware of my demi side, and of others who experience attraction differently. When a woman takes her time to build a bond, it shows she wants to invest her energy in me. I deeply value that. It means she isn’t playing games; she’s serious about connection.
Most of the time, even though I appear more masculine-presenting, people don’t realize I’m a lesbian—or they’re simply clueless about my sexuality because I don’t pursue anyone romantically or sexually. I’m generally relaxed and just want to talk and connect with women.
So, how does this affect how I view love and romance? I don’t get caught up in media portrayals of either. Even mythology offers poor examples—most mainstream mythological figures are cautionary tales, written by men projecting their own desires. Many myths were rewritten over time to reflect cultural shifts, but even in ancient Greek mythology, women were rarely seen as autonomous beings. They were often spirited away by gods against their will, expected to fulfill roles assigned by their gender.
These stories are steeped in patriarchal bias, and they continue to be read through biased lenses. The modern obsession with romance and companionship is a relatively new phenomenon. Marriage for love is modern; historically, marriage was a business transaction or an obligation. Daughters were sold into marriage—sometimes to settle debts, sometimes to elevate a family’s social standing. A girl’s worth was tied to her marriage prospects, and survival often depended on having a husband who treated her kindly.
We also have to acknowledge lavender marriages—arrangements where wealthy men and women maintained appearances while seeking fulfillment outside the marriage. These unions were driven by social and economic obligations, navigated strategically and often sadly.
I’ve written before that, as a lesbian, those patriarchal obligations no longer apply. Sapphics often end relationships more frequently, not out of instability but because we’re free from the social expectation to remain in dysfunction. We’re more aware of unhealthy dynamics and more willing to break the framework that keeps people trapped. That awareness shifts the focus from quantity to quality.
How long a couple has been together doesn’t tell me much—it only reveals the circumstances that keep them there. Often, it’s comfort or shared history. Maintaining a long partnership takes effort, especially in a society that undervalues diverse forms of relationships. Being a lesbian places us at the bottom of the social hierarchy, even economically.
Still, there’s a kind of freedom in that. I don’t feel pressured to stay in a relationship just to avoid being seen as a failure. Heterosexual relationships often carry social consequences and expectations; mine don’t.
I have to admit, it’s nice not to feel pressured to stay in a relationship just because society views ending one as a failure. Heterosexual relationships often come with social consequences, expectations, and standards to uphold. If I exist today and pursue connections with women in my own way, that means people in the past did too. Not everyone acted on sexual impulses or physical desires; many pursued relationships differently.
Monogamy hasn’t always been the default. In certain eras, companionships shifted more freely. Cultural and religious dogma eventually imposed rules that distorted what was natural versus what was taught. Asexual people exist today, so it’s reasonable to believe that, historically, some individuals didn’t form romantic or sexual connections but still built emotional bonds within their communities. Bonds were once more valued than romantic attachment.
As a demisexual/demiromantic person, I deeply value emotional bonds — my wiring is tuned to that. It shapes how I see and experience the world. Hormones and emotions influence how we process life, and what we’re taught affects how we engage with others. Fear shapes how we move forward. I notice the false narratives people tell themselves, often driven by fear, because fear clouds judgment.
Being in a romantic or sexual relationship, especially with another woman, quiets those alert signals that warn of danger. That’s why companionship with a woman can bring euphoria — a sense of complete relaxation and ease, especially in the honeymoon phase.
Relationships between women can form quickly when allowed to flow freely. I don’t see women as complicated; that perception usually reflects someone’s emotional or mental state. Many people want things to be easy, but ease doesn’t foster growth or resilience. Still, those who prefer simplicity — let them be.
Growing older as a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian has reshaped how I view relationships that don’t work out. It’s helped me understand compatibility and see rejection as a blessing in disguise. It hurts, but it’s good — it filters out those who aren’t meant for me. Even when infidelity reveals someone’s true colors, I find gratitude. The woman who tempted my partner spared me future pain.
Betrayal hurts deeply, especially during the process of separation and rebuilding life. Yet I see it as a blessing — a chance to move on and open space for someone new. Staying attached to someone who isn’t meant to stay is the hardest thing to release, but it’s okay for relationships to end.
Knowing there are countless women in the world is comforting. Social media, for all its flaws, reminds me of that — it shows endless possibilities for connection. Letting go of fear and misconceptions has been freeing. It’s a blessing to realize that endings make room for new beginnings.
