When I Realized I Was Asexual, Things Got A Bit More Complicated

Coming to the realization that you may be asexual works differently for various people. For some, they knew it before they even knew such a thing actually existed. For others, it all just suddenly clicked when they learned about asexuality, and all the off things of their past now made sense.

For the rest of us, the discovery was not a revelation but an upheaval of the identity, the rug pulled out from under something that was meant to be certain when nothing else made sense. The vague future plans we may have formed and the explanations we once gave were no longer as straightforward as we once thought.

In my case, I didn't jump head first into the declaration of this new identity. I'm reckless and can be quick to act, but for something so big (to me, it was big because it would affect the plans I had for parts of my future), my inclination towards obsessive research kicked in, and I researched and researched and researched. I read articles and blogs. I watched documentaries and YouTube videos. I joined chat rooms and online communities. I even listened to podcasts. I wanted to learn everything I could about this asexuality that I had only truly first heard of because my own first-year roommate was asexual.

This went on for days to weeks to the majority of my summer break. It wasn't because I didn't want to accept this new facet of my identity. Rather, I wished to understand it and prepare myself for what it may mean. The clarity was appreciated because I now understood the stances I took and the things I used to say years back, but where the past became clear, the future began to look a bit blurrier.

I had always expected and planned to get married. It was a given. It was expected by those around me, from my parents and from those who were a part of the church I grew up in. I didn't feel pressured towards it because I personally did and still do want a life partner, a companion who will grow alongside me, mutually encouraging and supporting. Even if I never really felt the drive to date or could never really form a picture of myself with this person, I looked forward to the day we would meet and be wed.

I never understood how people just got together, how the people around me dated, broke up and found new partners. The idea of entering that arena terrified me. What does one do? How does one not get hurt? And what about…the sex thing? It didn't seem…exactly appealing. I couldn't grasp how the appreciation for a person's looks and their personality led to the want for and completion of sexual acts, and to imagine, sometimes, the attraction came before they even knew who the person is.

I could admit I found people attractive, but I wasn't attracted to them.

I could see how they were well-formed, how their faces were easy on the eyes, how the coloring of their skin and hair followed a balanced scheme, their clothes fit well, their eyes were compelling, and their smiles caught my attention. Yet, that was it. I didn't want anything more than to appreciate them, to watch them for a while and revel in their existence. There was no desire to touch, to engage.

It makes sense now why I had thought the way I did, but it complicated what I once thought were simple matters. I always imagined I would catch sight of the one. Circumstances would bring us together. We would get to know each other. We would fall in love and bind ourselves in vows. Of course, it would have been more complicated than that, but now, the complications have become even more complex.

How does one approach asexuality with a potential mate? To explain that I'm not attracted to them without making them feel unattractive? To confess that I might miss certain signals or won't be as attentive in certain areas of romance? To admit the idea of being sexually intimate disconcerts me? What will stop them from writing me off? From trying to trip me up and poke holes in my identity? From trying to fix me?

Many will see me as not worth the time, effort, or investment. Some won't believe me while others will only try to change me like there's something wrong or broken in me. I don't want to be pushed to compromise nor be guilted for not being what my partner wants. The problems I had imagined I would have to face in my pursuit of a life partner had never before involved being on the constant defensive, ready to stand for my orientation, my identity, and my beliefs against those who sought to discredit them.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever fall in love if I even can.

My hopeless romantic self is looking more aromantic every day, loving the idea of love but never falling for it. I can love, but will I fall into it, hopelessly tripping head over heels?

My explanations used to be "I wasn't ready," "I want to focus on my education," and "I need to work on myself first," but what if one day, it becomes "because I don't want to"? I do want to… theoretically, conceptually, but I don't feel the drive to. I still have time and growing to do, so I'll reserve my judgment on that. I do know I yearn for the companionship of a committed "I do"-er.

I'm at the point of my life where I'm content being single because I do have other priorities to focus on now, but I do know there will be complications I will have to face in the future. The matter is simple to me, but it might be those around me that will make it complicated. Sex is valued by society and expected in marriage, so what of those not inclined to it?

This is why, even though I do not regret being asexual, I am troubled by the revelation because I lost the ignorance of the reality of my situation. However, I am also grateful because it gave me the means to do something about it and the time to prepare myself for what may come.

I educated myself, so I too have begun to attempt to educate others about the possibility of people like me. I have begun to reach out to offer advice or comfort to those like me who have already begun to experience the struggles I dread encountering, rejection by family, friends, and potential partners. Though it won't be my main priority, I have decided to contribute a little to spreading awareness because the more people there are who know and understand what asexuality is, the less likely an asexual person is to feel broken or to be rejected through ignorance.

People have called me a late bloomer or have said I may be jumping too quickly to a label (a word I contest due to negative connotations, because what else is the purpose of an adjective but to function as a means to make more concise a broader concept), and I give credence to their objections. I am young, and things may end up changing for me. I am open to change, but I feel that I should also give credence to the person I am now.

I am asexual, a person who does not experience sexual attraction.

Right now, at this moment, I do not feel compelled to act upon sexual desires nor envision others in a sexual manner. Maybe those feelings haven't developed in me yet, but should I spend my days thinking I am incomplete, that all things will be right when I finally bloom, no matter how long it takes? Why shouldn't I think myself a whole being already and work from there?

I'm asexual now, and maybe I will continue to be so. Maybe I won't, but until that day comes, I'm working with what I got and doing what I can. I am readying myself for the challenges I may face, but I am also reveling in the doors that have been opened and the questions finally answered. I believe God made me this way. Who am I to complain?