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Put that thing back where it came from or so help me: Sex repulsion

I’ve talked before about how sometimes, for various reasons, asexuals choose to have sex.  Now I want to talk about one of the big reasons why we choose not to have sex: sex repulsion.

Sex repulsion comes in a few different flavors. It could mean that one is repulsed by the thought of having sex. It could mean that one is repulsed by sex in general. Repulsion can cover just the act of penetrative intercourse, all sexual acts, or even all intimate acts. An asexual can personally be repulsed by sex but not mind it when others do or talk about it. And not just asexuals are sex repulsed! If someone has a sex-related trauma, they may be allosexual but sex repulsed. And even an allosexual with no trauma may be repulsed too. I mean, let’s face it, sex is a weird, messy act; it won’t appeal to everyone.

So the big question you’re probably wondering is, what about you Emma?  Are you sex repulsed?  The short answer is probably.

See, I’ve never been anywhere close to having sex.  In fact, I only had my first kiss last year, and that was done more as an experiment than something done as a romantic gesture. I went into the kiss as a curious experimenter, and it was...alright? Nothing to write home about I guess? I’m open to trying again, but it wasn’t what I imagine other people feel like kissing is. Also, I find the idea of tongues in kissing absolutely disgusting. Like, it does not seem appealing to me at all.

I also have an inordinate fascination with sex.  One of my favorite research topics is human sexuality.  In fact, I have seriously considered getting a degree in the subject, that’s how interesting I find it.  I think part of it is because I am asexual; the fact that I have no personal references for sex makes the unfathomable subject something keenly interesting for me.  I’ve done research on the biology, psychology, anatomy, mechanics, literature and art, and social perception of sex.  I’ve glutted myself on the subject of sex so much so that in some cases I’ve actually known more than my allosexual peers about sexual activities.  So on the one hand, I don’t know if I could truly say that I am repulsed by sex.  I mean, clearly the subject itself does not disgust me.

But on the other hand, the personal idea of sex still unnerves me.  I’m sometimes alright with people I know talking about their sex lives as long as they don’t get too graphic or give details, but even then sometimes I find the reminder that those I’m close to are sexual beings to be disturbing. In fact, I don’t even like it when people kiss around me; it makes me feel like a voyeur and I get super uncomfortable. I also get supremely uncomfortable anytime someone thinks of me in a sexual capacity, for example making jokes about my theoretical sex life. I can’t look at images of real-life genitals (I am strangely okay with cartoon or illustrated versions, I think because they aren’t real). And even the thought of someone else coming anywhere near me with their genitals makes me want to throw-up. I’ve put off going to a gynecologist for years now strictly because the idea of having anyone else near my vagina is so nauseating I can’t stand it.  Like, I hear what you’re saying, everyone finds the gynecologist uncomfortable, but I don’t think y’all understand how deeply disturbing the idea is to me.  It’s on par to me telling you that you should go to a doctor who’ll, without pain, cut open your stomach and feel around your intestines while you’re awake and aware.  Feel uncomfortable with that scenario?  Well, that’s what a gynecologist feels like to me.

So reading this you might think, dang Emma, well clearly you’re never going to have sex!  And yeah, I’d say odds are 99.99% good that it’s not gonna happen.  But, like Adrian Monk, I’m often not 100% about anything. If there’s one thing that humans are known for, it’s our boundless curiosity; there is a part of me who has looked at all that research and read all those books and is just so darn curious!  I mean, I can read all the erotica I want and still not really know what it would be like to actually have sex. So while I don’t desire it, and while just the thought of it makes me want to bury myself alive, I’m still a small bit curious.  I’m positive it’s never gonna happen, because I would need to be in a mindset that just doesn’t exist for me at the moment to even come close to wanting it, let alone enjoying it.  So right now?  Yeah, sex is never on the table.  

So I’d say I’m mostly sex repulsed because while I don’t want to have sex, I find it too fascinating to cut out of my life entirely.  

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Oh Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou Juliet: Why I (sometimes) Love Romance in Fiction

I love to read. A lot.  I read everyday on the train and before bed.  I read a little of everything: non-fiction, sci-fi, fantasy, historical fiction, mystery, young adult, you name it.  And anyone who’s spent any amount of time with me watching shows or movies knows how angry and annoyed I get at the romantic subplots in a lot of media.  So it might surprise you to learn that I devote a significant amount of my time to reading romantic fiction.

The big question here is why?  As an unromantic person who rolls their eyes at romantic subplots, why am I so obsessed with romance in fiction?  And it’s not just books and fanfiction, although a good portion of my favorites are there.  I do also enjoy romance in tv and film sometimes too.  So what’s going on here?  Well to answer that question, we need to talk a bit about the mainstream portrayal of romance.

I often find romance as portrayed in media as deeply flawed.  Either the relationship itself is not healthy or the characters don’t seem to mesh correctly.  One of my least favorite kinds is the tendency of shows to end with their lead man and woman winding up in a relationship at the end of the series.  Now sometimes this dynamic works, so long as the characters have been building up to this point, but often times it doesn’t work because it is a last minute get-together for the sake of heterosexuality.  Two examples I can think of off the top of my head are Kim Possible and Warehouse 13 (two shows I love dearly, so don’t hate me!).  In KP, the two main characters, Kim and Ron, spend the whole series as bffs; there are never any psuedo-romantic moments between them.  Their friendship is very comfortable, they never show any desire to be a couple, and are very supportive of the other’s dating life.  Then, in the movie, all of sudden I’m supposed to believe they’re into each other? Just like that, with no leadup at all? And then, in the last season, the entire dynamic of their relationship completely changes once they're dating!  It was awful!  Part of what made KP so much fun was the subversion of gender roles they played with, but as soon as their male and female leads started dating, they fell back into the same old patterns. I was supremely disappointed.

In a similar vein, in Warehouse 13, main characters Myka and Pete spend the whole show with a brother/sister dynamic.  Somewhere in the last season Pete realizes he likes Myka, but she doesn’t realize she likes him back until the last episode.  It’s played out really sloppy.  There’s no significant build up to these relationships, they just happen, as if the endgame of all male-female friendships is always romance.  Not only is this not true, it damages real male-female friendships by making society expect them to always end in romance.  

But now let’s look at an example of romance done right: the best slow-build relationship show ever, Leverage.  Leverage is my favorite live-action show of all time.  It’s absolutely wonderful, and part of the reason why is the respect it has for its characters.  The romances that unfold on the show have a long and realistic progression.  They aren’t rushed, they aren’t forced, and they follow the character arcs already in place with the plot.  While in other shows I will roll my eyes at romantic scenes, every Hardison/Parker scene has me squealing and clutching my chest.  Why? Because their romance is believable; it makes sense for who they are as characters, the developments that do happen only occur when they feel right for where they are in their character arcs, and overall, the culmination of their romance becomes rewarding to watch, not just another plot point to check off the list.  

So I have no problem with romance plots, as long as it’s done with intent; if the romance is thrown in as a way to give our characters something to do or to show their desirability, I’m out.  If the romance is well developed, paced, and executed, then I am right there squeeing along with all of you.  This is also why I read a lot of romantic fanfiction.  People who don’t read fanfiction have a very limited view on what it is.  They either think it’s all bad teenage writing with Mary-Sue author-stand-ins or all erotica with bad sex scenes (side bar: sex scenes in published novels are often a million times MORE awful, when compared to some of the scenes I’ve read in fanfiction. Seriously, I don’t understand).  And yes, fanfiction can most definitely be both of these things.  There are TONS of really, really bad fanfictions out there, just as there are tons of really, really bad published novels too. But just like I’ve read lots of great novels, I’ve also read the best “novels” of my life in fanfiction (Sansukh, you superstar, I’m looking at you).  I admit, though, that most of fanfiction plots either involve or are about some romantic pairing.  The really good ones, of course are about more: action, adventure, horror, mystery. However, the core of fanfiction is character relationships and digging out emotions over plot, and one thing a fanfiction can do well is a good romance.

Now, again, obviously there are bad fanfictions, do not get me wrong.  There are fics with unhealthy romances and fics where the romances make no sense and so on.  But because fanfiction is a genre largely devoted to fleshing out already existing character interactions and relationships into romance, already each story starts with a base of character interactions to build the romance upon.  Fanfiction is a medium about filling in the blanks of media, and so these romances can often follow the path I wish mainstream romances followed.  And, yeah, I’ve read my fair share of truly awful fanfictions, but I’ve also read more good ones than I’ve seen romances in media that I find appealing.  

Another great thing about fanfiction: it tends to be super gay.  Obviously there’s nothing wrong with the standard heterosexual romance, but I honestly find queer romances to be 100% more interesting, if given the choice.  Gay/lesbian? Sign me up! Trans/genderqueer? Wonderful! Happy, consensual polyamory? Please!  And also, heterosexual romances are often written in very sexist  and problematic ways.  The women are like prizes, the relationships often involve coercion or unhealthy power dynamics, and the standard tropes of miscommunication and lying really bug me.  That’s also why I tend to love shows with openly queer characters so long as the characters are written with care and respect.  A fine example: Steven Universe.  Not only is the show amazing in terms of story, mythology, character, and humor, but it also has amazing representation of the LBGT+ community.  Lesbian characters, bi/pan characters, genderqueer characters, and the deconstruction of gendered expressions.  I adore it!  So it’s no wonder that I love romantic fanfiction that explores the nuances of queer relationships.  (And, no, I won’t deny that fanfiction has a tendency to skew towards male/male, has a track record of mistreating female characters, and often fetishizes gay relationships; all valid criticisms! The bad exists; I happen to be talking mostly about the good in this post).

So the question we started with: why does a mostly aromantic person like to read romance?  And the answer is, well, I’m not sure, really.  I don’t know what it is that draws me to well-written romance stories.  I don’t know why they make me squee in happiness and fill me with joy.  I suppose you could ask why some people really like reading/watching shows about serial killers.  It’s not like they want to become killers (we hope); it’s that there’s something (darkly) fascinating about killers to them.  Same for me: there’s something fascinating and rewarding about good romance stories.  I can’t explain it, I can only say it’s so.  So definitely expect me to tear apart romances in fiction, especially when I think they are poorly done.  But also expect to find me reading large quantities of romance and squealing over the results.  I contain multitudes of likes and dislikes.

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Shock and Awe Factor: Sex in Media

We’ve all been there: you’re watching a tv show or a movie, everything is going fine, then bam, suddenly a sex scene and right as it starts, your parents walk into the room and ask what you’re watching.  Or maybe you’re out to the movies with your friends and you’re just starting to get into the action, then bam, that’s a different kind of action, and now you don’t want to look over at your friends because that might make it awkward.  Or even, you’re watching a tv show and the plot has been thickening for several episodes and just as you’re dying to find out what happens next, the scene cuts to sex and you have to sit through two minutes of the actors awkwardly grunting before you can get back to the plot.

So is it just me, or are other people tired of sex scenes in media?

See the thing about stories, whether written or filmed or what-have-you, is that every thing in the story should have a purpose; in good storytelling, every detail has a reason to be there, whether it helps us further the plot, delve into the setting, or deepen our understanding of the characters.  And some narrative devices are better than others.  For instance, how many times have we seen it raining when the big dramatic scene happens to point to the emotions of the characters?  Unless the rain has some other purpose, it just becomes a cliche. There are many more interesting ways to reflect a character’s inner state on the environment around them.

When sex scenes happen, I often find myself wondering: Why? What purpose do they serve to the overall narrative?  And in every case, they either serve no purpose other than to be a sex scene or they represent such tired cliches that they’re not worth the time.  When the most prevalent reason for these scenes seems to be so that the characters can have sex, again I have to ask: Why?  What are we gaining from these scenes?  What is the audience supposed to feel when watching them?  Are we supposed to enjoy them?  Do people actually find sex scenes in movies titillating?  Are they meant to arouse us, and if so, why are we trying to arouse the audience for two minutes during an action movie?  

I find most sex scenes absolutely gratuitous.  They are lazy writing and honestly they are just plain weird.  I’m not talking, by the way, about scenes that reference sex; so not the pre- or  post-coital moments, not characters talking about sex, etc.  I’m talking about characters actually, physically having sex on the page or the screen.  There have been very few times I have thought scenes like this necessary at all.  

One genre that I never begrudge sex scenes, obviously, is romance novels and the like.  In these types of stories, pretty much the whole narrative is building up to the culmination of  characters’ relationships through sex.  The sex scenes serve a distinct narrative purpose in this case as a climax, as it were, to the sexual and romantic tension throughout the story.  And when romance stories have sex in the middle, that serves a purpose as well, as often times the narrative of the sex will change from that moment to the final moment.  So sex in romance makes sense.  Also, more obviously, in erotica; there sex is the whole point of the genre, so of course sex scenes are necessary.  (This isn’t to say I wouldn’t love to see more romance stories devoid of sex.  We can always use more ace-romance stories.)

But what about a superhero movie?  Or a horror film?  What is the sex scene accomplishing here?  Is sex the only way to express whatever idea the creator is going for? And if not, why did they choose a sex scene over something else?  When is a sex scene actually necessary? I find myself baffled more often than not, when a sex scene is used to no purpose other than to excite the audience.  And I need to ask, are y’all actually excited? Do allosexual people actually get some kind of arousal out of these brief encounters?  Or do you feel as awkward as I do, sitting there and waiting for it to be over so the action can continue?  I am genuinely curious, because as far as I can tell, most sex scenes are just there to embarrass teenagers whose parents walk in on them right as the sex starts happening (seriously, I cannot be the only one to whom this continuously happened).  I would love to know: what do you get out of sex scenes?  What do you think their purpose is to narratives?  How do they make you feel when watching/reading them?  

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If Vampires Can’t See Themselves in Mirrors, How do They Know What They Look Like?: Representation

I cry a lot.  No seriously, I have a tendency to cry when I’m sad, when I’m angry, when I’m anxious, when I’m happy, when I’m excited, when I’m overwhelmed (either with good or bad), you get the picture. Another thing that always makes me cry? Seeing asexuals represented in media.  

I first experienced this through fanfiction; I found a fic where a character felt doubt about being in a relationship because they were asexual. It had a very happy ending where the couple got together and the waterworks flowed for me.  I have since found numerous stories with asexual, aromantic, and aro/ace characters, and when they are done well, I cry every time. And what emotion is prompting this crying? Overwhelming joy.

There are plenty of anecdotes out there about this sort of thing; a person from a marginalized group sees a piece of media that has characters like them and is overcome with emotion. It’s a very powerful thing for people who aren’t represented well in our fiction. That’s why you’ll hear people say that Representation Matters. Because it really really does! Part of how we learn about the world and groom our behaviors is through media. The things that are constantly seen on tv and in movies become “the norm.” People in marginalized groups are very underrepresented in media, and when we are, our characters are cliches or stereotypes. Things have gotten a smidge better, but in most cases we’ve got a long way to go. For example, ever heard the phrase kill your gays? Back in the day, the only way for creators to get gays or other queer identities into their media was to punish them within the narrative. This way they could claim that they weren’t promoting the “lifestyle,” while still at least having some sort of representation. That’s why you have all those pulp novels about things like insidious lesbians seducing girls and then going out in a blaze of glory. It was the only way for us to talk about our community at the time. And while we’ve made great strides in representation of the lbgt community, when a lone gay character dies while all the straight characters survive, we’re still feeling the backlash of this problem in representation.

While other marginalized groups have more negative consequences to poor representation including active discrimination and violence, the aro/ace community has an especially difficult time with being represented at all. A lot has been talked about to try and curb racial, sexist, and homophobic representation problems, and I’m not saying that we don’t still have a lot of problems on these fronts (spoiler alert: we do!). I’m only pointing out that our community hasn’t even really been a thing until much more recently and isn’t usually recognized as something that needs representation at all. So many people haven’t even heard of aseuxality, so why would they want to try and include us in their media? But thankfully, we’re a small, but vocal group. While we’re still woefully underrepresented in television or film, there are more books being written with asexual protagonists or characters. This tumblr gathers titles that we can read to see ourselves portrayed in media.

You may ask, why is it so important anyway? What are we gaining from being represented in fiction? Well for one thing, we’re gaining more acceptance. The more positive representations allosexuals see in media, the more likely they will be to sympathize with us and understand us. For another, we’re being normalized. If we’re not portrayed in media, people think we’re flukes. If we are portrayed as something normal, there’s a better chance that people will think we’re normal in real life too. And perhaps more importantly, we’re gaining confidence. I’ve talked so much about how I struggled with my orientation growing up, and a large part of why is that I had no frame of reference for how I was feeling. There was nothing out there telling me that I wasn’t alone in the way I felt. If I had had asexual characters in my media to observe, I would have felt better about myself, realized earlier what was going on, and had an example to use when talking to other people about myself. If aseuxals were represented in my media when I was a kid, I would not have questioned myself as much. I would have been able to look at that character and say, they are just like me. Representation matters.

Sometimes it may seem like I’m a very cynical anti-sex/romance person if you watch shows/movies with me. I tend to roll my eyes or complain when characters get together on screen.  And it’s not that I hate romance (a topic I will get into at a further date). It’s that I’m sick and tired of all my media being the same. We’ve had decades and decades of the allosexual story. It’s high time for some aro/ace stories! Long live on-screen friendships between men and women that don’t end in romance! Long live storylines where the romance isn’t tacked in like a reward at the end for no other reason than we ship it! Long live romances where sex never happens because it’s not important to the story the characters are going through! And most especially, long live characters who are explicitly aro/ace! Instead of characters who are ambiguous, give us ones who are out and proud! Give us ones whose whole storyline does not revolve around their sexuality. Give us multifaceted characters who happen to be ace. Give us representation!  

I both highly look forward to and feel slightly sad for the day where a well-written ace story doesn’t make me cry. Sad, because I’ll miss that feeling of how special it is when I come across someone like me. But love, because that will mean that finally there are enough representations of us out there, that I won’t have to hoard them each time they get it right. More diversity in our characters is more diversity in our storytelling is more diversity in the types of stories we are told. And who doesn’t want more stories?

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I am what I am: Choosing or not Choosing a Label

Human beings like categories. We like when things can fit into neat little bubbles that define all of their properties. This is a useful technique that helps us navigate and engage with our environment. From an evolutionary standpoint, it makes sense; being able to identify something we’ve never seen before based on prior experiences with like things and then categorize in terms of threat levels probably went a long way in our survival. However, the world is a complex, messy, contradictory place, and humans themselves can never be easily categorized.

Labels are tricky things. They can either be incredibly freeing or painfully constricting. There is an emphasis in the queer community now to pick a label—to have something that you can shout out and be proud for. There’s a stigma for people who don’t like labels—that they are denying their identity or not comfortable with who they are. Today I want to talk about the goods and bads of labels.

First the good. Why do people want labels? Well for one thing, they give you an identity. That isn’t to say that someone isn’t something until they claim a label. But taking a label gives you a concrete way to define your identity. For example, when I first found the label “asexual,” it was great because I finally had a word that described how I was feeling. Instead of trying to explain to people exactly what was going on with me, I now had one word that explained it all. And obviously everyone experiences their identities in different ways, but by having a label I had at least a base point to describe myself with. The other great thing about labels are that they give you a sense of community and belonging. Back when I thought I just didn’t want to have sex ever, I felt very alone and ostracized. Once I labeled myself as asexual, I felt like I was no longer alone, because here was a whole group of people just like me. Being able to call yourself gay, lesbian, trans, pan, bi, nonbinary, asexual, etc. etc., gives you a way to connect to others who are like you.

I personally find a lot of comfort in labels. I’ve had a lot of struggles with identity and sexuality, and being able to put a name to the things I am and what I feel centers me. It makes my identity feel less nebulous, more real. It makes me feel like I don’t have to question myself anymore. Obviously what I am feeling is real whether I label it or not, but I find having a label stabilizing and better for my mental health.

However, not everyone feels this way. Labels can also be difficult. For one thing, our sexualities and identities are subject to change. Claiming a label feels very permanent, as if we cannot go back once we declare ourselves one thing. In this sense, picking just one label can be a daunting proposition. It is why I waffle about being aromantic—sometimes I say I am, sometimes I don’t. On any given day that label may change, and so I have not as proudly claimed it as I have claimed asexual.  Another issue is that one label may not fit your unique experience of life. For example, some asexual people are uncomfortable claiming the label because they have and enjoy sex. They feel like the label asexual does not fit for their experiences with sex, despite the fact that, fundamentally, they could be asexual if they wanted to be. This is also why there are so many variable labels for very niche sexualities and gender-identities: we’re trying to cover the bases of every human experience. For some people, a label may feel like a lie if they don’t completely identify with it.

Labels can also be detrimental in how other people see you. As I said at the beginning, humans have a tendency to create categories in our heads that we like to pigeon-hole all of reality into. A label can make people assign certain roles and expectations to you that you don’t want or feel are valid. For example, by saying I am asexual I am labeling myself, in many people’s eyes, as a completely non-sexual being. This may be fine for me, but others may feel like this detracts from their actual experiences. A more positive example is how I often describe myself as a lesbian. While not technically true, it makes people see me a certain way, i.e. super gay, and I like being identified as such. But it’s important to remember when hearing someone’s label for the first time that this is only a broad outline of who they are, and that their identity and experience will be unique.

Finally, people often reject labels when they are unsure of who they are. Figuring out sexuality and gender-identity is not always a smooth process. Some people know from the time they are very young. Some people don’t figure things out until they are very old. And some people may always be unsure exactly what they are. That’s okay too. If a person does not know what they want to identify with, they may reject labels until they do know, or even indefinitely. Remember, no one has to choose a label. As long as a person is happy as they are, they don’t need a word to define themselves.

As we wrap up this month of Pride, I hope we all can remember to accept each other as individuals. Whether we choose to label our sexualities and genders or not, we are all living a one-of-a-kind existence. Remember to treat people with respect and courtesy; call them what they want to be called and don’t call them what they don’t want to be called. If someone rejects a label, stop using it. If someone embraces a label, use it! No two people will approach their identity in the same way, but as long as we are happy with ourselves, it shouldn’t matter what we choose to be known as.

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The 1%: When Small Numbers Matter

Imagine your school has been tasked with making a parade float to represent all of the different clubs in the school. 100 students are chosen from the various clubs, and you are the only representative of your small club. There are large groups from all the other clubs, and some smaller groups too. Once assembled, everyone gets a say into what goes on the float, everyone gets to contribute something about their club. Except for you. When you try to speak up, people talk over you. At the end of the day, the entire float has been planned and you and your club aren’t represented at all. You say to the leaders of the biggest groups, “What about us?” and they respond, “There’s so few of you, it’s not like it matters. No one will even notice.” You say, “But we’re a club just like you. We deserve a place on the float too.” They respond, “You’re being greedy. You just want to take away space from the rest of us.” Some of them start to question if your club technically counts as a club. Others deny your club even exists. Somehow you are still expected to show up the next day to help build the float, even though you had no input on it.

This is what it feels like to be asexual in the public discourse. Our community is constantly being ignored or erased by the wider world, and even by the general queer community. And while there are many reasons why, like people not believing that asexuality is real, one of the easiest reason used to dismiss us is our small numbers. The estimate most frequently bandied about is that we make up only 1% of the population.

1%. At first glance, that’s really not a lot. If only 1% of people are asexual, maybe it is okay to ignore them; after all, that’s such a small percentage. But let’s put it another way.  What’s 1% of the population of the United States? Over 3.2 million people; 3,214,000 to be exact. That’s somewhere between the entire population of Connecticut and Iowa. So next election, we can just ignore one of those states, right? They’re only 1% of the population after all, so it doesn’t matter if their votes aren’t counted.  But let’s go bigger. What’s 1% of the world population? 75 million people. That’s about 10 million more people than live in the UK, or about the populations of the UK and Sweden combined. So the UK and Sweden aren’t allowed to participate in the UN anymore; after all, those two countries are only 1% of the population, so their concerns don’t really matter in the long run.  And you know what, let’s go smaller too. I graduated high school with a class of about 1000 students. Statistically, 100 of us are asexual. That’s like the size of a very small high school’s graduating class. And even worse, guess what percentage of the US is estimated to be some other lgbt orientation. A lot of people think it must be something much higher, right? Actually, it’s around 3.8%. Well, isn’t that a huge difference.

And where does this 1% even come from? It comes from a series of studies conducted by Anthony Bogaert in 2004, one of the first researchers to use the word “asexuality” to describe my subset of the population. Now, every psychological study has some sort of limitation in its sample set. Bogaert’s research, for example, was focused in Great Britain and did not include other countries. More importantly, Bogaert gathered his data through a voluntary survey about sex and sexuality. People who are sexually inexperienced or asexual are way less likely to want to participate in a survey about sex. So already, we can see that this data isn’t entirely reliable. So how many asexual people are there really?

While I have no answers to what the actual percentage of asexuals are in the world, here are some things to consider. I didn’t call myself asexual until I was 23 years old. The only reason I was able to accurately identify my orientation was because I had a sexuality crisis and actively searched out information, and even then I stumbled upon asexuality by accident. I was also raised in a progressive and open-minded home, and so various sexual orientations were not outside the realm of my experience. How many people are comfortable enough or even able to do this kind of research? How many people do you think don’t bother to question themselves? How many people just believe there is something wrong with them instead?

Did you know that men are less likely to report themselves asexual than women? Does this mean that more women than men are asexual? Or does this mean that the culture of hyper-masculinity and male hyper-sexuality that pervades much of the world makes it more difficult for men to accept their asexuality? Women aren’t taught to want sex the way men are. Men are expected to need sex. How much more difficult is it for men to break from societal expectations and realize that they are asexual? Could our numbers be higher if more men reported?

My grandmother used to tell my mom that sex was just something you had to put up with from your husband. She doesn’t like even talking about sex. Is she asexual? What about all those people who thought they had to “lie back and think of England?” Can someone who grew up in a time when asexuality didn’t even exist as a term identify themselves as asexual? Can people in other societies with more repressive ideas on sex and sexuality identify themselves as something they don’t even know about? And when we do tell them, how much do you think they believe us, or have they internalized the idea that sex is natural for so long that they can’t see it any other way?

People who experience some sexual attraction or who enjoy having sex don’t always identify as asexual, even if they fit under our gray-a umbrella. Should they count as part of our percentage? What about demisexuals and other closely aligned orientations? And that’s only talking about asexuality. What about aromantics? As far as I know, there’s been no study to see how much of the population fits under that umbrella. Do aromantics belong in our statistics?

Looking at these questions, it’s hard to believe that there’s only 1% of us in the world. But still, let’s take that number at face value. So there’s only 1% of the population that is asexual. Does the amount even matter? Just because we’re only 1% does not mean we deserve to be ignored. 1% may seem small, but look at the numbers I’ve compiled above. How can we ignore such large swatches of the population? Yes, we aren’t as prevalent as other queer sexualities. Yes, we are a relatively minor piece of the pie. But we’re still here. We’re not asking to take over, we’re not asking to monopolize the conversation. We just want to be heard. We want to be acknowledged. We want our spot on the float. I’m tired of having to ask to be recognized as real.

[baegin-ace-blog]

An instance of acephobia

Heart break, by virtue of the words in the phrase, seems like a violent and messy process. When it actually happens, though, it is often a quiet and internal thing that no one can see but ourselves.

Yesterday, I got back from my annual vacation trip: seeing the shows in the Renaissance season at the American Shakespeare Center. I adore this place. They put on Shakespeare and other contemporary plays in the manner scholars think Shakespeare would have. The actors are all absolutely brilliant, the plays are interesting and often something you would not see anywhere else. For one long weekend we watch five shows and even when the plays themselves are bad, the performances are fantastic. I have loved, and will continue to love, ASC and its actors.

The last show I saw this year was a comedy romp staring a character named Cripple. I’m sure you can guess what his distinguishing characteristic was meant to be. After the show, we were lucky enough to see a panel discussion between actors and scholars on disability in the early modern theater. It was great to see some of these issues discussed, to hear how the actors had tried to make Cripple a full character and not a parody of a disability. However, in all of their inclusivity and sensitivity to diversity, there was a group left out.

In the play, a beautiful woman falls in love with Cripple. He has lines expressing his disinterest in love, and sets her up with his friend instead. An audience member asked whether the actors had considered Cripple’s sexuality when putting on the play. The actor said that he had, and had toyed with making Cripple not straight, but didn’t want to muddy the already difficult territory he was in. Now immediately, my heart soared. A character avowedly not interested in love, who they thought might not be straight? Clearly, here was my aro/ace representation! How exciting! Then, of course, the actor went on to talk about the lines and scenes he thought pointed to the fact that Cripple might be gay. So, okay, not aro/ace, but still I’m always down for some queer representation.

Then the actor said that Cripple’s disinterest in love made him seem “inhuman.” That maybe the real disability he has that makes him “cripple” is his inability to love.

Can you hear my heart breaking now?

I haven’t really been present for much acephobia. People tend to be more aggressive when someone is actively “devious” rather than passively. I’ve heard the things people say about my community in passing; that we’re robots, that we’re broken, etc. Inhuman. A disability. I’ve never been told something like that to my face. I’ve never sat in the middle of a group of people who all then made considering noises and nodded their heads, as if these statements were obvious and true. I’ve never thought in one moment I was being shown respect, and in the next been called less than human. I imagine the kind of nuanced performance that actor could have given if he had thought of Cripple as aro/ace. I imagine how great it would have been to see myself as a hero in a story. Unfortunately, I am only something to be pitied.

I’m not relating this story to denigrate the ASC. I still love them, and I will still patronize them and watch their performances. I’m telling this story to show you how ignorance can be painful. I am sure the actor meant no malice when he said this. He didn’t say it as if he was talking about a specific group, my group, but as if he was only thinking of a character. Because of course being aro/ace is only fictional; it’s not like people like that really exist. He said it from a place of ignorance. He called us inhuman because he did not know any better. And while that doesn’t lessen the sting of the words, it does strengthen my resolve to continue educating people on what it means to be aro/ace.

Because we are human. Our sexuality is not a disability. The more people spread knowledge about my community, the less people will say hurtful things out of ignorance.  The less people saying hurtful things, the less chance there is for my heart to break. It was a sour note to end my big vacation on, but, like other humans before me, I can rise above this. The good is still there and the joy is still there and one sour moment cannot ruin an entire experience. I hope one day that I never have to hear anyone say that I am inhuman again. But until that time, I will continue to spread the word that asexuals and aromantics exist. That we are not an anomaly. And that we deserve as much respect as anyone else.

[baegin-ace-blog]

An Aro/Ace analysis of Jane Austen’s Emma

Today I want to actually use my BA in English by doing a literary analysis of one of my favorite books: Emma by Jane Austen. I’ve loved Emma for years, way before I realized I was ace, because of the deeply flawed yet entertaining heroine, the aforementioned Emma. Throughout the book, Emma fails in various ways to read the emotions and intentions of those around her, including failing in reading her own emotions. The basic plot runs thus: Emma makes friends with a girl her social inferior named Harriet and attempts to matchmake her with the curate, Mr. Elton. Elton, unfortunately, falls for Emma, who is deeply mortified by her mistake and decides to give up matchmaking (well, she mostly succeeds). Emma then meets Frank Churchill, the step-son of her old governess, and carries on a flirtation with him, but ultimately decides she does not love him (luckily, as he is secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax). By the end of the novel, after Harriet confesses to loving Emma’s good friend, Mr. Knightley, Emma realizes that she wants to marry him instead. Eventually, everyone is duly paired off into their happily ever afters. What’s struck me about this book, years after I first read it, is how well Emma fits the mold of an aro/ace heroine. Despite the fact that the book is all about romance, and that Emma winds up happily married at the end, I am firmly convinced that Emma is aro/ace based on her reactions and experiences with romance throughout the text. Recently, I had the pleasure of rereading the book and I took the liberty of pulling out certain quotes and scenes to support this reading. 

At the beginning of the novel, Emma states that she plans to never marry. She has this wonderful line after Harriet says that Emma is so charming, it seems strange she should not marry: “My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to marry; I must find other people charming—one other person at least. And I am not only not going to be married at present, but have very little intention of ever marrying at all.” She then goes on to say: “I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet, to be tempted … and I do not wish to see any such person. I would rather not be tempted. I cannot really change for the better. If I were to marry, I must expect to repent it.” Already, Emma is set up as different to your typical regency romance heroine; she not only has no need to marry, she has no desire to marry. While a traditional reading takes this as her sense of independence, an aro/ace reading sees this as the first evidence that Emma is uninterested in romance at all. When prompted for more, she replies: “Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing; but I never have been in love : it is not my way or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall. And without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a situation as mine.” To me these lines are very telling. Not only is she disinclined to love, she has never been in love. By love here, we can infer any sort of crush or burgeoning attachment to any man; in short, Emma has gotten all the way into her twenties without the least romantic feelings whatsoever. When other girls around her were at least giggling behind their hands at attractive suitors, Emma was happily making her own path with no desire to change her attachments. Her only inducement to marrying, she later revels, would be wanting children to dote on, and even there she is satisfied: “And as for objects of interest, objects for the affections, which is, in truth the great point of inferiority, the want of which is really the great evil to be avoided in not marrying, I shall be very well off, with all the children of a sister I love so much to care about.” So from the start, we are given a heroine wholly uninterested in love and marriage.

Her first brush with love during the course of the novel itself comes with her matchmaking attempts between Harriet and Mr. Elton, and from this sequence we can see what many of us in the community go through when faced with romance. It is generally supposed that her inability to see Mr. Elton’s true affections lies in willful ignorance and her own pride; however it is also easy to see that she is incapable of assuming his attentions are for her. When faced with romantic interest for the first time, aro/ace people are often wholly oblivious; it makes much more sense that Mr. Elton must be in love with Harriet, the only other person present for all his gallantries and a person already proven to be romantically inclined. Emma is incapable of thinking of herself in romantic terms, and therefore it is impossible for her to assume Elton in love with her. In fact, she only begins to suspect once someone else alludes to it; then she begins to see his attentions as what they are, and shortly afterwards comes the ignominious proposal. Again, a traditional reading of this portion of the novel is that Emma is incapable of seeing the obvious because she is too caught up in her own idea of reality. And I wouldn’t say that’s a wrong reading, but I would suggest that Emma’s version of reality does not involve a romantic-Emma or an Emma who could ever be involved in romance.

Emma’s next brush with love is her brief attraction to Frank Churchill. First off, it is important to note that not only is she influenced by the wishes of her dear friends the Westons for an attachment between them, but she also comes to the decision that Frank loves her first before she settles in on her own feelings. Here is the entire sequence:

Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas only varied as to the how much. At first, she thought it was a good deal; and afterwards, but little. She had great pleasure in hearing Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than ever in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often thinking of him, and quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how he was, how were his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance of his coming to Randalls again this spring. But, on the other hand, she could not admit herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less disposed for employment than usual; she was still busy and cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to have faults; and farther, though thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress and close of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues and inventing elegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declaration on his side was that she refused him. Their affection was always to subside into friendship. Every thing tender and charming was to mark their parting; but still they were to part. When she became sensible of this, it struck her that she could not be very much in love; for in spite of her previous and fixed determination never to quit her father, never to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings. / ‘I do not find myself making any use of the word sacrifice,’ said she. ‘In not one of all my clever replies, my delicate negatives, is there any allusion to making a sacrifice. I do suspect that he is not really necessary to my happiness. So much the better I certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than I do. I am quite enough in love. I should be sorry to be more.’

This is textbook aro’s first “crush.” Because of what other people have said to her in the past, because of what society expects between two unattached young people, and because of what she has heard experiencing love is like, Emma assumes that she feels love for Frank. Certainly she feels something for him. But look at the way she almost immediately undermines this assumption! She realizes that her feelings aren’t strong enough to really miss him, and she very quickly decides that not only will she not marry him, but that his love is in no way necessary for her own happiness. And less than a page later, she is already thinking about how grand it would be for him to marry Harriet! These are not the thoughts of a person in romantic love. These are the thoughts of a person who wants to be in love, of a person who does not experience romance but wants to know what it is like. She finds someone who all outside interference tells her she should love, and fancies herself to actually love. But the feeling does not hold up to scrutiny; almost as soon as she has it, she is out of love.

The final piece of the puzzle and what some might think of as the proof against my analysis, is Emma’s love and eventual marriage to Knightley. This realization comes about only after it seems as though Knightley might marry someone else, and then the line reads: “Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself!” Importantly, she does not mention love anywhere in her thoughts; instead, Emma seems to invoke a possession over Knightley and his affections. Next, we have further confirmation that Emma never loved Frank: “She saw, that in persuading herself, in fancying, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart—and, in short, that she had never really cared for Frank Churchill at all!” Now, with the reality of her feelings towards Knightley, she is better able to see how little she thought of Frank at all. Well, you might say, doesn’t that prove she is romantically interested in Knightley then? Further scrutiny of the text seems to read otherwise.

Throughout the section where Emma parses out her feelings, the strongest words she uses for Knightley are “affection” and “dear to her;” never once in the text does she say she loves him. Austen has no scruple applying the word to other characters in their own and other’s words—to Harriet, to Robert Martin, to Elton, to Mrs. Weston, to Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax, to Knightley multiple times, and even to Emma herself when she first thought she loved Frank. But the word “love” is curiously absent from Emma’s thoughts and speech about Knightley, right through to the end of the book. We are now to read Emma as finally in full awareness of her feelings, so why does she never mention love? This line, I think summarizes it well: “Emma had never known how much of her happiness depended on being first with Mr. Knightley, first in interest and affection.” Emma wants to be first with Knightley. Not in love with, not loved by, but first in his thoughts. And while that can have a romantic reading, it can also have a platonic reading, or more specifically, a queerplatonic reading. There is no doubt that Emma loves Knightley very much. However, this love can very easily be read through a queerplatonic lens; Emma wants she and Knightley to be each other’s number one’s, and whether that is romantic or not is immaterial. After all, “Could she be secure of that, indeed, of his never marrying at all, she believed she should be perfectly satisfied.” She doesn’t see marrying him as the be-all-end-all of her happiness; she simply does not want him to marry anyone else. In short, she doesn’t need Knightley’s romantic love so long as he doesn’t love anyone more than her.

Even further, she does not expressly want to marry him: “Marriage, in fact, would not do for her. It would be incompatible with what she owed to her father, and with what she felt for him. Nothing should separate her from her father. She would not marry, even if she were asked by Mr. Knightley.” This might seem like weaker evidence: it only shows how much she loves her father and feels filial responsibility and in no way means she loves Knightley less. But then, Jane Fairfax, who is set up as a foil to her throughout the book, is so in love with Frank Churchill, she becomes engaged to him in secret. Jane is often set up as what Emma should be, and while everyone agrees she does wrong in a secret engagement, her love is never called into question. This quote, to me, seems to show how immaterial marriage, i.e. romantic obligation, is to Emma’s happiness; she is fine not marrying Knightley; rather, she wants to secure his affections towards her without losing the other principle relationships in her life. Aro/ace’s derive their emotional fulfillment from the familial and platonic relationships they have, and in this sense I see this as more evidence of Emma trying to maintain those strong relationships for herself. She may love Knightley and want him to stay by her, but she equally loves her father and would not injure him by marrying. A true romantic would come up with any solution for the lovers to be together while keeping her father happy, but it is Knightley, not Emma, who sees the solution; putting all of Emma’s favorite people in one house.

So much is made, throughout the book, of Emma’s attachment to her friends—to Mrs. Weston, to Knightley, to Harriet Smith, etc. In fact, social relationships make up the crux of the storytelling, romantic and otherwise. When lamenting her loss of Knightley, Emma reflects on all the friendships she is losing to other relationships: “The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than herself; and Mrs Weston's heart and time would be occupied by it. They should lose her; and probably, in great measure, her husband also. Frank Churchill would return among them no more; and Miss Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to belong to Highbury. … and if to these losses the loss of Donwell were to be added, what would remain of cheerful or of rational society within their reach? Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort! No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for theirs!” Here we see that Emma’s fear of losing Knightley to Harriet is tied in with her sadness over losing her other friends: Mrs. Weston to her new child, Frank and Jane to each other. Further, look at the way she describes the loss of Knightley; it is not his love or regard she is sad to lose, but his attention, his presence in her home. To have Knightley as a companion for life is Emma’s chief desire, and until she was faced with the possibility of his marrying and abandoning her for a wife, she was perfectly satisfied with the status quo, as seen in the above quotes. It is only when her place in his life becomes jeopardized that Emma decides to marry him. All of this evidence combined points to an Emma who marries Knightley with real affection and love, but without romantic intent; she wants to keep his place in her life, and if marrying him is how she can do it, she is more than happy to do so.

Emma’s disinclination to marry can be read as independence for a woman in a world where marriage means subordination. Her first approaches to love can be read as the thoughts of a naïve girl unaware of her true feelings. And Emma’s eventual marriage can be read as the culmination of a romantic love. It is true that a traditional reading points to a romantic Emma. But the books can also very easily be read as the tale of an aro/ace woman navigating a romantic world. She tries to understand romance in others and ultimately fails to see someone being attracted to her. She attempts romance herself but realizes that it holds no appeal. And she holds her relationships to her friends in such esteem, that she cannot bear the thought of being supplanted by other people in their hearts. Emma ends the novel in perfect happiness, but we are never explicitly told that she is in love. Instead, we see her surrounded by those she cares for, her family and friends, and we know she has reached a happy ending. If you’re ever inclined to read this book, I encourage you to go in with these ideas in mind. I find an aro/ace reading of Emma to be thoroughly rewarding.

*all bolding in quotes is my own emphasis.

[baegin-ace-blog]

Doubt

Reading this blog, you might think that I’ve got it all figured out.  I’m confident in my sexuality and I’m not afraid to talk about it. I’ve become a bit of a spokesperson in my own little community for people like me and delight in spreading information.  But no matter how positive my attitude is, I still have bad days.

 See, the thing about having an invisible sexuality is that we’re not given the tools to trust in our own senses.  When you’re taught constantly that sex is normal and natural, through your friends and family, through the media, through health classes and doctors and psychology, well then you can tell yourself all you want that you don’t need it, and still you can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe you’re wrong.  I’ve spent 26 years not wanting or desiring sex with another person and still some nights I lay awake and wonder, what the hell is wrong with me?  

 My dad once told me that we have two brains inside of us: Facts Emma and Feelings Emma.  Facts Emma deals in what is actual and true.  For example, Facts Emma knows that if I make a noise in a quiet room, no one will really care.  But Feelings Emma, on the other hand, thinks that when I make that noise everyone will suddenly start judging me (because anxiety is a jerk). So Facts Emma knows that asexuality is normal and that there’s nothing wrong with me.  But Feelings Emma occasionally pops her head up behind my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “Buuuuuuut are you sure?”

 Straight people, cis people, you don’t have to deal with this.  I would even argue that gay people don’t have to deal with this as much either, mainly because we’ve reached a point where being gay is, if not always accepted, at least understood and validated as a thing that does indeed happen. Asexuality? Not so much.  While me and my corner of the world know that it is real, pretty much the rest of the world refuses to acknowledge it.  I want you to imagine that, really think about it. Imagine what it is like to have 90% of the world telling you that a core piece of your identity isn’t real, isn’t healthy, and isn’t normal.

 I can be as confident as I want, and I’m still going to feel the backlash of this.  I do genuinely have periods of time where I think to myself, but can I really be asexual?  Isn’t sex normal? What’s wrong with me?  Can I fix this?  It’s demoralizing.  I hate feeling like I’m wrong or broken.  I talked before about how sometimes I worry that my asexuality is caused by my anxiety and how I have to remind myself that they are just two different facets of my being. But I’m going to level with you: part of the reason I’ve never sought out any form of treatment or therapy for my anxiety is that I’m afraid of what else I might lose with it.  What if my anxiety gets better and my asexuality disappears?  Who am I when I’m not asexual?  

 I once read a really good fanfiction about an asexual/allosexual relationship, where the ace character suffered from these kinds of thoughts.  In one chapter, he asked who his partner would prefer if there were two of him, “one sexual, the other one me.”  His partner said: “You said: one sexual, the other one me. You suggest that both are you, yet the sexual [one] is separated entirely from your concept of yourself. That [person] does not exist and could not be the same [person] who I have here with me.”  Reading this, I cried.  I think about this quote a lot.  If there is a Sexual Emma, if there is a “cure” for asexuality, would she even really be me?

 I love me!  I’ve made it through the years of crippling self-doubt and come out the other side a stronger person.  I love being who I am, and that includes all parts of me.  Sure, I wish somethings would be easier.  I wish my anxiety wasn’t so hard sometimes. But I would not change who I am for anything.  I would not change being asexual.  I cannot imagine who I would be with sexual desire and sexual attraction, it is anathema to me.  There is no Asexual Emma; there is only me, Emma.  

 I have to remind myself of this less and less as time goes on, but I don’t think the doubt will ever truly stop.  In a world inundated with sexual imagery and pressure, it’s very hard to be asexual and not question yourself.  Facts Emma knows, my asexuality is a part of me that is never going away.  But Feelings Emma, that dastardly mistress of my worse emotions, can’t stop from needling at all of my insecurities.  It’s a struggle, but one I would not give up.  

[baegin-ace-blog]

It’s friendship! It’s romance! No, it’s queerplatonic!

So now that we’ve talked about what platonic means, we’re all squared away with what different types of relationships are, right?  So when you see an aromantic person with their favorite person, you think to yourself, my what a good pair of pals they are!  And then they turn to you and say, actually this is my queerplatonic lifemate and now you’re back to square one wondering why I would lie to you.  Well fear not my allosexual friends, you’re not being toyed with.  Queerplatonic relationships are an actual thing and they fall somewhere between the boundaries of romance and friendship.  Let’s get into it.

Queerplatonic is another relatively recent term that has sprung up in our community to try and describe a set of experiences that are only recently being scrutinized.  It’s hard to define because it is a thoroughly modern concept.  When describing queerplatonic, we often want to compare it to things that have been done in the past, but that would not reflect the true nuances of this type of relationship. In a similar vein, it’s the same reason why we should hesitate to call historical figures gay or trans--the modern construction of that type of identity simply did not exist in the far past.  So while there were certainly gender non-conformers and people loving and desiring those of the same sex, they do not necessarily fit into the modern idea of what it means to be trans or gay.  I’ll give you an example: a lot of ancient cultures had a system where older men would take in younger boys in a mentor/sexual relationship.  It was considered absolutely normal, and accompanied by strict rules involving how old the boys could get before the relationship had to stop and they became the older men instead.  The men were also expected to marry women.  So were all these ancient men bi or gay?  Not really.  The modern conception of what it means to be bi or gay does not mesh with the way their society operated.  Certainly we should talk about these practices when discussing gay history, and we can use modern terms to frame our discussions, but we need to be careful not to assume a modern sensibility on the past.

But why am I telling you all this.  What does this have to do with queerplatonic anyway?  Well to understand this new term, I think it’s important to understand where it fits in our queer history.  Who’s familiar with the idea of the confirmed bachelor or the old maid?  Those older same-sex pairs that would live their whole lives together, whom modern scholars now speculate whether they were in sexual relationships or not.  Or more recently, who’s familiar with the idea of a heterosexual soulmate?  Those people who are so close to their same-sex bff that they need a stronger term to describe how much they love them.  It’s not a new idea that, even when someone gets married, they have a same-sex or even opposite-sex friend who means more to them than their spouse, who they will invariably turn to when things get rough. These sorts of relationships are understood by our culture, and often times even praised.  We’ll even say that someone has become like a brother or sister to us to try and express these close, more-than-friendship relationships.

As the aro/ace community grew, we started to want to define our relationships in terms of how we felt outside of the allosexual world; we wanted terms to describe the specific aro/ace experience that weren't just borrowing from allosexual parlance.  Aro people often have extremely close relationships with one or more people, on par with a romantic relationship, but do not feel in love.  Still, saying platonic life partners didn’t feel like enough to describe these relationships.  So we came up with queerplatonic.

Instead of giving my own definitions, I’m going right to the source with two definitions from community sites:

From avenwiki: “A queerplatonic (or quasiplatonic) relationship is a relationship that is not romantic but involves a close emotional connection (platonic) beyond what most people consider friendship. The commitment level in a queerplatonic relationship is often considered to be similar to that of a romantic relationship. People in a queerplatonic relationship may be of any romantic or sexual orientation. A partner in a queer platonic relationship is called a zucchini.”

From arowiki: “a relationship which is more intense and intimate than is considered common or normal for a "friendship", but doesn't fit the traditional sexual-romantic couple model. It is characterized by a strong bond, love, and emotional commitment, yet is not perceived by those involved as "romantic". The relationship may or may not have some elements or degree of sexuality/eroticism at various times, or none - it doesn't matter, because sexuality/sexual exclusivity is not what the relationship is organized around. It's defined by the intensity and significance of the emotional connection.

The people involved do not have to identify as "queer", it's a type of relationship experienced by and available to anybody regardless of their sexual orientation, romantic orientation, or (non-)monogamy. The people involved in a queerplatonic relationship may consider themselves partners, life-partners, a couple, a triad, or any other term that implies the relationship is meaningful, committed and intimate.”

You may be reading this and thinking, but how can you tell the difference?  What separates a queerplatonic relationship from a romantic one, or a best-friend one?  And the answer is...that there is no answer.  Like many aspects of the aro/ace experience, queerplatonic is not a black-and-white concept; these relationships exist in the gray areas between friendship and romance.  The only people who can tell you what a queerplatonic relationship really is are those who are in one.  And each relationship will look a little different from each other.  But in a similar vein, no two romantic relationships look exactly the same, nor do all friendships work the same way.  What’s romantic for some people is platonic for others, and something that means a great deal to one pair may be insignificant to another.  People in queerplatonic relationships may kiss or have sex, they may go on dates or pledge their lives to each other, they may do a lot of things that are associated with romantic partnerships.  But if the people in the relationships do not think of themselves as romantic?  Then they’re not.  Only they can define what they mean to each other.

The point of this term isn’t to make defining relationships even more confusing.  This term exists to get at a specific type of relationship that is otherwise impossible to describe.  Most allosexual people will one day define their lives around their romantic partner(s).  If you get married, you’re suddenly a unit instead of an individual.  You get joint bank accounts, joint friends, joint everything.  For an aro person, there may never be a spouse or signif. to define life around.  But they may still have a person; someone who they would live with, have friends with, become a unit.  It may no longer feel accurate to call them best friends when their relationship has become so much closer.  And so we’ve coined the queerplatonic term.  

I want to close on one last quote that I think does really well to get at the somewhat nebulous definition of queerplatonic.  It’s by a blogger named Spectra-Fidelis and was quoted in the second definition above: "If you'd picture romance with taper candles over dinner, and sexual relationship as a queen bed, I would try picturing the queerplatonic as string lights over tea and a bunk bed with tin can-and-wire phones between them. The same, but not."

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I Don’t Think that Word Means What You Think It Means: Defining Platonic

What do you think of when you hear the term “platonic?”  If I’m talking about a platonic relationship, do you think of romance or friendship?  I’m going to guess you think of friendship.  So it’s especially irritating when people ask me if I’m going to have a “platonic marriage” one day. If, as most people, you are asking about a marriage or relationship where we will be romantically involved, but not sexually, then I would not call that a platonic marriage.

This distinction has always bothered me, and so I decided to investigate the meaning of the word “platonic.” It stems from a concept introduced by Plato distinguishing physical love from what he considered a purer, higher form of love.  This concept was not necessarily talking about romantic love, but a type of love that relies on more spiritual feelings. For the modern age, the Merriam-Webster dictionary defines platonic as such: “of, relating to, or having a close relationship in which there is no romance or sex.” Notice that it mentions both sex and romance in the definition.  Platonic relationships, therefore, are friendships or other relationships without romance and without sex.  

What we see when people ask me about platonic marriages, then, is an inability of allosexuals to separate sex from romance.  The people making this comment have not made the leap that a romantic relationship could be fully sustainable without sex, and therefore must be platonic.  And this is problematic in a number of ways.  For one thing, it invalidates happy romantic relationships that asexuals may be in, just because they aren’t having sex.  And asexuals aren’t the only ones in sexless relationships!  People with health or other issues may not be physically or mentally able to have sex, but would we ever say their marriages are platonic?  No, because those unable to have sex for medical reasons are not asexual - the attraction may still be there, but not able to be followed through.  However, they are functionally the same thing, and by implying that asexual marriages are platonic and not romantic, you make it seem like our romantic relationships are less real than others.  

Another problem?  It devalues actual platonic relationships.  We seem to have this idea that romance is the be all end all of human interactions.  There’s this concept in our culture that the pinnacle of human relationships is the romantic marriage.  But this is a very faulty position.  Friendships are just as, if not sometimes more, important than romantic relationships for what they mean to us, how they shape us, the ways they bolster us.  Friendships can be just as profound and meaningful as romantic relationships.  Just because they involve a different kind of love does not mean they have any less value in our lives.  So when you conflate romantic asexual relationships with friendships, you don’t give each the proper attention they deserve.  When you take into account the aromantic community as well, sometimes friendships are the biggest relationships we have in our lives; if we’re not romantically inclined, than our most important and meaningful connections will probably be our friendships.  An aromantic’s bff is not the same as an asexual’s signif, although they may hold similar positions in the person’s life.  

So when people ask me about platonic marriage, what I’m really hearing is that they don’t think I can have a “real” romantic relationship without sex, which is just untrue.  And it makes the actual platonic relationships I have feel less important than whatever romantic connections I might make.  So next time you have the urge to ask an asexual about platonic relationships, make sure you know exactly what you’re trying to ask.  Don’t conflate sex with romance, and don’t assume romance is more important than friendship.  With people all over the spectrum, you never know exactly how they will view their relationships or how they will act in them.  Let us have our signifs, but let us have our bffs too.

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I Always Knew You Were Gay!: The Myth of Gaydar

There’s a thing that a lot of people do once someone comes out that really really bothers me.  I’m sure you’ve heard it before.  “I always knew they were gay because…” followed by what they consider to be damning proof of our gayness.  So why does this bother me?  Because it is a gross oversimplification of orientation and identity, and it helps to perpetuate damaging gender and sexual stereotypes.  

Let me break that down for you.  Often times, the reason someone “always knew” we were gay is because we, in some way, do not fit into the strict gender binary of male- and female-ness.  For example, things people have said about me that indicated my gayness: the fact that I don’t wear makeup, the fact that I don’t shave my legs, when I shaved my head, the way I dress in baggy shirts and shorts from the men’s section, etc.  Notice how a lot of this focuses on appearance?  Other such indicators are when women enjoy traditionally masculine activities or vice versa (guys in theater and girls in softball, ring a bell?)  Or when men have a higher pitched voice or more feminine mannerisms or women dress in more masculine styles.  And you might be thinking to yourself, but Emma, gay guys are often effeminate and there are a lot of butch lesbians!  Which, yes this is true.  But correlation does not equal causation.  

What’s happening here is that people are confusing sexual orientation with gender expression, and these two things are not linked!  Gender expression is, to state the obvious, the way a person expresses their gender identity.  It is not in itself a person’s gender identity.  So for example, I don’t shave; this is not in any way an expression of a male gender identity - I view my unshaved legs as a part of my female identity.  I am not trying to look “male,” but instead expressing my female gender in a way that does not conform to traditional female gender expression.  By equating sexuality to differing gender expression, people make it difficult for straight or otherwise not gay individuals to comfortably express themselves without assumptions being made about their sexuality.  Anyone should be able to do activities they enjoy, dress the way they are comfortable, and act the way that suits their personality without strangers questioning their sexuality or treating them differently.

The main reason why we have these stereotypes isn’t because more gay people are gender non-conformers by default, but because we care less about conforming to gender boundaries.  It’s easier for us, in part, because we are gay; if a straight guy started wearing eyeliner, he’d probably get a lot of pushback of people assuming he’s gay and possibly harassing him.  Our hypothetical guy would feel uncomfortable with wearing makeup, not because his straightness inherently makes him not want to, but because the reactions of other people make it less appealing.  Whereas on the flip side, a gay man wearing makeup is already getting this sort of harassment and pushback, so it’s less of a difficulty for him to do what he wants.  So it’s really damaging to say that you knew people were gay just because they acted or looked a certain way.  Not only because it limits what non-gay people can do or look like, but also because it shoehorns gay people into stereotypical boxes, when really we run the gamut of looks and activities.

And another reason why this really grinds my gears?  Because we’re not always gay!  When people say this shit about me I get so mad because I’m not gay!  Am I a woman who likes women?  Yes, I am.  But I’m also a woman who likes all genders, and a woman who doesn’t like any genders.  By saying you always knew I was gay because I acted less feminine than you expected me to, you’re lumping all non-straight identities into one easy checkbox.  Not like “us?” Must be gay!  It’s frustrating!  I don’t shave my legs because I’m lazy and it takes a lot of time!  And I keep my hair short and don’t wear makeup also because I’m lazy and don’t see why I have to put effort into dumb things like that!  It has nothing to do with my attraction to women!  At. All.

So please, stop saying this.  The only way you can know that someone is gay is if they tell you.  Otherwise, everyone you meet is Schrodinger’s gay; we’re all possibly any orientation, no matter what our gender expression.

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So the election is your worst nightmare, what now?

First of all, everybody breath.  Things majorly suck right now, trust me I know.  We’re in a very dangerous time for some of us and as of right now it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  But panicking and sinking into despair is not going to help.  We need to focus on what we can do now to protect ourselves and fight for our rights.  I’ve seen a lot of posts going around on what we can do in the coming days post-election: supporting organizations like the ACLU, staying active with politics and keeping in touch with our congresspeople on the issues, voting in the midterm elections.  There are lots of ways we can still fight.  I want to talk about two things that are going to be important going forward.

The major consequence of this election has been taking all the hatred and prejudice in our society and sanctioning it.  I have already seen accounts pouring in of hate-crimes and harassment against minorities all over the country.  Heck, I’ve even had friends of mine experience these things.  Right now, a lot of people are not safe. So what can we do about it?  Support them.  If you see someone being harassed or attacked, stand by them.  Call the cops if you have to.  Offer to walk friends home, sit with strangers on the bus.  Don’t stand by and let things happen.  Especially if you come from a position of privilege.  If you are white, protect people of color.  If you are a man, protect women. If you are Christian, protect Muslims. If you are cisgendered, protect trans folks. If you are abled, protect the disabled.  If you are straight, protect the queer community. These are people who are currently walking around in fear.  These are people who are being attacked right now.  We all need to look out for each other in the coming days, to keep each other safe and healthy so we can keep fighting.

My other advice is more long term, and that is education.  This election happened because some people think it is okay to be racist, sexist, ableist, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, etc.  People either think these things aren’t a big deal or just whole-heartedly agree with hate.  This needs to stop.  To all my friends and family who live in positions of privilege, we need your help now more than ever.  We need to teach people that these sorts of attitudes are not okay.  We need to teach people that hate is never the answer.  We need to teach people that we are all equal, each and every one of us.  If there are people in your lives who are like this, talk to them.  Do everything you can to change their minds. And don’t just argue with hatred and aggression, because that’s all you’ll get back from them.  Give them concrete examples, learn the facts from people in these marginalized communities.  Talk to us and we can help you figure out what to say.

Those of us in these communities are tired.  We’ve been fighting for years, some of us for decades, most of us our whole lives.  Some of us can’t do it anymore. We’re weary, and this election has beat us down.  It’s time to step up to the plate.  We need to take responsibility of our privilege and use it for good. We need to fight these ideologies where they begin.  It’s a grueling and thankless fight. There will be people who will never change their minds.  There will even be people who begin to hate you. But the more hate we can change to acceptance, the more love we can spread in people’s hearts, the better chance we have for something like this to never happen again.

I am going to continue to fight.  I am going to do everything I can to combat racism, to protect my Muslim friends, to support the trans and queer communities, to prove misogyny wrong, to support the disabled community.  But we need everyone’s help.  Do whatever you can. Even if you feel your contribution is negligible, do it.  We have more power together.

And to all my friends who are tired of fighting, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry that this has happened and I’m so sorry that we have to keep going. But I hope that together, we can lessen the load.

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To be out or not to be out: It’s a complicated question

People tend to tout being out as the ultimate goal for all queer people. The term “in the closet” has a decidedly negative connotation.  We associate it with shame, self-hate, fear, depression, denial, etc. Whereas being out has a positive connotation; it’s associated with self-actualization and living our “true selves.” (Not to be confused with the term “outed” which is decidedly negative as there is no choice or consent involved).  Many people who know, or think they know, someone’s orientation will urge them to come out, saying that it’s the only way to really live.  After all, living in the shadows and hiding yourself from the world, that can’t be healthy, right?  In reality, being out or not can either be a blessing, or a curse, or both at once.  

The first question we have to ask is, what does being out really mean?  If you’re gay, it may be as easy as visibly having a same-sex signif.  Boom, done, everyone who sees you two will now know you’re gay, no other actions need be taken.  But what if you’re bi/pan and happen to be dating?  What if you’re aro and not dating anyone?  Does being out mean telling your friends and family? Does it mean having to tell everyone or just those closest to us?  Do we have to wear our pride with us everywhere we go?  

I would consider myself “out.”  I’ve explicitly told my closest friends and family, I’ve made a public youtube video coming out, and I’ve now got a blog where I talk all about my orientation.  And yet, there are lots of people who I am not “out” to.  Biggest example: no one at work knows. Now clearly, I am not ashamed, I have accepted and love myself, and I have no problem talking about my orientation.  But there are some times where it is not appropriate to “come out.”  I call them situational closets.  Unless you are Super Gay™ it’s not going to be obvious that you’re not straight.  And in a professional setting, there’s no reason to talk about your orientation, especially apropos of nothing.  I can’t just send an email to my co-workers, hey make sure you get that report to me by friday, and oh by the way I’m asexual.  Sexual orientation has no place in the workplace.  So am I still in the closet because I haven’t explicitly come out to everyone I know?

And what about in everyday life interactions? Do I have to be out to the cashier at the supermarket? To teachers in school? To the person who walks their dog by my house?  The fact is, unless you are constantly wearing a pride flag and shouting your queerness to every person you meet, it’s impossible to be out to everyone.  And no matter how proud you are, it’s just sometimes not an appropriate conversation to bring up in all situations.  There’s a term bandied around the lgbt community that’s used to devalue the experiences of certain groups over others: straight passing.  The idea is that certain groups are in less danger because they can pass as straight, i.e., unless they explicitly come out, no one would think they aren’t straight.  This is often used against bi/pan individuals dating opposite-genders, and has also been applied to the aro/ace community (after all, if you’re not dating anyone, no one can say for sure!).  And while I don’t want to say that straight passing isn’t real, it’s use as a term is definitely a problem.  Yes, people who “look straight” are less likely to be victims of random violence on a daily basis versus people who look like the stereotype of being gay.  I don’t want to deny that people who are visibly queer are in more danger than those of us who are “straight passing.”  But at the same time, this straight passing privilege can be a disadvantage.  For a visibly queer person, they don’t have to come out: their very existence is the act of being out.  For a straight passing queer, we have to come out to literally everyone because they won’t naturally jump to that conclusion without us pushing them.  And then once we are out, we’re in just as much danger of being attacked as a visibly queer person is.  So can we blend in more and have more choice in who knows our orientation? Absolutely.  But we also have to do a lot more defending of our orientations and awkward conversations and justifications for our queerness.

So already, being “out” isn’t an easy thing to be.  But there are even more reasons why being out isn’t a feasible option for everyone.

This world is a wonderful, magical place with amazing humans in it.  It is also a raging hell filled with awful people.  For some people, being out represents a real and definite danger.  There are countries where being gay is punishable by death.  There are communities who will ostracize or disown you.  As unfortunate as it is, sometimes being out is not an option.  And no one should ever, EVER, out someone without their express permission.  Being out could mean losing jobs, losing friends, losing houses, losing lives.  There is absolutely no shame in hiding your orientation if you feel in any way threatened.  Sometimes we’ll be out with a select group of friends, but not out to the world, and that’s okay too. As out and proud as I am, there are definitely times where I’ll weigh the pros and cons of coming out to someone; will they be offended?  Will they hurt me or treat me badly?  Is it worth it?  Honestly, it’s not always worth it.  If some random dude makes a crack about my future husband, it is absolutely not worth it to correct him and therefore come out.  I owe that guy nothing, and if there’s even a slight possibility that he may either verbally or physically attack me, I’m not taking the chance.  It’s important for straight and proudly-out people to remember that some people are more comfortable in the closet, and it’s not our place to judge them.  Does being out feel amazing?  Hell yes!  But it also makes you hyper-aware of homophobia, of how people treat you differently, of the bad things that come with being out.  As long as a person is happy and safe, then they are doing what’s right for them in their situation, whether they are in or out.

There are even times where we’ll stay in the closet for certain people, family members most especially.  For young people, this is especially true, where parents or guardians hold positions of power over them; you wouldn’t berate a teen for not coming out if they’re afraid of being disowned.  Young people especially need to be protected in their rights to come out or not.  We cannot put them into dangerous situations just because we think it’s more authentic or brave to be out.

And adults may do this with family members too.  Some people say that’s pandering, lying, letting those people get away with being homophobic by not confronting them.  And on the one hand, yes, it is a cop out.  But who said we have to be fighting all the time?  Sometimes we just need a break!  If there was someone important in our lives who we knew would never listen and never understand, why is it our job to try and change them?  We can’t be fighting all day every day all the time.  It’s exhausting, and if not being out to certain people makes parts of our lives easier, than that’s great! I had a grandmother who I loved more than I’ve loved anyone else.  She was hands down the most important person in my life, and she died last year.  It was one of the most emotionally devastating things to ever happen to me.  I was never out to her.  Despite the fact that we told each other literally everything, every secret we would never share with anyone else, and that she was still alive during my sexuality crisis, I never once brought up my sexuality with her.  I know, for a fact, that she would have loved me anyway; nothing would have stopped her from loving me.  But I also know that it would have changed, however subtly, our relationship.  And I could not do that.  She was the most important person in my life.  I never wanted to do anything to change that.  Does that make me a bad person, for not coming out to her?  Was I lying to her about who I really am?  Of course not; she knew who I was to the core of me even if she never knew how my orientation played a role. I’ve done my fair share of fighting with loved ones over homophobia.  I’ve called people out, damaged relationships, defended every orientation I could.  In this one instance, I chose not to fight, because I did not want this relationship to become a fight.  Sometimes we don’t come out to specific people, and that’s okay too.

My main point is, whether someone comes out or not is a choice, and it’s one they have to make on their own terms in their own time.  No one else gets to dictate when someone needs to come out.  Not everyone has to fight this battle at all times.  It’s okay to step out of the ring, take a breather, relax.  Being out and proud is great, but it also comes with a lot of anxiety and possible danger.  There’s no shame in keeping your orientation under wraps in uncomfortable situations.  You don’t owe anyone this information.  Sexual/romantic orientation is ultimately your business and no one else’s.  In the same way people don’t have a right to other private information about your life, no one has a “right” to know your orientation, not even your signifs!  In an ideal world, our orientations would be like our natural hair colors: sometimes obvious and sometimes not, easy to talk about and easy to ignore, and holding no bearing on daily life except for slight preferences in the dating pool.  But as things stand right now, being out and proud is a risk for many people, and there’s nothing wrong with staying silent if that’s what’s best for you to live a healthy and happy life.  

Imagine it this way: there’s a blizzard outside.  Some people have arctic-strength gear and are running around in the snow having a blast.  Some people have okay gear, and will go out for a few minutes to play before they get too cold and have to retreat inside.  And some people, whether they have gear or not, just want to stay inside by the fire and drink a nice cup of tea.  You wouldn’t force them to come out in the snow, unless you were an asshole.

So the question, to be out or not to be out, much like Hamlet’s famous quote, can never really be answered.  Each person will have a myriad of reasons to sort through, and whatever decision they make should be respected.  Those who are out aren’t necessarily happier or more fulfilled than those who are in.  We all just have our own ways of approaching our own worlds, and as long as we’re happy, then there’s no problem staying where we are.

[baegin-ace-blog]

One year out: Reflections

Last year in the beginning of October, I sat in my room almost every night looking at a tiny word document on my computer tentatively titled Coming Out.  In it, I had recorded a few thoughts, a bulleted outline of what I thought it might be important to talk about if I came out.  I was hyper-aware of the calendar counting down to the day when I might change everything: October 11th, National Coming Out day.

My first experience with this gay holiday was junior year of college, where I saw a booth set up outside of the cafeteria passing out nametags for people to declare themselves on.  My friend who was working the booth at the time encouraged me to write something down, even if it was just being an ally.  Still simmering in my soup of sexual confusion, I tentatively took a tag, debated with myself for a few seconds on writing gay or bi, and finally settled on dinosaur.  Based on a Darren Criss quote (“I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, purple, orange, or dinosaur”), it was my way of indicating that I was something different, even if at the time I didn’t have the exact words for what I was.  

But back to this time last year, where every night  I worried about the pros and cons of being explicitly out to everyone I knew.  I had made some overtures to my parents and friends, but had never sat down and fully explained everything, and I could tell that most people didn’t understand what I was saying.  For years, I had not wanted to make my orientation a “thing;”  I didn’t want to put on some performance, I just wanted to be who I was.  But as I gained more confidence in the label I had chosen for myself, I felt more and more like making a public statement was the right thing to do.  Talking to people online and seeing some of the activism and education being done by other people, I felt inspired to become a voice for my community as well.  And more than that, I was proud of my orientation.  I wanted to tell people.  I wanted everyone to know.  I was no longer afraid of being mislabeled or misunderstood or even questioned on the validity of my orientation.  I had finally reached a state of self-acceptance where it felt important to me to make a stand and defend who I was. And so, the video was posted and I officially came out to the world.

I don’t know how to categorize how my life has changed since then.  In a way it feels like everything is different while nothing is different at all.  I still feel exactly the same as I did before coming out and people aren’t treating me too differently.  But at the same time, there has been a tangible, undefinable shift in my life and relationships.  People have commented on how much more confident I am, and how much happier I act. Which isn’t to say I wasn’t confident or happy before coming out, but that coming out let me project these feelings around other people.  I became less worried about the opinions of others (Will doing/saying this thing give it away?  Will people think I’m gay? Will they believe me?) and more secure in the knowledge that whatever they said, I would still be who I am.  The biggest noticeable changes have been this blog and the reactions of other people to it and to me.  I’ve had numerous people come out to me in private or ask me questions to help define their own nebulous orientations.  Nothing has been more gratifying to me than helping others navigate the gray-a seas and come to a better idea of what attraction means to them.  I have also had allosexual people asking questions and working to broaden their own horizons by understanding my experience.

On Monday, one day before the year anniversary of my coming out, I did a guest lecture at my alma mater for an LGBT Lit course.  I spoke, obviously, about asexuality.  It was really nervous.  It’s one thing to be a gateway into asexuality to people I know, and another thing to be the spokesperson of an entire community for strangers.  However, it’s also extremely flattering that so many people are coming to me as an authority on something that I have, admittedly, done quite a bit of research on.

This time last year, I would have been tongue tied.  I barely knew what to say in my video, and watching it back now I see how little information I actually provide.  I debated preparing something formal for the class, but my usual presentation style is to have an outline of salient points and free-style the actual words.  I showed up at the class with nothing prepared, and only the vaguest idea of what to talk about.  And yet, despite my nerves, it was incredibly easy.  I never lacked for words and found the ideas and concepts I wanted to convey easily lining up in my mind.  Looking back on this the next day, it’s almost surprising that for every question asked, I had an answer already prepared in my mind.  I really have come a long way from the awkward 24 year old stumbling through explanations that I didn’t even fully understand myself.  Publicly coming out and working on this blog have given me an amazing boost of confidence and a better arsenal of words and concepts to articulate the asexual experience.  That class was a rewarding experience for me.

When I came out, I did it with an eye to changing a world; not the world, which is vastly outside of my scope of powers, but my world, this little corner of reality in which I am known.  I knew that, at most, I would reach maybe 50 people, most of them my family or close friends, but even then I had the ability to create a ripple effect as they took the things I imparted and shared them with others.  I never expected anything more.  And yet, people keep surprising me with their responses.  I didn’t come out for so long because I didn’t want my orientation to become a big deal.  When I started this journey, however, I made the choice to make my orientation into a very big deal. While this has led to some stress, it has for the most part been an extremely fulfilling experience.  I look back on that video and I think about how nervous I was, how I was afraid of what people would do and say, how people would react to me.  But the response has been overwhelmingly positive.  If you are reading this, then please take my sincere gratitude to heart.  While I’ve hit some stumbling points, for the most part every person I have talked to has made an effort to understand this community.  So many people have negative coming out experiences and I’m so glad that mine has been so wonderful.  I can’t wait to look back again in ten years and see where these positive changes will take us next.

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Correlation does not Equal Causation: Anxiety and Asexuality

I once read a post that said having anxiety is like that moment when you’re balancing on the back two legs of a chair right before it tips over, only constantly and for no reason.  I think that’s a pretty apt description; anxiety is a constant state of feeling like something, somewhere, is going wrong and you have to worry about it even when you don’t know why.  Having social anxiety means that this feeling is especially intense any time I am around or have to deal with other people.  It leads to some odd and drastic behavior for me, including secluding myself, disassociating in public places, and crying after talking to people on the phone.  

Because of my anxiety, I experience the world in a different way.  I have a difficult time remembering that other people actually exist or that I exist in the same plane of existence as them.  As a coping mechanism, my brain will often shut off the part that recognizes this world as reality, so that I feel more like a nebulous floating consciousness observing events as they happen through and around me.  My anxiety makes it very difficult to get close to people, and when I do make friends, makes me second guess all of our interactions until I’m not even sure anyone likes me at all.  It has caused me to draw into myself, making my personality very me-focused and skittish around strangers.

I also have a lot of anxiety tied up in the physicality of my body.  I have extreme empathy pains when someone describes an injury to me (basically, I can feel the injury happening to myself even though I’m fine).  I do not like any reminders of anatomy or the details of how bodies work, as they can make me spiral into anxiety attacks.  Even looking at my veins for too long or thinking about breathing can make me extremely anxious.  

Sometimes when I think about these things, I wonder if maybe I’m not asexual at all and instead my negative coping methods have turned me into this.  You could argue there is strong evidence for this: I am afraid of other people; I find it difficult to relate to other people or be around them; I am afraid of my body, and therefore afraid of sex.  Is it possible that what’s really happening is that my anxiety is making me too scared to think of my body in a sexual way and too scared to desire other people?  Could I really be bi or pan sexual, and just not mentally healthy enough to form relationships or attachments?

The upsurge of information being made for and by asexual people has helped me cope with this self-doubt.  I constantly read blog posts, books, forums, etc. from asexual people that have all felt the same things I feel.  It’s a reminder that I am not alone in this, that other people are the exact same way.  These other people help to validate what I am feeling as a real experience and not just a symptom of anxiety.  I will forever be grateful to all of the voices I’ve found online that continue to help me feel good about myself and alleviate my worries.

When I started this blog, I said I wanted a place to tell people what it was like to be asexual so that I wouldn’t have to answer the same questions multiple times.  But really, I started this blog because I wanted people to read it and feel less alone.  I wanted to give people like myself a reassurance that these things they are feeling are not abnormal.  That there are more people like them who feel the same way.  Living with anxiety is hard enough without trying to second guess your sexuality as well.

So does my anxiety affect my orientation?  Probably.  I might be more inclined to romantic relationships if I could stand being around people more.  I might even be up for attempting sex if I didn’t have these weird hang-ups surrounding my body.  But these are just how my orientation is played out.  What anxiety does not affect is the reality of my orientation.  Being anxious did not make me ace.  Did being ace make me anxious?  Again, probably.  Maybe growing up ace without a support group and always feeling confused and wrong led to some of my anxiety problems.  

The fact that I am ace and the fact that I have anxiety are intertwined not because they necessarily cause each other, but because they are both major parts of me.  They are such huge aspects of my personality and mindscape and they affect such large swatches of my life and experiences, that they kind of can’t escape from interacting with each other.  But in the same sense, my being female has impacts on my anxiety and orientation, as do many other aspects of my being.  There are so many contributing factors to what makes me me that it would be silly to blame one for another.  

In writing this post, I’m setting a reminder for myself.  You are an anxious person.  You are also an asexual person.  They are not mutually exclusive, nor are they the only reason for the other.  They simply are what you are, and you are what you are, so stop worrying and just be.

[baegin-ace-blog]

Let’s Talk about Sex Baby, Let’s Talk about Me and Me: Conceptualizing Sex

A little while ago I found a blog that was doing a series called, “I should have known I was asexual when…”  It was all posts about little things that we’ve experienced that with hindsight were obviously asexual things.  When I started thinking about it, there were a lot of things that I never thought about that were clearly the thoughts or experiences of an asexual person.  

One of the ones that I find most interesting?  My conception of sex.

When I took a class in college on sex in literature, one of the first things my professor asked us to do was define what sex was.  I was surprised by the wildly different responses my classmates had.  Many of them were stuck in a cis-heteronormative definition; only penetrative, or more accurately piv (penis-in-vagina), sex counted as “sex.”  My teacher rightly pointed out that this leaves a lot of people out, especially lesbians.  I did wind up raising my hand (for the first time in that class!) and saying that my definition of sex was any activity between two or more partners where the express purpose was to achieve orgasm (whether or not you got there in the end).  This is still my go-to definition, and includes all the myriad of sexual activities that people can come up with.  

However, at the same time that I know this is what sex is, I have a different concept of sex when it comes to myself.  Last time I got into the nitty-gritty details of masturbation, so if you skipped that one, basically the sum up is that yes, I do masturbate.  But here’s the thing: I never call it that in my head.  On days when the mood strikes and my hormones are demanding sexual satisfaction, I will often think to myself, “Man, I’ve got to have sex tonight.”  And I know, every time I have this thought, that what I mean by “sex” is masturbation.  In fact, every time I think of myself in terms of sex, I think of only myself - I have never, not once, held the concept of sex with another person with the concept of myself together in my head.  Intellectually, I recognize that sex is a partnered activity, but personally, my brain conceives of sex for me as sex with me.  

This is something I’ve been doing literally as long as I’ve known what sex even was.  Part of it, I think, is that it’s just easier for me to co-opt the allosexual lingo than to try to redefine life around my asexual perspective.  For instance, while in grad school I had a short period of intense aesthetic/sensual attraction, where everyone I looked at looked attractive and I wanted to kiss or touch SO MANY PEOPLE.  When describing this phenomena, I jokingly said, “man I really need to get laid.”  In the context of a sexual person, this would mean that I wanted to have sex.  In my head, it meant that I wanted to kiss someone or cuddle them.  I find myself frequently making statements like this, referencing a sex life that I clearly do not have nor want to express the sort-of sexual/erotic/platonic life I do have.  

Even further than this, I have a very difficult time conceptualizing sex for other people as well.  Usually, I cannot imagine real people as sexual beings until they have explicitly told me about sex they have had.  And even then, it’s like a dissonance in my head of who they apparently are and who I perceive them to be.  This can be problematic when it comes to navigating the social mores surrounding dating and sexual advances.  Because I have no conception of people as sexual beings, it is really difficult for me to recognize when people are putting out sexual advances.  I pretty much distrust everything that involves touch or alone time unless I am really comfortable with a person.  Those who were around me growing up may remember a time when I very much did not like hugs or casual touching of any kind.  This is why.  I knew that a lot of that was a prelude to sex, and since I could not discern what was and was not a come-on, I erred on the side of extreme caution.  I’ve gotten much better now as long as I’m with people I’m good friends with, as I have more faith in my friends to not be hitting on me than I did when I was still going through puberty.  Still, though, dealing with strangers or acquaintances can be stressful for me.  

Now luckily I’m enough of a homebody that I don’t really get out enough to have to deal with this too often.  But part of why I’m such a homebody is that I don’t want to have to deal with this.  It’s why I might act uncomfortable or unsure around men; like it or not my dudes, but men have a much higher tendency of unwanted sexual advances against women than ladies do.  I’m way more likely to have to face a guy’s disappointment or advances, than I am to make a girl think I’m interested.  And even then, I’m less afraid of women not taking no for an answer.  So I often feel very awkward around new people.  And yes, part of this is due to social anxiety and just a general feeling of discomfort being around too many people.  But I think that my social anxiety and my asexuality go hand in hand, something I will have to get into in another post.

Before I get too far off the topic, let me end this by noting that all of this means I have to do a lot of work to understand the world that we live in.  Any time there is anything that is sexually coded, I miss it; advertisements that are supposed to be titillating, characters that are supposed to be desireable; you name it, I don’t see it.  It takes someone pointing out that something is sexy for me to realize it is even going on (I seriously recommend that link at the beginning; so many of them apply to me). I’m always playing catch-up with things that everyone around me seems to handle naturally.  And unfortunately it’s expected for me to make these efforts, and not expected for allosexual people to make any effort to understand what my world looks like.  But if you’re reading this, you’re already well on your way to making that effort with me!  And I want to thank all of you for taking the time to see things through my perspective.  After all, I know how hard that can be.