I checked a box the other day. It was one I was both pleased to see and one that had taken me years to acknowledge. The box was next to this word: asexual. It was under the question about sexual orientation on a mundane university survey. It’s gratifying to see the university even aware of the orientation. Many adults still think the A in LBGTA stands for allies. (Sorry guys, A is for Asexual.) Young adults these days are way more aware of aces and much more like to openly identify as asexual and/or one of the orientations under the ace spectrum. (But I won’t get into those.) In fact, a couple of years ago, I was having a drink with a friend from high school, whom I hadn’t seen since college, when she told me that her son had texted her from college that he was asexual. She laughed it off, kind of in a condescending “kids these days” tone. College was for experimenting, she concluded, and he’d grow out of it. At first I was silent, but finally I said was something like: at least kids today have a word for it. She gave me an odd look and quickly changed the subject.
At the time, I wished I’d said more—but now in reflection, I think I said it all. Back in the 70s and 80s, we didn’t have a word for it. We barely had words to discuss anything beyond being straight and cis gendered. (We didn’t even have those words then either.) Ok, we did have words like spinster or confirmed bachelor, but they—spinsters in particular—were looked down upon with pity and derision. They were broken and sad people. In middle school (and earlier), when all the other girls talked about crushes and potential boyfriends, I kept silent—unless pressed. And then I’d pick someone obviously out of reach—objectively easy on the eyes but someone with a girl friend or older. The other girls would nod sagely—like when I pronounced “Last Train to Clarksville” was indeed the Monkees best song–and then move on. (Some girls I later learned kept silent for other reasons.) At that age, I probably didn’t think anything was “wrong”…yet. I thought there were so many more interesting things to talk about, like Stevie Wonder, Dark Shadows, Star Wars, Wuthering Heights, or Saturday Night Live. But throughout high school, the boyfriend thing never quite happened. I let people make their own assumptions. I had plenty of guy-friends, so some people (my high school friend with the asexual son included) assumed I was dating or at least crushing on one of them. And I’m sure some people assumed I was gay—even though it never occurred to me at the time. I was, for the most part, blissfully apathetic about boys (or girls) in that respect—until I was older and began wondering and worrying. As in, geez, I’d better get on with the whole coupling thing. That’s what people do, you know. If you’re the perpetual singleton, especially if you’re woman, then there’s something wrong with you. At least, that’s the thing you begin to internalize—when you don’t have a word for what you are. So I did have several long-term relationships, and I did love those guys (some more than others). But entered into the relationships because I thought that’s what I ought to be doing at that stage of my life, and, in retrospect, I only really felt the sexual attraction after developing feelings for them. These relationships didn’t work for various reasons, but the real truth was that I was always happier outside a relationship (and I could take or leave the physical side of it). Still, I didn’t have a word for this. I just thought I sucked at relationships, heterosexual ones, at least And for a while, I entertained the idea that I was bisexual or even gay, but neither of those were any more true than the idea of me being heterosexual.
Then I discovered the word. I found the AVEN site online. (That’s the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network, one of the first ace sites.) It wasn’t exactly Eureka moment but more of “a hmmm, maybe” kind of discovery. I lurked on the site reading people’s stories. I think I may have posted once or twice. But it still took me a few more years of reading and soul searching to accept that yes that word applies to me. (And by then, more and more was being written about asexuality. ) And when I did, it was like exhaling when you didn’t know you were holding your breath.
But like many older aces, I didn’t feel the need to come out. It was enough to realize or to have validated that I wasn’t broken. Externally, nothing would really change. It’s not like someone was trying to keep me from dating or marrying someone. I’d still let people make assumptions because it truly doesn’t matter what they think of me in that respect. I did tell a few people in my life, but I didn’t feel the need to declare it as part of my identity. But as I look at the word next to the check box on a mundane little form, I realize we don’t necessarily come out for ourselves. We do it so others—like my friend’s son and other young adults (and old adults like me)–might have a word that tells them they’re not broken either, so they have a box to check that at least comes close to who they are.
So I wrote a thing—and checked another box. And now it’s time for cake. 😉
