Latest news with #asexual
Yahoo
20-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
I'm Married But Never Wanted To Have Sex. A Single Word From My Therapist Changed Everything.
Related: I was 34 and married to a man when it first hit me: I should have bloomed by now. In high school, I had always been way too into waiting for marriage to have sex, even though I wasn't particularly religious or conservative. I just thought, Well, a rule's a rule! You heard what our nervous P.E. teacher said, folks! Keep it in your pants! As I got older, fewer and fewer of my friends seemed as excited about abstinence as I was. It bewildered me — what was so great about sex? I spent so little time thinking about it that it really didn't occur to me until I was well into my marriage that maybe there was something much bigger going on. Several heart-wrenching therapy sessions later, I admitted to my therapist, 'I've never really felt the desire to have sex with men.' 'What about women?' My therapist asked. Her question almost confused me. I suddenly realized that even though I had always identified as bisexual, I wasn't actually picturing having sex with women I had crushes on either. Then she asked the question I wish I had known to ask myself years earlier: 'Do you think you could be asexual?' It was like she had unlocked the door to a word I didn't even realize I knew but that I had been waiting to hear my entire life. In the most basic terms, an asexual person experiences little to no sexual attraction — they are not sexually attracted to men or women or any other gender. Sexual attraction is different from romantic attraction, and your sexual orientation can be different from your romantic orientation. For instance, I'm romantically attracted to all genders (biromantic) but sexually attracted to none of them (asexual or 'ace'). Related: I always thought I was bisexual because I wanted to date men and women, but wanting to date them and wanting to have sex with them are two completely different things. And I never felt especially driven to do the latter. Flirting and kissing? Yes, please. Taking it to the bedroom? How about we see what's on Netflix instead. You'll notice I didn't say being asexual means being celibate or requires not having sex. Often people think the two go hand in hand, but that's where they get us wrong. Asexuality exists along a spectrum. Some aces are not interested in sex with anyone, including themselves. Some might not be sexually attracted to others but may still have sex with a partner because of the connection it creates or nurtures. Some, who identify as demisexuals, are only interested in sex with someone once they've formed a strong emotional bond with them. But the thing that all aces have in common is that sexual attraction does not exist or does not exist in the way that it does for allosexual people (those who do experience sexual attraction to others). When you don't have the words to describe something, it's impossible to imagine it. When I was struggling with my sexuality as a teenager, I at least knew that bisexuality existed. But I never knew it was possible to not be sexually attracted to anyone, so I just willed myself to try harder. I was at war with myself — I wanted to feel the desire I saw characters in movies and on TV experience, the way I thought I was supposed to, but my body just didn't. Dating was a minefield of fending off the sloppy bedroom invitation of a frat boy who I thought was 'very interested' in hearing about acting camp, and getting halfway through 'Big Fish' before finding a friend's hands down my pants. When you don't understand the signs of sexual attraction because they don't exist for you, every interaction can feel dangerous. I found myself wondering, Will this end in a hug? Or will I find myself petrified in his bed, afraid to say no? Once, when I was in college, I was thrilled to finally get my crush back to my dorm room after a party. 'My roommate's gone,' I said flirtatiously as I closed the heavy door behind us. 'Do you... want to sit down?' I asked, gesturing toward the only seating option: my lofted bed, 6 feet above us. 'Sure,' he said with a shrug. I smiled at him, then quickly tried to climb into the bunk bed as seductively as possible. He climbed up next to me, and we started kissing. Dreams do come true, I thought, buzzing with excitement over this kiss, which I'd anticipated for months. But before long, his hands reached for the bottom of my shirt. I froze, the familiar panic rising inside. Oh no. 'I... don't want to,' I said so softly I wondered if I had only thought it. He stopped and said, 'OK!' Relieved that he didn't seem upset, I smiled at him, then leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back. 'Wait,' he said. 'I'm confused. I thought you said you wanted to stop?' Now I was confused. What did he think this was about? I invited him back here so we could kiss and maybe cuddle for a little bit ― that's it. Did there have to be more? Once again, I had misunderstood the unspoken signals, and I sat watching him put on his shoes to leave as he tried to hide his disappointment. Years later, my husband and I met. We had a whirlwind romance. He was confident and funny and, importantly, very cool about me wanting to wait to have sex. Of course, just like in my serious relationships before him, there was always the looming tension and the quiet unease permeating the bedroom for me. I didn't get why people wanted it, and I found myself often on edge at night, the expectation hanging over me as I begged myself to just be 'normal' and feel the urge like everyone else apparently did. Related: It had always been challenging for my allosexual partners to not feel desired by me, and I didn't understand why I couldn't give them what they needed. Instead, I tried other ways to show my husband affection: I hid notes in his suitcase when he traveled and left notes on the table when I stayed out late. I drew pictures of inside jokes and wrote love letters because that was something I could wholeheartedly give, something that wasn't wrapped up in complicated feelings. I loved my husband, and I wanted to be near him and go on dates and cook together. (OK, I mostly wanted him to cook for me, but still.) Why couldn't that be enough? At the same time, I knew being sexual was important to our relationship, so I wanted so badly to try. Since everyone else in the world seemed to be into sex, I figured it was me who just needed to get over my personal hang-ups. I became a bedroom detective, constantly trying to unearth the root of the problem. Maybe my unease comes from the bad relationship I had while studying abroad, so what I need is to not be pressured, I reasoned with myself. And then a week later I'd tell myself, No, it comes from my sheltered youth, and I need some amount of initiation, but I can't feel tricked. But no matter how many perfectly outlined scenarios I came up with, nothing alleviated my anxiety about sex. Finally, that afternoon in my therapist's office gave me the answer I had been looking for. While the revelation was a huge relief for me, I was nervous to tell my husband. Would this be a dealbreaker? There was no roadmap available to me for how we would move forward with this new knowledge. I didn't know much about asexuality, and I had no idea if an allosexual person would want to be with someone like me. When I sat down and explained everything I had learned to him, it was actually a relief for both of us. I could finally be at peace with the fact that I experienced attraction differently than my husband (no more trying to force myself to be 'normal'), and he knew now that it wasn't that I didn't desire him. In the end, recognizing that I was ace helped remove a lot of the unease for me, because I wasn't fighting against my body anymore. I was so grateful to him for listening patiently and supporting me as we learned more about asexuality together. Was it always easy to figure out? Of course not. But now we navigate sexuality in our relationship in our own way, just like every couple does. Coming out to others as asexual has proved complicated, especially because there's so much ignorance and misunderstanding about asexuality in our culture. Recently, on a Netflix reality show, I heard a contestant say, 'I'm a human ― I want to get physical.' The implication was that anyone who wouldn't want to 'get physical' is somehow inhuman. Late-night talk show hosts use the term 'asexual' synonymously with 'undesirable.' Commenters on ace articles and social media posts fling hurtful assumptions at us like, 'What a waste!' 'Why are you dressing like that if you don't want to have sex?' 'So you don't feel sexual attraction... are you attracted to plants?' 'Are you a sociopath?' 'It's because you haven't met the right person' and 'You just need to get laid!' 'How tragic!' Constantly having to face so much stigma and misinformation is challenging and can cause aces to doubt ourselves and what we feel. It can also keep us in the closet, either because we fear what will happen if we come out or simply because it's exhausting to have to defend our identity and repeatedly educate others about our lives. There are many reasons to be sad about asexuality, but none of them have anything to do with asexuals themselves and have everything to do with society. Consider the young ace woman who is forced into marriage despite being sex-repulsed, or an ace man who goes to the doctor for advice only to be told he's dealing with a disorder and then subjected to conversion therapy. Consider the asexual person who is challenged by their family or bullied by their friends because not experiencing sexual attraction is believed to be abnormal or dangerous. But asexuals aren't sad because we don't feel sexual attraction. We're not missing anything. A lot of our distress would be alleviated if society accepted that we're happy the way we are. What's more, not feeling sexual attraction doesn't mean we can't go on dates (with other aces or allosexuals) or find partners or get married or have kids. For those who aren't interested in more typical or traditional romantic relationships or family configurations, they might form queer platonic relationships or create family from friends. There are lots of different ways to find and experience love and companionship that don't involve or require sexual attraction. Related: Finding and experimenting with new approaches to relationships and family ― and concentrating on those bonds outside of the realm of sex ― can be valuable for everyone, not just asexuals, and there's a lot more allosexuals can learn from us. We spend a lot of time thinking through what we like and want and, maybe more important, what we don't want out of sex and relationships. Thinking about what you actually want versus what you feel you should want can lead to better communication and the ability to advocate for yourself. In relationships like mine, where an asexual is paired with an allosexual, compromise and articulating our needs is essential. Beyond that, aces are great at creating solid bonds with friends ― maybe because we're great at prioritizing other types of relationships that aren't sexual. On the day I discovered asexuality, I left my therapist's office elated because I finally understood a crucial part of who I was. It was a life-changing moment, especially because it explained so much about how I show up in my marriage. Having a name for my identity — and an orientation that I can claim — has given my husband and me a new way to understand our relationship. Being able to be my truest self with him has made us stronger than ever. I dream that someday asexuality will be widely accepted as a valid orientation instead of a slur, a punchline or, worse, a disorder in need of fixing. There are many of us out there in the world — and many who may not even know they're ace because of how little information exists about our identity. I hope that will change as more and more of us discover and embrace who we are, continue to share our truths, dismantle the many myths about asexuality, and let the world know how much we love ourselves and our lives just the way we are. Erin Wiesen (she/her) writes about parenting and sexuality, and is working on a memoir about coming out as asexual in her 30s. She is an advocate for asexual representation and lives on the East Coast with her family. This article originally appeared on HuffPost in May 2024. Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful: Also in Goodful: Solve the daily Crossword
The Independent
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Independent
Yasmin Benoit: ‘I had no idea people would be so angry about asexuality'
This is what asexual looks like" is the tagline that activist and model Yasmin Benoit has become known for. She's fast becoming the face of asexuality, which she says is often forgotten about. For years, people told her she didn't look like she was asexual. A strange remark that led her to start the social media hashtag, #ThisIsWhatAsexualLooksLike, highlighting a lack of understanding about those who experience little to no sexual attraction towards anyone, regardless of gender, as well as aromantic people, who experience little to no romantic connection. The hashtag's speedy popularity 'helped to diversify the conversation," she says. "I am what asexual looks like, too. It looks like anybody. It's not just one example". We're speaking just after her visit to Washington DC for a World Pride event, where she spoke at the Human Rights Conference about marginalised identities. Benoit paves the way for challenging stigma on asexuality – she's a multi award-winning campaigner, and was recently the first asexual person to win a British LGBT Award. She first gained a platform through modelling, turning to activism in 2017, but really pursued it after finishing her masters in 2019 when she had "more time to think". She felt "the algorithm kept showing me asexuality related things, and I just realised the conversation hadn't changed, developed or expanded at all since I was in secondary school," and there were still deep misconceptions. "People haven't really understood how asexuality fits into the conversation of sexual liberation or the queer movement," she explains. "People think if you're asexual you shouldn't wear nice clothes, wear make-up or do your hair. And I'm like, what am I supposed to wear, a potato sack, or something? I've had GB news do a whole segment on my appearance and how I don't look asexual enough. They said my lips were too pouty. I think that that in particular is rooted in sexism and racism, for sure," she adds. For Benoit, she didn't think the idea of dressing for herself (and not a male gaze, or for anodyne else) was a "revolutionary idea in this day and age", until she started getting all these "crazy reactions" to her appearance. The denial to accept Benoit as asexual meant she felt she "wasn't really able to take part in anything for a while because it just didn't seem like that was my place, which is ironic now, because now everyone knows me from being asexual". It took around six or seven years for people to finally start accepting her, which she pinpoints to happening after an interview with Metro. Though there's still a long way to go, and of course Benoit is at the helm. She says one of the worst issues she's faced was hearing the likening of asexual people to incels (involuntarily celibate people) on American comedian Trevor Noah 's podcast, What Now?. 'It was very concerning that no one registered that it's really a different thing. It shows the absolute gap in knowledge. Incels experience sexual attraction to the point where it's frustrating to them that they're not getting it. It's literally the fundamental opposite to asexual," she explains. With such worrying misconceptions, Benoit's work is more important than ever. A landmark moment of her career, so far, is her work as a research fellow at King's College London's Policy Institute, where she worked on an important study focusing on public perception of asexuality. The research, published earlier this year, found that one in four people believe asexuality is a mental health problem and can be cured by therapy. Benoit has been petitioning to have asexual people included in the conversion therapy ban too. There's still no definitive date on when the long-awaited ban will happen. 'First, it was going to be in the first quarter of this year,' she says. 'Then it was definitely June, but now it's June. So now I'm thinking, is it late this year? Is it next year? Who knows at this point'. Aside from her big social media presence and research work, in 2021 Benoit also co-created the annual International Asexuality Day (IAD), celebrated on 6 April, which raises awareness and advocates for the asexual community. It was also designed to broaden the asexual conversation further than just the western world, where it had seemed to be dominated. 'I wanted to coordinate activists in all different parts of the world, so we could all have a day that could leverage, and shine the light on different types of experiences. Benoit has been to countries such as the Czech Republic, Serbia and Lithuania to do this too. Though for some corners of the internet, it's become something else to be annoyed about. 'I had no idea that people would be so angry about asexuality,' which is known as acephobia (the fear, dislike, or prejudice directed towards asexual people). 'It's kind of ironic, because out of all of the provocative things you can do, not experiencing sexual attraction should it really be one of them?' Earlier this year, one of those people was author JK Rowling who re-posted an IAD celebration post with a belittling comment about people 'who [want] complete strangers to know they don't fancy a shag.' As well as acephobia, Benoit has noticed a wider problem that affects the whole of the LGBT+ community too. She thinks 2019 was the last good year for big brands working with LGBT+ people. 'There's definitely been a shift. When you look at lots of big brands' last big Pride campaign, it's always 2019'. She thinks 2025 is the worst year yet for work and says it's tied to what's happening in America with Trump's rollback of DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) – the most powerful person to be annoyed about inclusivity. 'Everyone I've spoken to is saying the same thing, 'the brands have pulled out', 'Pride's losing sponsors'. As soon as Donald Trump said, 'screw DEI', that was it,' she says.
