It’s Pride Month! Let’s talk about the last letter in the LGBTQIA acronym: Asexuals. “An asexual person does not experience sexual attraction – they are not drawn to people sexually and do not desire to act upon attraction to others in a sexual way.” That definition is from the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), which has a nifty FAQ about asexuality if you’re curious to learn more. 

I’m going to tell my story. Please be kind if you choose to comment. This post is just an explainer about one asexual person and my feelings, my experiences, and what I wish people understood about what it’s like to be asexual in a world where everyone (not just the Church) assumes you have to be paired up in order to be happy.

Growing Up 

I was born in the covenant to two pioneer descendants in the shadow of the everlasting hills (meaning I was born in Utah to parents who were married in the temple). I am a natural rule follower and loved Mary Ellen Edmunds’ statement: “Don’t you just love the commandments? Don’t you wish you had more of them?” I served a mission, graduated from BYU, married in the temple, and spent ten years as a stay-at-home-mom. I loved reading the scriptures and rarely missed a day.

Also, I was so incredibly virtuous and chaste that I was not even tempted to break the law of chastity! I was so pure and innocent that I did not know how sex actually worked until my mother gave me “the talk” a year after I started menstruating. Dirty jokes and double entendres usually went right over my head. (That level of ignorance was a result of the Mormon cocoon that I was raised in; it has nothing to do with being asexual. The cocoon just made it impossible for me to realize that I was different.)

I had some sexual feelings, though. In my teens and twenties, I would develop all-encompassing crushes. I usually crushed on boys, but there were several girls too. I typically had sexual feelings and sexual fantasies while having a crush, but I could make the crush go away by actually talking to the subject of my crush (when he wasn’t a movie star, I mean). For example, at a high school dance, I worked up the courage to ask my crush for a slow dance. By the end of the dance, the crush was gone. I did not like being physically close to people.

And Then I Got Married

No, I was not sexually attracted to the man I married. By this time in my life (early 30s), I was aware that there was something a bit off about me, but it was nothing that faith couldn’t fix. I’d faithfully taken callings I didn’t want and learned to love them. Surely sex would work the same way.

It did not.

The purity culture that surrounded me growing up caused me a lot of angst and guilt during my marriage. Purity culture teaches total abstinence before marriage and total fidelity after marriage. There is a strong strain of making the women responsible for men’s chastity as well, such as telling women they must dress modestly so as not to tempt men. Then, if both of you can make it to your wedding day as virgins, you will have a fulfilling and wonderful sex life as a reward. 

I really expected that. The corollary to staying virginal until marriage is that after marriage, the wife is responsible for meeting all of her husband’s sexual needs. The Church doesn’t teach consent. It teaches chastity. After I got married, I didn’t feel like I had a right to say no to sex. In fact, I did my best to act like I enjoyed sex and initiated sex. I was sure that if I had a good attitude, combined with all the praying I was doing, I would eventually like sex. 

I did not.

I read books. I went to therapists. I fasted. I prayed. I went to the temple. I did everything, except I never told my husband about my feelings (or the lack thereof). I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him feel inadequate. And besides, I didn’t have words. You can’t talk about something that you don’t even know is a thing to talk about. One relationship book I read scolded wives for withholding sex because of marital problems. There was no acknowledgement that maybe a wife didn’t want to have sex at all; no, the implication was that she was withholding sex in order to manipulate or punish her husband. Feeling guilty that I was withholding sex, I initiated sex more often. My husband never pressured me. I pressured myself, and I did my best to never let him know what I wasn’t feeling. 

Divorced

I filed for divorce just a few years into the marriage. In some stifled and wordless part of my brain, I knew a large part of the reason was because I never wanted to have sex again. We had lots of problems, though, and I relied on those other reasons to explain why I divorced him.

Discovering Asexuality

I did not hear the word “asexual” until several years after my divorce, when I was in my early 40s. I read an article about the asexual character in the animated show Bojack Horseman. Huh, weird, I thought. I can’t be asexual, though, because of that endless string of crushes (including sexual fantasies) when I was younger. It had been years since I’d had a crush. Once I went to therapy, I realized that my crushes weren’t what most people call crushes. I would form an imaginary attachment to someone cool and imagine that if they liked me, maybe I would be worth something. After recovering from my self-esteem issues, I stopped latching onto people in hopes that they would validate my existence. 

After yet another bad experience on a dating app, I started reading a bit more about asexuality and realized that sexual fantasies could be part of asexuality. There is no test to determine if someone is asexual, just like there is no test you have to pass to say you’re bisexual, or lesbian, gay or trans. Asexuality is like any other identity – it’s just a word that people use to help figure themselves out, then communicate that part of themselves to others.

I was horrified. I spiraled into self-hatred. I wrote the sentence, “I am asexual” in my journal, and then ripped out the page and tore it up into tiny pieces. I contemplated the end of my hopes to make it to the highest levels of the celestial kingdom, and wept, wailed and gnashed my teeth at the idea of being confined to a ministering angel role for eternity.

Acceptance

During the pandemic, I got desperate for more social connection and joined Tumblr, one of the lesser-known social media sites. Tumblr is full of queer people, including asexuals, and I started reading thoughts written by asexuals who were not ashamed or scared to say they didn’t experience sexual attraction and didn’t want to have sex. I started to wonder what would happen if I just …. accepted that this is the way I am and I don’t have to hope for change, either in this life or the next.

An odd thing happened once I found a community who could normalize my thoughts and feelings. I got angry. I got angry at the Church for being so adamant that sex is the Sacred Procreative Process and is So Epic and Wonderful that having sex is one of the most central rewards of the celestial kingdom. I got angry that the Church’s teachings made me feel inadequate and broken and less than I should be. 

Another thing that happened once I accepted that I’m asexual is that I started leaning into who I really was. When you’re pining away in hopes of changing a fundamental part of your nature, you’re not finding out who you really are and what you enjoy. I discovered that I’m an artist. I found out that I love flower gardening. I stopped hoping my sons would grow up to meet all my expectations and I abandoned those expectations. My relationships with them are better. My friendships deepened as I became more accepting of everyone else. I’m a better listener. I wake up happy.

Aromantic

Besides being asexual, I’m also aromantic. Some asexuals can fall into romantic love with someone. I wanted to be a romantic; I wanted to fall in love. Asexuals still have the same emotional needs for closeness, emotional intimacy, loving support and acceptance that everyone else has. I really struggled with the idea that, if I couldn’t offer someone sex, no one would want any other part of me either. I wanted to at least be romantic.

But then I noticed a pattern about myself and my sporadic attempts to date. I only signed up on dating apps when I was afraid of being elderly and alone. Who will drive me to the doctor? Who will help me navigate the healthcare system? Who will take care of me after a surgery? The only time I want to be in a relationship is when I’m scared of my golden years. When I’m happy and confident, I have zero interest in being in a relationship.

Sigh.

I had a mini-spiral about being aromantic too, but with the Tumblr community to normalize and talk things through, I didn’t plunge into despair. I was able to accept that I’m not hard-wired to fall in love.

Friends are everything to me. I have a strong and plentiful network of friends. I sometimes feel lonely, but never enough to seek out a relationship. 

I feel best when I focus on my art, my hobbies, my career, my friends and my children. I avoid stuff that’s obsessed with romantic relationships. That includes Church, but it also includes romance novels, lots of movies and shows, and people/ideas that insist that heteronormativity is the best thing for everyone in society. “Heteronormativity” is the term for the assumption that everyone should want to be heterosexual, and everyone should want to live in a heterosexual relationship. 

I don’t have any issues with the law of chastity. If I attended Church, probably I would be welcomed as one of the “good” queers who isn’t choosing to live a gay lifestyle. I don’t attend for several reasons:

  1. I don’t want to be pitied, or be around people who assume I’ll be fixed in the afterlife.
  2. Once I accepted that I don’t want the lifestyle that we’re promised in the Celestial Kingdom, I lost interest in doing the things the Church tells me I have to do to get there. 

Being aromantic and asexual means I need a culture and society that allows women to be fully independent from men. Church culture is all about pairing up, and many of the MAGA Republicans there are fine with rolling back women’s rights. That’s a terrible situation for someone like me. Marriage should not be mandatory. If family really is about joy and fulfillment, then it should be voluntary. That means there must be options to marriage, or it isn’t really a choice.


Questions:

  • Did you know anything about asexuality before this post?
  • Do you recognize aspects of yourself or a loved one in any of these experiences?
  • Do you think more thorough sexual education would help people figure out their sexual orientation sooner?
  • Can you think of fictional characters whose behavior matches the descriptions of asexuality and/or aromanticism? Do they get happy endings?