Ace Dad Advice: How can I be sure it's not sexual attraction?

If you have questions or need advice about asexuality, sex and relationships, send ‘em to acedadadvice@gmail.com.

ML writes:

When I was 18, I stumbled across asexuality and my first thought was "sounds like me" which was reinforced when I discovered romantic orientations. However, I soon got caught on the distinctions between physiological arousal and sexual attraction. That was nine years ago. As a teenager, I could spend a lot of time thinking about someone I was interested in and sex just never figured into my thoughts. I never thought about whether or not I wanted it. I assumed I did. I've been close to identifying as ace at times, others I decided not to think about it, and others I decided probably not. It's not like I started thinking about sex more though.

As far as I can tell, I'd be happy having it for kids and never again. Otherwise, not really one of the things I crave in a relationship. I've always hesitated on using the label because I'm heteroromantic and so would feel bad taking a marginalized identity if it wasn't accurate. Well anyway, when does an erection equal attraction? Does an association with someone you're romantically interested in make it attraction even if not accompanied by any form of sexual thoughts, desires, or general need for release? I can say I don't have much of a sex drive, if any, which makes it hard to see if there's attraction. If attraction is a desire to have sex with a specific person, how can you know if you just don't crave sex? Granted I've never been in a relationship, so there's never been an opportunity. I think I'll like it, but also suspect it's overrated.

I know no one can tell me my sexuality, but I figured I'd ask some questions that would help me discern.

Hey ML,

There are a couple of things I want to tackle here.

First, let’s wrestle with your main question, “What makes it attraction?” I could launch into a full-on discussion of arousal versus libido versus attraction, which might be helpful. But I often find that, even with that breakdown, the doubts and uncertainties persist for a lot of people. So, instead, I want to give you something hopefully more liberating than an answer or an explanation.

I want to give you permission to stop worrying about it.

When I read your letter, I hear you being excruciatingly hard on yourself to meet some rigid, absolutist definition of asexuality in order to claim it. You’re not alone in this. A lot of folks do this. I think part of it comes from a fear of claiming something that doesn’t belong to you (and maybe being called out for it by those it does belong to) or it comes from a reticence to accept that this is really a thing you are, hoping for that loophole to give you a way out. In either case, it’s an extreme amount of pressure that no one should carry, particularly when you’re the one slinging it over your own shoulders.

Human sexuality is extraordinarily complicated. It abounds with variety and variation. It’s mysterious and often contradictory. The language and definitions we use to describe our experiences of human sexuality are mostly just approximations — they broadly describe what’s happening without ever really getting to the nitty gritty exactness of the individual’s sole experience. To get to that, we’d have to craft thousands and thousands of more words, and even then, it would probably not be enough.

So our understanding of sexual attraction — an attraction to a person or a kind of person that makes us want to have sex with them — is broad. But it’s what we have to work with. And you don’t have to contort your own experience to fit what you think that definition means or excludes. You don’t have to scratch off all the possible loopholes in order to rule this out in your life. You don’t have to meet ever possible hot take argument someone might throw at you on Twitter in order to talk about what you’re feeling and experiencing in your own terms.

Ultimately, YOU get to decide if it’s attraction or not. based on your understanding of the terms and your understanding of what’s going on inside your own body and mind. If you don’t think it’s attraction, then it’s not. If you think it is, then it is. No one else in the world lives inside you body and mind, so you get to determine the truth of what’s happening in it.

For me, this permission was really liberating. They’re just labels. They’re just words. And if a set of words helps you understand yourself better, then use them. If asexuality feels like way to describe what you know to be true, then you can use it without worrying about what any gatekeeper might say. They’re wrong. You aren’t.

And don’t forget: these words aren’t forever. You’ll change over time. Your experience may evolve. And as you grow and change, you can change the words you use to describe yourself. You aren’t tied to one answer, right now, forever. Humans don’t work that way. Go easier on yourself, and allow what you’re experiencing and feeling to be simply what is. Name it if you want to. Don’t if you don’t. But release the pressure on yourself to find some absolute answer. None exists. You only know what you know.

Also, I want to address the issue of being heteroromantic and not wanting to adopt the ace label because you’d be taking a marginalized identity. If you’re ace, you’re ace. It doesn’t matter if you’re heteroromantic. You’re ace. And that means you deserve space in the ace community. We can have conversations about how we navigate marginalized spaces when we occupy certain privileged identities, but one privileged identity doesn’t erase another marginalized one within us. So if asexuality makes sense for what you’re experiencing, who you’re into romantically should not stop you from embracing a language for understanding yourself.