Dear sex,
When I was a child, my parents openly explained human reproduction to me. I wasn’t scared of you then. You brought me a healthy baby brother that I hated for a while, but then learned to tolerate.
When I was a teenager, I grew into myself a bit more and realized that I wanted children of my own one day—a big family with lots of love. The scene of lots of laughter and sticky fingers came to mind so easily. I started welcoming you then, but I decided I would save you for the man I love and trust, and not just one I had a small crush on.
It was when I reached my last year of high school and my first year of college that I met a boy I felt more comfortable with. We’d spend hours kissing, as teenagers often do, but I always lacked the courage to start. It always had to be him who made the first move, and although he touched me in ways meant for lovers only, I couldn’t do it in return. I’d always retaliate in panic and disgust. I tried to keep my feelings hidden, as I knew he felt self-conscious by my reactions, but it wasn’t his fault—it was yours.
I loved this man and felt a brief panic was not only normal, but worth enduring for the one you trust. After a long, serious conversation, I said I was ready to take our relationship physically all the way because I thought it’s what he wanted. I thought it was what I wanted. He broke up with me that night.
When I became more of an adult, I met my now husband. I repeated the same things to him. I can’t initiate. I tense up. I pull away, but it’s not his fault—it’s yours.
I ultimately fell in love with my husband because he treated me like a prize instead of something broken. If he felt I wasn’t ready, he’d pull away so I wouldn’t feel guilty and like it was my fault, even though it was actually yours.
He made me feel safe and loved. I decided he was worth everything. He was slow, gentle, and careful, but it hurt. Then, it hurt some more. I started breathing heavily, convincing myself this is what ecstasy is supposed to feel like—that I can do this for him. However, when we were both done, I couldn’t stop hyperventilating. I could feel the walls closing in, my vision darkening, and the vomit creeping up. What is wrong with me?
Believing I was broken, I went to a therapist. She introduced me to asexuality, and I found a community through Reddit, YouTube, and old friends. They helped inform me (and my husband) what it means to be on the ace spectrum. I wasn’t happy at first, though. I couldn’t explain how I felt; my dreams of a big family felt impossible, and I felt inadequate to make my husband happy. I felt like a terrible wife.
I eventually realized I couldn’t be intimate without experiencing a panic attack, and so I consulted a psychologist for coping strategies. I was certain I would never find intimacy enjoyable, but my psychologist told me, “You should enjoy it,” making me feel broken again. Everyone naturally enjoys you. Why not me?
I turned to drugs on my honeymoon because my husband strives for your presence, but they just made me feel sick and more anxious. Out of options, I hesitantly chose to accept that I just don’t like you. I ordered a pride flag, changed my Bitmoji shirt, and even got an ace of hearts tattoo.
Because of my new found merch, a friend of mine asked if I was ace. After sheepishly responding yes, she invited me to a roundtable event for Asexuals only. I finally found other people who think like I do. I am not alone. It is not my fault. It is yours.
I am more confident now that I am not broken. I am ok with being who I am. My husband loves me for who I am. I don’t need to fear you. Surrounding myself with love and support from my newfound family taught me I will not like you, and that’s ok—that a good cry is also healing—especially when your husband brings you a slushy, Twizzlers, and chips after.
Thank you for teaching me to be myself. I will not fear you because my husband, my friends, and my future kids all love me.
With love,
Julia
Style Score: 83%