I was no older than ten when I asked my mother a crucial question: “Why are all the songs on the radio about being in love?” The answer had a profound effect on me: “Because that’s what life is all about.” Even as a child, I took this answer very seriously because it left me with another question, one I was too afraid to learn the answer to: “Then is my life right now worth nothing?”
That question has stuck with me.
I am now a grown adult and I have never had my first romantic relationship, my first kiss, or my first crush. Granted, I know others who have not made much progress either, but the difference is I don’t feel the feelings needed to truly desire this progress. I have never wanted to kiss someone, be told I’m pretty, stare into someone’s eyes longingly, and I have certainly never wanted to engage in sexual activities. Call me a Christian daydream, but I have felt like I never truly belonged to this world because of it.
I didn’t want to be different. I wanted to be able to think some people are nice to look at, to find my soulmate and have a life together, to feel those butterflies everyone is so keen on bringing up, but I couldn’t. I allowed others – people I admired – to romantically compliment me, hold me, and kiss my head to force myself to enjoy it, but it was excruciating. Every attempt further developed my intense fear of dying alone — not because I was worried no one would love me, but because I thought I wouldn’t be able to love anyone back. While my southern peers were getting hitched and pregnant, I was still stuck with a child’s “boys are icky” mindset. I felt alone in this, like the only one in the world who didn’t have this desire for “what life is all about.” I felt defective.
It wasn’t until very, very recently that I realized this wasn’t true. With the somewhat-recent LGBTQ+ community expansion, there is a spectrum of different romantic and sexual preferences from strong desire to none at all. After a tip from a therapist, I found that I identify as aromantic and asexual, meaning I do not experience romantic or sexual attraction, even to those I have developed a strong emotional bond with. The only constant for defining aromantic asexuals is that they do not experience these feelings to some extent, but whether or not they wish they could varies. For me, I want to experience romantic connections, but I would be happy to pass my time on earth without seeing someone naked or having sex even once. It has taken me years to accept this or even learn more about this, and I can’t help but wonder if I would have accepted myself faster if I had seen more aromantic and asexual representation in media, like in the songs I heard on the radio.
I can’t help but wonder if I would have accepted myself faster if I had seen more aromantic and asexual representation in media, like in the songs I heard on the radio.
As someone who knows its importance, this representation is critical to the stories I tell. I do not want anyone to ever feel alone or defective for being different, so it is my mission to tell stories that show everyone, however different they may be. Whether LGBTQ+, a racial minority, an immigrant, or anything in between, no one should have to think their differences make their lives any less meaningful or any less worthy of being heard.
