Is This Out of My Control?

A few months ago I took a survey on AVEN (Asexuality Visibility and Education Network). The questions were from a student looking for some data for an essay they were writing. This isn’t unusual on AVEN. Many people — students and journalists alike — use the forums on the website to get feedback from those who identify as ace. 

I’ve taken a few of these posted surveys. Whatever they’re for, I’m happy to offer my voice. Surveys and studies are necessary to raise awareness about asexuality. Professor Anthony Bogaert comments similarly in his book, Understanding Asexuality. He writes,

“Volunteer bias is a potential problem in all human studies, but it has been argued to be especially problematic in studies of sexuality, which, as mentioned previously, seem prone to over-sample sexually liberal people. If so, the rate of asexuality may be higher than reported in sexual surveys, because people with less liberal sexual attitudes/behaviors often decline to participate in such surveys.”

One question in this student’s survey really stuck with me. It asked, “If you had the choice to not be asexual, would you?”

The question is as loaded as asking parents to choose their favorite child. It’s the red pill, blue pill option from The Matrix. It’s asking if the right Twix or left Twix is better when it’s the same cookie.

This question is posed to a lot of people in the LGBTQIA+ community. Would we change our sexual orientation if we could? The question I like to ask back is, “Why does my orientation need to change? Why does it matter?”

If choosing the type of people we’re attracted to was as simple as choosing between Pepsi or Coke, don’t you think people would choose the option that resulted in less bigotry?

I’m not ashamed to be asexual. And AVEN has shown me there are many, many people out there like me. When you find a community of like-minded people, it always gives you a renewed sense of belonging. And the beautiful thing is all of our stories, though they lead to the same ending of identifying as asexual, are different.

The term “asexual” was once so concealed that many of us didn’t stumble upon it until we were adults. I didn’t fully grasp the meaning until my thirties, which is when I came out. Younger aces who had access to AVEN early in their questioning also had access to blogs and Tumblr where most pre-internet asexuals started to tell their stories.

The idea of this “would you change if you could” reminds me of the 2006 film, Stranger Than Fiction. Will Ferrell plays Harold Crick, an IRS auditor who begins to hear a woman narrating his life. He’s the only one who can hear her and things get more twisted when he hears her say, “Little did he know that this simple, seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.”

Harold eventually learns that the woman narrating his life is bestselling author, Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson). Harold is the lead character in her latest book and she’s famous for killing off her main characters. With the help of a literature professor (Dustin Hoffman), Harold searches for Karen before she writes his death. She hasn’t yet because she’s dealing with writer’s block and can’t quite figure out the best way to kill him.

It’s a movie about a man who does everything possible to change his fate. Even the literature professor — after reading the completed manuscript — tells Harold the story won’t work unless he dies. Can you imagine being told your life is going to be snatched away and it’s in the hands of someone else?

But what screenwriter Zach Helm and director Marc Forster do so well is connect you to Harold’s journey. The closer he gets to his fate, the more he loosens up. He falls in love with the baker he’s auditing (Maggie Gyllenhaal). The more he fights to change his fate, the more he appreciates life. When Harold reads the book, he accepts his fate after seeing how his death does in fact make the book her masterpiece.

It shouldn’t matter what a person’s race, gender, or orientation is. We bond with people on a deeper level than what’s on the surface. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. You could be passing up the best friend you’ll ever have but since you were raised in a family that believes homosexuality is a sin, you ignore that person instead.

Acceptance is taught and it’s very culturally linked. 

The long-standing persecution of LGBTQIA+ people is always hovering at the back of our minds. When I began identifying as asexual, though I felt relief at having found a part of myself concealed for years, I also felt terrified. Terrified because I had to tell people. 

How would my parents handle the idea that I may never marry? May never find a partner? May end up alone? How would my friends handle the fact that I’m still a virgin and don’t foresee me having sex anytime soon and being okay with it?

Scenarios run through your head. Ninety percent of them are worse-case because you read a lot of conflicting coming out stories. Some positive. Others not so much. 

The idea of not being able to tell people stems from the awful history of how people who are different are treated. People think being asexual is the lesser of all evils in the LGBTQIA+ community. Asexuals don’t have nearly as much at stake as gay, lesbian, or trans people do.

Bogaret addresses this in his book when he writes,

“After all, no one cares that you’re not having sex, and no one will put you in jail for not having sex.” 

But telling someone you’re asexual opens up a slew of skeptical comments like, “Oh, you haven’t met the right person yet.” Or “You need to have sex once. You’ll love it.” My personal favorite is, “Are you saving yourself for marriage?”

Celibacy is a choice. Asexuality is not.

As asexuals, we’re constantly fighting to validate our orientation.

I was born ace. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide I’m not going to be sexually attracted to people from now on. Having sex won’t change the way I view people on a sexual level. Meeting the right person isn’t going to wake up my sexual dormant side. 

Like Harold, I’ve accepted my fate. 

Stranger Than Fiction concludes with the author rewriting the ending. Rather than kill Harold, he is severely injured after saving a little boy who falls in front of a bus. Harold was originally meant to die after getting hit, but the author cannot bring herself to do it. She says, “It’s a book about a man who doesn’t know he’s about to die and then dies. But if the man does know he’s going to die and dies anyway, dies willingly, knowing he could stop it, then isn’t that the type of man you want to keep alive.” 

Let’s bounce back to the question posed in the survey on AVEN. If I had the choice to not be asexual, would I? I can confidently say no. Being asexual is who I am. And I love myself. All of me.

People put too much pressure on sexual orientation. Sexual orientation is a minor part of your identity. And as far as identity goes, we’re constantly searching for it. Mine changes all the time. The one constant is my asexuality. And I wouldn’t give it up, even if given the choice.