“I guess I always thought it was something that would get better, that one day you would want to do it again…”
“I think for a while I did too. That was before I realised that all the trauma didn’t stop me from wanting to have sex, it stopped me from being able to go along with sex to make someone else happy…
I can give you everything you’re asking me for, but I can’t give you sex. At least, I’ll never be able to give it to you in the way you want me to.”
…
If you’ve been in a long term relationship you can probably relate to the kind of jarring conversation I’m referencing. You know, the one where you realise you‘ve been thinking you’re on the same page but then you realise you haven’t even been reading the same book…
Coming out as Asexual to my husband of eight years feels like a betrayal. I could see clearly the dismay that lingered behind his eyes as he tried to process exactly what I was saying.
Sex has never been, and will never be something I have a desire for.
I feel like a liar, even though I never did it with any intention or malice. But at the same time, I feel like the signs that the way I view sex deviated from ‘normal’ have always been there, and there has been an element of denial from both my husband and me.
I could feel the question that was sitting on the tip of his tongue—Couldn’t you have figured this out sooner? If only by enough years that we didn’t have a child to consider?
The decision would be a straight forward one for both of us then. He would walk away, and I wouldn’t try to stop him. I know this because I know that a few years ago when we were on the cusp of a separation, if I had’ve known what Asexuality was and could’ve given it the same clarity I can now, he would’ve made the decision then.
I wouldn’t begrudge or blame him.
It’s difficult to understand, I suspect, if you’re an allosexual person because I’m finding it hard enough and I’m the one living it. If I’d cheated, or even come out as gay or bi, I think that would have been easier to digest for him. It would have made some semblance of sense—She doesn’t want me because she wants somebody else.
But that’s not even close to the why of it. I love my husband and I love our life together, I have things I need to work through such as my suspicions I’m on the Autism Spectrum and other mental health issues—all things I suspect will improve with therapy and/or medication.
My sexual orientation isn’t in that category. It’s not a choice, and it’s not a disorder or illness.
“So, you’re telling me that if you were with someone else you still would be content not having sex?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because all the times I’ve ever been alone in my life I’ve never sought it out. I haven’t had casual sex and I don’t masturbate. I’ve had sex in relationships because that’s what people in relationships do.”
I think a major part of it isn’t even the lack of sex, because there may come a time when I want to participate in that again. It hasn’t always felt bad, on occasion it’s been very pleasurable.
I may even have a tendency toward moving into the category of demisexual in the early days of a new connection. The excitement and romance has brought about feelings of genuine desire in the past. Although, I’ve still never been crazy about the act itself.
The problem is that when there is no desire, you can’t make someone feel desired.
It’s not just about the carnal act of getting down and dirty—for him, me not wanting to have sex makes him feel undesirable. It doesn’t matter that it applies universally, everyone else in the world isn’t my husband. He admitted as much, that even when we used to have sex more frequently, he never felt particularly wanted and always got the feeling I was just doing it as relationship chore.
The problem is, we both agree that we love every other aspect of our relationship and life together. The key difference is—the fact that we’re not having sex doesn’t bother me, but is a major problem for him and you can only carry that kind of discontent for so long before it starts to impact how you feel about other things.
He doesn’t want to leave, and I don’t want him to. But he knows now as well as I do that this isn’t going away. We’ve agreed on couples and individual therapy, but I’ve told him he needs to be prepared for either outcome.
For us both to be truly happy, there may be no other choice than to walk away.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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