Am I Ace?

Am I Ace?

Rather than asking yourself “Am I asexual?” Here are 24 questions you can sit with privately over several weeks to explore what attraction, desire, intimacy, sex, romance, and partnership mean to you.

There is a particular kind of question that can be surprisingly difficult to answer:

Am I asexual?

On the surface, it seems like it should have a straightforward answer. You can look up the definition of asexuality. You can read about the ace spectrum. You can learn words like graysexual, demisexual, aegosexual, romantic attraction, and sexual attraction.

And sometimes those definitions bring an immediate sense of recognition: Oh. That's me.

But sometimes they don't.

Sometimes you're left with more questions than you started with.

Maybe you have had sex and enjoyed it. Maybe you haven't. Maybe you have wanted sex sometimes but not others. Maybe you have had crushes, fantasies, relationships, or a libido that seems difficult to reconcile with the idea of asexuality. Maybe you know you don't experience sexuality in quite the same way other people seem to describe it, but you don't know what that difference means.

Or maybe you're simply tired of trying to figure out whether your experiences qualify for a particular label.

I write this from my experience as a therapist working with people who are questioning aspects of their identity and trying to find language that helps them make sense of their experiences and express something that feels more true to themselves.

Again and again, I see how much relief can come from finding words for something you've experienced for a long time but haven't quite known how to name. But I also see how easily the search for a label can become another source of pressure: Do I fit? Am I really this? Does this experience disqualify me? What if I change my mind?

Sometimes we're so focused on figuring out what we are that we don't have much opportunity to explore what we actually experience.

My hope isn't to help you determine whether you "qualify" as asexual, but to offer some questions that might help you understand your own experience with a little more curiosity and a little less judgment.

That's particularly true when it comes to sexuality. We inherit so many assumptions about what attraction is supposed to feel like, what desire is supposed to look like, and what a "normal" relationship is supposed to contain. It can be difficult to distinguish our own wants from the expectations we've absorbed from partners, family, friends, media, dating culture, or the broader culture of compulsory sexuality.

So rather than starting with "Am I asexual?", I want to offer a different place to begin:

What is my actual relationship to attraction, desire, sex, intimacy, romance, and partnership?

The distinction matters because these things are often treated as though they are all part of one seamless experience. They're not.

You can find someone beautiful without wanting to have sex with them. You can want to kiss someone without wanting to sleep with them. You can have a libido without experiencing sexual attraction. You can enjoy sexual fantasies without wanting to enact them. You can want a committed partnership without wanting sex to be part of it. You can want to be desired without desiring someone sexually yourself.

And you can also be asexual and have some or all of these experiences.

Asexuality isn't a prescription for what someone does or doesn't do. It's generally understood in terms of sexual attraction—and people's experiences of attraction, desire, behavior, fantasy, and intimacy can be much more complicated than a single yes-or-no question suggests.

What if you stopped trying to prove it?

One of the things that can make questioning your sexuality so difficult is the feeling that you need to produce evidence.

I've had sex, so I can't be ace.

I've masturbated, so I can't be ace.

I've had crushes, so I can't be ace.

I have sexual fantasies, so I can't be ace.

I really like this particular person, so maybe I'm not ace after all.

But those questions can keep you trapped in a kind of courtroom drama about your own sexuality. You're constantly presenting evidence for and against a verdict that may not actually need to be reached.

Instead, try approaching your sexuality with curiosity rather than cross-examination.

You don't have to decide what you are before you're allowed to notice what you experience.

The following questions aren't a test, and they're not a diagnostic tool. There are no correct answers. You don't have to answer all of them, and you don't have to answer them quickly.

In fact, it may be more useful to return to them over several weeks—or longer—and notice whether your answers change depending on the context.

Write privately. Think while you're walking. Make notes in your phone. Talk with someone you trust if that feels useful. Or simply let the questions sit in the back of your mind.

The goal isn't to arrive at the "right" label.

The goal is to become more familiar with yourself.

Attraction

We often use the word attraction as though everyone knows exactly what it means. But attraction can take many forms, and the language we use for it can be surprisingly imprecise.

Consider:

• When I say someone is "hot," what do I actually mean?
• What do I want to happen when I find someone attractive?
• Have I ever looked at someone and wanted to have sex with them?
• Have I wanted to be wanted sexually without actually wanting sex with that person?
• Have I confused aesthetic attraction with sexual attraction?
• Have I confused romantic attraction with sexual attraction?
• When I've had crushes, what was I actually longing for?

It can be especially interesting to examine what happens after you notice that someone is attractive.

Do you want to look at them? Talk to them? Be close to them? Kiss them? Have sex with them? Have them notice you? Have them think you're beautiful? Be admired by them? Be chosen by them?

Those aren't necessarily the same desire.

Sometimes the phrase "I want them" is doing a lot of work. It might mean I want to know them. It might mean I want them to want me. It might mean I want to be like them. It might mean I want to touch them. And sometimes it means I want to have sex with them.

You may find it useful to get more specific.

Desire

Attraction and desire aren't necessarily identical, either.

You can experience sexual desire without directing it toward a particular person. You can experience attraction without wanting to act on it. You can want sex in some circumstances and not others.

And sometimes what looks like sexual desire turns out to be something else entirely.

Ask yourself:

• What kinds of sexual experiences do I genuinely want?
• Which ones do I tolerate because I think I'm supposed to want them?
• If nobody would ever know what I chose, would I want sex?
• If there were no possibility of rejection, judgment, or disappointing someone else, what would I choose?
• Do I want sex—or do I want intimacy, affection, validation, novelty, closeness, pleasure, or to feel desired?

That last question can be particularly useful.

There's nothing wrong with wanting validation. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel attractive or desirable. There's nothing wrong with wanting physical closeness, novelty, pleasure, affection, or intimacy.

But identifying what you're actually seeking can sometimes clarify experiences that have previously felt confusing.

You might discover that you really do want sex.

You might discover that you want some kinds of sexual experiences but not others.

You might discover that you mostly want the things surrounding sex.

Or you might discover that your desires don't fit neatly into any of those categories.

All of that is information.

Fantasy

Here's another place where things can get complicated.

What you imagine isn't necessarily what you want to do.

For some people, fantasy and real-life desire overlap considerably. For others, they don't.

So consider:

• What kinds of sexual fantasies do I have?
• Do I want to experience those things, or do I enjoy imagining them?
• Am I interested in sex in fiction but not particularly interested in having it myself?
• Is my relationship to fantasy different from my relationship to real-life sexual desire?

You might enjoy reading erotic fiction, watching sexual scenes in movies, imagining particular scenarios, or even fantasizing about yourself in sexual situations without actually wanting those situations to happen.

Fantasy doesn't have to be a blueprint.

A fantasy can be interesting precisely because it is imaginary. It can offer distance, control, novelty, or a particular emotional experience that doesn't translate directly into something you want in your everyday life.

So rather than asking, "Do I have sexual fantasies?"—which may not tell you very much—try asking:

What is the experience of fantasy actually giving me?

And then ask whether you want that experience in real life.

Relationships

Questions about asexuality often become questions about relationships.

If I'm ace, can I still fall in love?

Can I have a partner?

What would a relationship look like without sex?

There isn't one answer.

Asexual people can have romantic relationships, queerplatonic relationships, sexual relationships, partnerships, marriages, friendships, chosen families, or no romantic partnership at all. Some want sex. Some don't. Some enjoy particular sexual activities. Some are indifferent. Some are repulsed. Some experience sexual attraction occasionally or under particular circumstances.

Instead of beginning with what you think an ace relationship is supposed to look like, try imagining the relationship you would actually want.

Ask yourself:

• Do I want a partner?
• What do I imagine a satisfying partnership actually containing?
• If sex were removed entirely, would I still want a romantic relationship?
• If romance were removed, would I still want a life partner?
• How important are companionship, physical affection, emotional intimacy, shared life, commitment, domestic partnership, or family?
• What kinds of touch do I want?
• What kinds of touch do I not want?

You might discover that the relationship you want doesn't look much like the relationship you've been taught to expect.

Maybe what you want most is someone to share a home with.

Maybe it's emotional intimacy.

Maybe it's kissing and cuddling but not sex.

Maybe it's sex without romance.

Maybe it's romance without sex.

Maybe it's a deeply committed friendship or queerplatonic partnership.

Maybe you want several kinds of relationships that don't fit neatly into conventional categories.

Maybe you don't want a partner at all.

None of those answers tells you whether you're "doing relationships correctly."

They're simply clues about what makes a life feel meaningful to you.

And then there's the question underneath all the questions

There is one question I keep coming back to:

If I didn't have to prove anything about my sexuality to anyone, what would I choose?

Not what would make you seem normal.

Not what would make you seem queer enough.

Not what would make a partner happy.

Not what would prevent someone from thinking you're prudish.

Not what would prove you're really asexual.

Not what would prove you're not.

Not what you've been told you should want by movies, pornography, friends, family, religion, dating culture, or the broader culture of compulsory sexuality.

Just:

What do I want?

And perhaps an even gentler version:

What would I be curious to explore if I knew I was allowed to change my mind?

You don't need to choose a label immediately.

You don't need to choose one at all.

Labels can be incredibly useful. For some people, discovering the word asexual or ace is an enormous relief—a way of understanding experiences that previously seemed isolated or inexplicable. Other people find that a label doesn't quite fit, or that one fits for a while and then changes.

A label is supposed to help you describe yourself.

It isn't supposed to become another rule you have to follow.

If you find yourself somewhere on the ace spectrum, you don't have to earn the word by having the "right" history. You don't have to prove your asexuality through abstinence, lack of libido, lack of sexual experience, or discomfort with sex.

And if you ultimately decide that asexual isn't the word that fits you, the questions can still have been worthwhile.

Because perhaps the most valuable thing you can learn from questioning your sexuality isn't a label.

It's a better understanding of your own wants, boundaries, attractions, fantasies, relationships, and ways of experiencing intimacy.

And that knowledge belongs to you.

A few places to keep exploring

If these questions leave you wanting more context, there are resources that approach asexuality as more than a glossary of identity labels.

The Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN) has been a major community resource since 2001 and contains a large archive of discussions about asexuality and relationships. Its relationship resources address topics including ace/ace relationships, ace/sexual relationships, intimacy, sex, communication, and the many different ways people build relationships. The Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN)

For a broader exploration of what asexuality can reveal about the way we understand desire and sex, Angela Chen's Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex is an especially useful place to start. Chen's writing goes beyond simply defining asexuality and asks larger questions about desire, relationships, social expectations, and the assumptions we make about sex. There is also a roughly 10-minute conversation with Chen about the book on the LGBTQ&A podcast, which can be a good way to sample her perspective before picking up the book.

And if you're in the middle of questioning, perhaps you don't need to solve anything today.

You can simply keep asking.

What do I want?

What don't I want?

What feels good?

What feels obligatory?

What am I curious about?

What would I choose if nobody were watching?

Sometimes, that's where understanding begins.