Being asexual means living in a world often driven by something I don’t fully understand. Sometimes, it feels like I’m watching from the sidelines, seeing people experience happiness, heartbreak, and more in ways that don’t quite resonate with me. When I first realized I was asexual, it was a relief to finally have a word for what I was feeling. But it also highlighted how different my experience of relationships was from the way people around me—or the movies and books I loved—said I “should” feel. Finding this label was freeing, yet it also underscored the feeling of not quite fitting in, making me feel like an outsider.

Growing up, I thought I’d eventually feel what everyone else described—crushes that make your heart race or an attraction that inexplicably pulls you toward someone. I waited for it to happen through middle school, high school, and beyond, but it never did. I loved people deeply, not because I wanted physical closeness, but because I wanted to understand them, enjoy their quirks, and just be there. I tried to fit my feelings into what was “expected,” like I was missing the main plot and was a side character in a rom-com. Trying to fit into a story that didn’t match who I was felt exhausting. I wondered if there was something wrong with me or if I’d eventually “catch up” to everyone else. Over time, I realized that maybe my version of love and attraction was different—and that was okay.

Accepting that I was asexual meant recognizing that my way of feeling intimacy, love, and closeness was just as real as anyone else’s. And importantly, this doesn’t mean I’m downplaying romantic or passionate love. All the things I value in relationships—like understanding, loyalty, and true connection—are also meaningful for people who feel romantic and sexual attraction. This is simply my experience, one of many, and I truly respect the beauty in every kind of love.

Learning I was asexual also meant figuring out how to explain it to others, especially since many people don’t fully know what it means. Sometimes people would say, “You just haven’t met the right person yet,” or “Maybe you’re just afraid of being close to someone.” Even though they meant well, those words sometimes made me feel like I was incomplete, like I was missing a piece of what it means to be human. There were times I tried to make myself feel something I didn’t. I dated people, thinking maybe if I found “the right person,” I’d feel what others described. But each time it didn’t happen, I felt even more out of place, like I was trying to be part of a story that wasn’t mine.

Now I know I’m not broken. My asexuality isn’t something missing—it’s a part of who I am. It shapes how I see the world, how I build relationships, and how I value emotional bonds over physical attraction. For me, love isn’t about passion; it’s about being there for someone, even in the hard times, celebrating their small victories, and feeling safe with someone who understands me without needing me to change. This doesn’t mean my love is better than romantic or passionate love—it’s just different, but it’s still real and important.

I’ve also found friends who understand this—people who know that closeness doesn’t always mean physical touch or romance. Some of my favorite memories are just sitting with friends, talking late into the night, or even sharing moments of silence. Being with people who get me has helped me see that my way of loving is just as valuable as anyone else’s. Finding others who understand asexuality has given me a sense of belonging, showing me that there’s no “right” way to experience love and connection.

I had to redefine intimacy for myself. It’s in long conversations, shared laughter, and quiet moments when no words are needed. It’s in small acts of kindness that show someone you care. For me, intimacy isn’t about physical closeness—it’s about connecting deeply with someone. It’s about being seen and understood. I’ve learned that this kind of intimacy is just as meaningful and lasting as any other kind. I know now that I can love deeply, even if I don’t feel sexual attraction. I can be loyal, caring, and committed without fitting into what people think love should look like.

Writing this is both a celebration and a reminder—to myself and others—that there are many ways to feel love. My story isn’t meant to take anything away from romantic or passionate love. All the qualities I value—understanding, loyalty, and kindness—are just as true for people who feel romantic love. This is simply my experience, and it shows that there isn’t one “correct” way to feel connected or to show affection. My journey has taught me to be proud of who I am and to know that I don’t need to fit into anyone else’s expectations to be whole.

I’m still a romantic at heart. I hope to find a special connection with someone someday. I want to be someone’s person—their first choice, the one they think of first when making decisions or plans. I’d love to be with someone who would go out of their way just to make me smile. I long for the closeness and affection of a romantic relationship, but without the physical side sneaking in. Will I find it? I don’t know. But I do know that I’m whole as I am. Being asexual doesn’t mean I’m missing out on life—it means I get to live it on my own terms. I can create my own version of love, happiness, and connection. And in a world that often tries to put us into boxes, that’s something powerful.

For anyone who doesn’t understand asexuality, I hope my story explains what it means for me. Being asexual isn’t about rejecting love or connection—it’s just a different way of loving. It’s still about valuing closeness, authenticity, and being there for someone. And for anyone who might feel like they don’t fit in, I want you to know you’re not alone. There’s a place for you, and your experience matters as much as anyone else’s.

When I face misunderstanding or feel pressured to fit in, I remind myself of the power of being true to who I am. Being asexual has shown me that connection goes beyond the physical. It has taught me to value emotional closeness and to understand that love isn’t about meeting other people’s expectations. It’s about finding happiness in relationships that feel right, in whatever way they come, and knowing that we all deserve to be seen, understood, and loved for who we are.

So I keep moving through the world, guided by my own sense of love and connection, not by what others think I should feel. My asexuality has helped me see the beauty in shared smiles, comforting words, and knowing that someone cares. It has shown me that even if my path looks different, it’s just as beautiful. It has helped me feel pride in who I am and celebrate how I experience life, reminding me that love, in all its forms, is about kindness, connection, and simply being there for each other. And that, to me, is more than enough.

About the Author: 

Hi! I’m memyselfnchester, author of Love in the Midst of Asexuality and Magic, Inc. here on Tapas. My entry in this collection, Enough As I Am, shares my personal experience as an asexual person trying to find my way in a world that often views love and connection differently. I speak only for myself—each of us has our own unique story to tell.

This collection is a passion project I envisioned alongside my fellow creators to increase awareness and understanding of asexuality. Through a range of personal stories, art, and essays, we hope to illuminate the broad spectrum of asexual experiences, challenge misconceptions, and provide representation for those who often feel unseen or misunderstood.

Thank you for taking the time to read, connect, and explore these diverse perspectives with us!