Stigma and misinformation surround the topic of asexuality, making a mental health professional’s awareness about it that much more important.
“What is asexuality?”, “Does it exist?”, these are some of the questions I’m often asked in my work as a therapist. In attempting to answer, I first talk about asexuality as something that’s outside the binary of experiencing or not experiencing sexual desire.
The asexual identity spectrum consists of orientations that converge and diverge on and from sexual and romantic attraction. These include grey-asexual, grey-romantic, demi-sexual, demi-romantic, anti-sexual, auto-sexual, aromantic, bi-romantic, among others. As of today, this spectrum is more popularly known as the aromantic-asexual spectrum (aro-ace spectrum, for short) to adequately represent its diversity.
Although millions of people across the globe identify within the spectrum of asexuality and aromanticism, our understanding of it as a society is either elementary in nature or entirely absent. The history of asexuality, its obscurity, sheds light on this invisibilization. There are only a handful of sources that trace its history.
The earliest accounts in western literature date back to 19th-century pamphlets, and accounts by British suffragists. The turn of the century brought with it more explicit accounts of asexuality. Until the 20th century, ‘asexuality’ was never defined or used definitively as a term, it first began to be used publicly as a term by queer activists, sexologists, feminists, and researchers. Despite this, those who were questioning sexual/romantic attraction at that time didn’t have the means or the community to discover and accept themselves. It wasn’t until the advent of the internet that the asexuality movement began.
The mainstream discourse of asexuality has existed in discourse surrounding celibacy. Within mythological stories, accounts of asexuality are shrouded by narratives of celibacy—where the celibate man and woman are glorified as being the embodiment of religiousness and patriotism. Bhisma from the Mahabharata for example is seen as a pious man of his word for keeping to his vow of celibacy, while his sexuality remains unquestioned and invisible to most consumers of the epic.
Online communities changed our accessibility to the conversation surrounding asexuality, and what started in the comments sections of articles on it has now turned into a rich pool of online community spaces—like Aven (Asexuality visibility and Educational Network), HHA (Haven for the Human Amoeba), and Official Nonlibidoism Society to name a few. Access to community spaces have led to a change in how we perceive and understand asexuality, as well as becoming aware of new identities within a growing aro-ace spectrum.
In relation to the fact that the asexuality movement is a large one, awareness in India about asexuality is still very limited. That sex is still a taboo topic in India—comprehensive sexual education, for instance, is absent in schools—means that conversations surrounding sexuality are hushed, leaving little room for visibility in the public domain.
The internet has paved the way for aro-ace individuals in India to be a part of the growing asexuality movement. But no matter which part of the world you live in, societal discrimination surrounding asexuality is common. The sexual revolution reflects this, where the aro-ace perspective has been sidelined. The focus on the freedom from shame and censure when it comes to sexuality has meant that the freedom to reject it has not featured in the dominant narrative.
The mental health community is partly to blame for this discrimination and prejudice. The ICD (International Classification of Diseases) still considers asexuality as a mental disorder. The DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) recently made changes allowing ‘self identifying asexuals’ to be exempted from the diagnosis of sexual dysfunction disorders, but many mental health professionals are still quick to dismiss ace identities. Mental health professionals often use this as a reason to delegitimize asexuality and try to ‘fix’ or ‘cure’ it. People also perceive asexual individuals as being ‘unhappy’ or ‘distressed’, even if there is no evidence to back this.
The idea that a person can completely reject sexual desire seems so baffling to some, that pathologizing and fixing it is seen as a better alternative. In this case, how mental health practitioners and medical professionals see asexuality is a reflection of societal attitudes about it at large. That a space of authority takes such a stance does serious damage to an already prejudiced environment that has low awareness about asexuality.
We assume that being happy must include having a robust sex life, romantic partnership and love. As soon as a person begins to explore alternative dimensions of these areas, we are quick to shut them down. We fear having to question social institutions that hold society together in ways that are familiar to us.
It might take us time to bring about structural change, but as mental health professionals we need to do better, and start now. Mental health professionals need to understand the intersections of (a)sexuality and mental health, and do our part in creating safe spaces of therapeutic healing for aro-ace individuals.
When I am asked what asexuality is, I will say that it is an ever-evolving spectrum of identities, and if you ask me if it exists, I will tell you to look around you. Asexual activists, researchers, and millions of aro-ace individuals have brought us to this revolutionary point of visibility. It’s now time for us to show our allegiance, and fight the stigma.
By Deeksha Bala, a therapist with The Alternative Story
