Am I asexual or not? It’s a question that’s been with me for a long time, and I publicly shared it on my blog for the first time early last year after revealing I’ve been a lifelong single. Around 1.5 years later, my body count is still at precisely zero, which - after my recent birthday - means I’ve entered the wizard club of the infamous 40-year-old virgins. Mission accomplished! Am I convinced now that I’m asexual, or am I still “questioning”?

While there hasn’t been a sexual partner and even one strong ace-validating experience, some unexpected things have changed internally in my thoughts and feelings. As a result, I’ve done the opposite and updated my position on the sliding scale between asexual and allosexual and shifted the slider towards the allosexual side of the spectrum.

I don’t want to go into the exact thoughts and feelings that have occurred. The whole picture is too intimate, even with the level of oversharing I’m currently comfortable with, and you shouldn’t get a partial picture because that might lead to inaccurate conclusions.

I’m convinced that, with the right person and under the right circumstances, I would appreciate the opportunity for a sexual experience. With that statement, asexuality isn’t a suitable label for me. Even though I have never officially adopted it, it’s probably time to retire it.

At this point, I want to emphasize that I still believe that asexuality is an actual orientation. Some people will be genuinely asexual for their whole life, and there’s nothing to pathologize about that. Asexuality can also be a phase, but, as maybe in my case, that phase can last for years and even decades, so even for these people, it can be a helpful label that shouldn’t be dismissed, and “temporary asexuals” don’t need constant reminders they’ll grow out of it.

However, I’ll also admit that asexuality can be a label to hide behind, for example, because of anxiety issues around dating and relationships. I suspect that both cases apply to me. My current self-assessment says that I’ve been a very late and slow bloomer, causing me to be a genuine asexual in my teens and twenties who has then clung to this identity for longer because that’s what I felt comfortable with. In other words, the revelation that unfolded over the past two years leading to today could have happened earlier if I had wanted to. But I didn’t want to.

Many asexuals feel that there’s something wrong with them, and they wish they were different. Especially heteroromantic ace women worry about their inability to find love if they can’t comfortably provide the men with their physical desires. I cannot relate to these feelings. I’ve never been sex-negative in the sense that I judge others for high body counts, engaging in unusual sexual practices, or even sex at all. Still, I’ve always thought it was not for me, and I’ve looked at my potential asexuality as a positive trait. Thinking less about sex allowed me to think more about other things. It probably spared me one or another negative experience.

Even with a recent change of heart, I don’t need to find a date and get laid as soon as possible. My generally low motivation to invest time and energy into dating hasn’t changed. It’s just cleared up another possibility for the future.

In a way, this is a change of identity. And a change of identity can be challenging. It’s easier for some people to reinvent themselves and more difficult for others who believe they “just are” a certain way and have people around them who also see them that way. In my situation, that’s the more significant revelation. I was stuck in my identity, which hindered my personal growth. However, I’ve become more open to questioning and redefining my identity. I’ve collected more examples of this, but I’ll keep those for another day.