My coming out story is a strange one; it had moments of absolute positive joy, but also moments of dark, sad, bleak negative thoughts. Most of them from an internalised phobia of myself.

I identify as asexual heteroromantic, which are identities I didn’t even know about until I was 19. For years I thought I was heterosexual but just really hated sex; now I know why I am repulsed by the idea of sex so much and the label makes so much sense to me.

“I thought I was a fraud for taking this asexual label and putting it on myself”

Coming out to myself was the hardest part of ‘coming out’ for me. I had a lot of phobia towards myself. I thought I was a fraud for taking this asexual label and putting it on myself. I didn’t think I deserved it. Why? Because I was heteroromantic. If I’m asexual, surely, I should be aromantic?

It was my LGBTQIA+ friends who helped and supported me through this part: gently telling me that I can be a romantic asexual. Being romantically or not romantically attracted to someone still meant that I could be asexual if I identified with the label. It was comforting to know that there were people in my corner who helped me through the dark, confusing patch of coming to terms with myself.

I had anxieties about what my friends would think of me; I wanted external validation and wanted everyone to be ok with who I was. I had heard stories of ace-gatekeeping at Pride and feared that when I came out, I would be subject to it. I also feared that, despite how lovely my friends were within the community, that they wouldn’t accept me or believe me. My anxiety would whisper in my ear all sorts of scenarios that would occur if I told them: they would look down on me, they wouldn’t believe me, they would think that I was lying to them and think ‘you were straight before we met, and now you are telling me that you are ace? Are you sure you are? Are you jumping on a bandwagon?’.

“There was this storm inside of my being that was swirling and brewing”

All of these fears stopped me from telling anyone about my identity, which meant that there was this storm inside of my being that was swirling and brewing. Instead of letting someone else come in and support me, I would try and do it alone, which made me more anxious, numb, and my eating disorder came back with a vengeance because of my vulnerable state.

What I needed to do to stop the anxiety storm inside of me was to tell people. To let them in and accept their support and love. In June, I finally had the courage to tell people, friends and family members about my asexuality and I found that the anxious voices and whispers I had inside of me were telling me lies. My friends in and out of the community were and still are so supportive and lovely to me and it makes me cry every time I think or feel their acceptance.

I thought I didn’t deserve their love and support. But everyone, of all gender and sexual identities deserves the support that is given so freely and lovingly to them.

Because that is what we all deserve: Love.