I am a proud member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I am also asexual.
The problem is—the problem is, up to a point, my sexual orientation and my religion get on famously. Law of Chastity? Nailed it. Never once been tempted to sleep with another human being out of wedlock. Within wedlock? Well, that gets a little fuzzier.
As far as I can tell, I’m what’s known as a sex-positive asexual: I don’t experience sexual attraction to others, but if my romantic partner wanted sex, I’d be okay with doing that for them (if and when I get married, that is). And I want kids, so clearly either I’m going to have sex or do artificial insemination. So. Even there, my asexuality doesn’t interfere with my membership, it’s just a little more complicated and will require openness and communication.
Here’s where it gets really fuzzy, here’s where it gets grey—I’m not queer enough to think of myself as part of the LGBTQ community, but not not queer enough to entirely fit with mainstream LDS culture. I think girls and guys are great and aesthetically pleasing in equal measure. Nonbinary, androgynous, mixed-presenting, transgender—sure, people are pretty. The human form, in all its weirdness and grossness, is beautiful. Aesthetically. Sexually, I need people to stay back. Sexually, I want nothing to do with people. Romantically, though? Romantically…it’ll take time.
If you want the full, tiresome label, demiromantic asexual is where I’m at. What that means for me is, ultimately, nothing, because my sexual identity and my Church membership fit together like puzzle pieces that are almost exactly right for each other. There is little discomfort. There is no contortion. I’m queer—but not queer enough to count. Not queer enough to dare taking on that historic modifier and sullying it with my too-close-to-straight hands. Not queer enough to have ever truly questioned if my parents would still love me if I came out. Not queer enough to suffer.
The fit isn’t entirely perfect. For the path I have chosen for myself, after much prayer and meditation, I know that as a woman, I am expected to and likely will marry a man. I will take him to the temple, and we will be sealed together as the starter seed of an eternal family, a branch in a family several generations strong. This is no hardship except for two things: one, the fear of not liking sex after all and having to talk to my husband about it, or suffer in silence; and two, the idle thought now and then that maybe I would get in a relationship faster if I included girls in my dating repertoire. Girls are pretty great. Girls understand. Girls empathize. Girls are easy to get close to and love. They just aren’t part of the path I’ve chosen for myself.
But why limit yourself, people scream, why choose a path that makes you sacrifice part of who you are?
I don’t speak for every queer LDS-raised person. I would never presume. I have seen too much pain and too much heartache, enough to rip my heart from my body with secondhand anguish. But for myself—for my queer-but-not-queer-enough puzzle of a personhood—the gentle guiding of the Spirit of the Lord moves my heart in certain directions, and sacrificing a part of myself that isn’t even fully developed enough to be called a part of me is nothing. I am blessed to have the option of putting away the notion of dating within my own gender. Others have no such luxury and never did. Who am I to try and wear Queer on my sleeve when I haven’t bled for my identity, when my hands are soft and my cheeks are dry and no one questions my existence to my face?
Sacrifice is the oldest religious concept there is. Sacrifices made to gods by definition are a burden, a burden taken on willingly to gain the gods’ favor. Go without, and by so doing prosper. Pay a full tithe, and reap the blessings. Understand you will never date a woman, understand you will be expected to have sex with your husband, and the payoff will be tenfold the price.
Abraham is commanded to sacrifice Isaac; for his devotion, he becomes the father of innumerable posterity. Naaman is counseled to sacrifice his pride and wash in the humble Jordan River; for his humility, his leprosy is cured. Esther risks her life and her station to save her people; for her courage, she saves both them and herself. The question for myself—only myself—is, what is my reward, if I choose to offer myself up and trust in His grace?
Asexuals belong at Pride. Asexuals are queer. Asexuals have a long and bloodied history of oppression and malpractice and abuse.
I am asexual. But I have the fortune and privilege of passing invisibly through my life without having to acknowledge it. So I am not queer. I could date girls, but I choose not to. So I am not queer. I would be fine not ever having sex, but if I do, I guess that’d be okay. So I am not queer.
I am a proud asexual. I am also a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The two are not mutually exclusive, and for that, I’m lucky. This is my coming-out letter and my self-declaration: I’m an Ace Mormon.
Maybe one day I’ll feel more comfortable at Pride, or feel like I’m worthy of the Queer title. Maybe I’ll never feel like I’m not intruding into a space not meant for me, even though the places where “non-queer” people are isn’t truly mine, either. Maybe posting this will one day not feel like I’m looking for pats on the back for doing nothing while others live in constant pain for who they are.
For now, I cheer on and support my LGBTQ siblings, especially those in the Church. God knows they need the support more than I ever will.
Thank you for helping me feel less alone.
I empathize on a very deep level I’m still figuring out specifics but… I don’t particularly feel like I fit, I don’t particularly want to fit, but that doesn’t quite stop the human emotion of seeking to fit in either. I’m … right now I feel more comfortable identifying as Demi (Demiromantic and Demisexual) but some of the time I feel just plain Aromantic and asexual (but relationship positive and sex neutral) … it’s confusing and I’m still figuring it out. And it’s come just after growing a little more into my testimony of the gospel and I think I’m finally getting to a place where it doesn’t feel like I’m constantly questioning the strength of my faith because if it. I absolutely love how you put it, because despite how my faith felt challenged I never quite let go of my faith, was never quite willing, and I never intend to be willing but I couldn’t get over my desire to understand the larger LGBQT+ community and how it affects them too because I feel kinda stuck in the middle and I couldn’t help but want to love them and form my own testimony on the issues. I have the spiritual gift of having my testimony strengthened through others and the testimonies on same sex attraction have helped but they weren’t quite mine, didn’t quite fit all the way with me, and it helps to know I’m not the only Ace member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. And I have no idea how replies work on here but I wanted to try, if only to say thank you.
Anything I can do to help any queer or questioning member of the church feel like they have a place here is something well worth doing and I’m glad you feel even a little better about yourself because of it. I don’t think there needs to be a divide between your faith and your identity, or your faith and your love for the LGBTQ community. I believe that the Church is built on questions, and on questioning, and on the belief that even if we don’t understand all things now, that there is further truth and light to be revealed one day that will make things clear. I think it’s slow, but every day, the Church is getting closer to being more accepting and loving of our queer siblings. We aren’t there yet. But I have faith that if we continue to have members who are willing to ask hard questions of themselves and their leaders and their friends, that we will have a more fulsome understanding one day. The truth of the matter is that the scriptures as we have them and understand them are pretty silent about queerness and identities outside of the “norm” of cisgender straight, except for how tradition has taught us to interpret certain passages, and that tradition is not necessarily correct. This is why a healthy understanding of the scriptures as imperfect records and a strong connection with the Spirit and with personal revelation is so important; the Spirit is able to reveal personal truths to us that maybe the Church at large isn’t ready for but, person by person, as we come to these truths, we will soon have a better sense of both understanding and love and compassion for our queer siblings and their beautiful divine natures, not as something apart from church membership, but as another facet of a wonderful and diverse eternal family who are deserving of love and acceptance and all promised happiness from our Parents in Heaven, just as they are.
All this to say, you aren’t alone, friend. You have a wider family ready to embrace you than you can possibly imagine, both within the Church, without the Church, and on the other side of this mortal veil. Thank you so much for reaching out, I’m glad to have helped.