Baby steps forward?

Maybe there are some improvements for how I’m feeling in the gay men’s chorus. 

Once again yesterday I was a nervous wreck before rehearsal and feeling anxious and isolated during rehearsal to the point where it was a huge effort to even sing and I escaped to hide in my car during the halfway-break. 

There were some external, maybe even objective, factors worsening my sense of alienation yesterday: the lack of appropriate communication around the dance audition results; and the fact that there are three guys in my own section who are not simply passively ignoring me (as many of them generally are, probably because I’m so skittish) but actively ignoring me, e.g. they say Hi or chat with someone who is right next to me and maybe even talking to me and actually, almost pointedly, ignore me (one of these guys is the one from whom I felt an openly hostile vibe at the first two rehearsals). These instances don’t help, they actually fuel the fire of my sense of not belonging there. 

So why am I still there? Why do I keep trying, why do I keep doing this — apart from my desire to sing, which is sometimes hindered anyway by my anxiety there? 

Part of it is mere curiosity: I want to get to know the world of gay men. Part of it is a desire, or wish, to get some of my needs met there.

And there seem to be some improvements, too…  

My Big Sibling is getting more affectionate and a little more proactive in his support towards me: once again yesterday he came to find me before rehearsal started, caught my attention by touching me on the shoulder, gave me a hug (without my needing to ask), and asked how I was doing; he came to look for me during the break (but I had escaped) and then again as soon as rehearsal was over; when I told him about my upset around the lack of communication for the dance audition results, he offered to bring it up with the board on my behalf; he offered to room with me on the retreat in three weeks; he apologized for not being more proactive about reaching out to me in the past weeks (although I hadn’t said anything to him about this) and said he’ll make a point of touching base with me every Wednesday (we’ll see if that really happens!); finally, he asked if I still felt like going to the place across the street for drinks/food with (most of) the rest of the chorus and helped by introducing me to some people there (even if then the conversations fizzled). 

I was still unable to talk to anyone even at the bar except a few brief, sporadic sentences mostly with members I had met at my singing audition in August. And I did notice that many of the other newbies, instead, were totally integrated in some of the groups, easily talking and eating and drinking with other chorus members — that comparison hurt. I still have none of that ease. But maybe I will eventually get there…? I still feel the difficulties, and the differences keenly and yet I’m still going, I’m still trying… the small improvements keep the allure alive — e.g. the more proactively supportive behavior from my Big Sibling and his continued, spontaneous touchy-feely-ness with me, which I really like; the spontaneous hug that one of the other guys who had been at the dance audition gave me when we saw each other briefly last night; the few conversations or exchanges that I was able to have; and the free drink that I got from the gay bartender! 

I find it interesting that it is the older cis gay men who are being generally more proactive in trying to help me feel welcome & comfortable as well as more vocal with the other established members saying out loud things like, “We need to help the new members feel welcome. If someone is silent or sits by themself, we should reach out to them, talk to them: they might want to be by themself, and then we should respect that, but they might also just be too shy and need the encouragement to feel welcome”. Yes, I am one of those silent guys who sits by himself only because he’s too shy: it’s not that I don’t want to interact, it’s just that I need the extra encouragement from the established members to come out of my shell… 

The person with whom I spent most of my time chatting at the bar last night was the artistic director — which feels a little weird, almost like when I was a kid and the person I would feel most comfortable talking to might be a teacher. In this case, the situation isn’t that unbalanced (he & I are actually the same age) but still it isn’t the same as socializing with the other singers: he & I can’t really become friends, we couldn’t become buddies even if we wanted to. But he is the person with whom I feel most comfortable speaking and opening up, and I think he also genuinely enjoys talking to me and feels comfortable sharing some of his own vulnerabilities with me (e.g., his internalized racism because of being black, one of the very few persons of color in the chorus and in Colorado in general). Probably it’s largely due to the fact that I was very honestly vulnerable, like an open book, from the onset with him, from our very first conversations this summer when I was considering auditioning for the chorus. As a cis (gay) man, he cannot understand my gender qualms but as a black (gay) man, he can understand and empathize with my “feeling different” and my additional phobias due to my gender identity (on top of the homophobia that we probably all deal with). And I just find myself talking with him like I do with some of my closest friends — e.g. I shared with him how I feel uncomfortable around cis gay men partly because I don’t really know how they function and he laughed and replied, “Neither do I and I’ve been around them for decades!”

This natural ease I feel with him feels a little weird and a little sad because we cannot really be buddies, but it did help me: even if for only half an hour last night at the bar, I was able to loosen up and actually have a conversation and enjoy myself… before retreating back into my shell, rushing off to the bathroom, and finally leaving unseen… 

“Inkpot Gods”

Per Papá & für A***:

“

Oh, what? These, these aren’t tears

It’s just the rain that wasn’t brave enough to fall

And what they hear isn’t laughter, after all

It’s just your voice learning for once to stand up tall

And when the rain came down

I made a vow out to the dark

“Please, let her live just one more day

Cause she is so much more than all her scars

And if she doesn’t have the will

But it seems the whole world does, I’ll stay, because

I will be the man my father never was”

And what you hear is not silence

It’s just the trees waiting to hear what next you’ll hum

And what you see is not the dark

It’s just the gods upturning ink pots ’cause they know what you’ll become

And to those gods, I will speak bluntly

“We’ve an accord, if you ever touch or harm him

Please, rest assured that you might not fear a man

But to a woman, by the end, you’ll kneel and plea

‘Cause I’m more than what my mum told me to be”

And I can hear her sing

And I know she’s giving up

And I don’t know what to do, how to help her

How to bring her home

And I can hear him break

And he doesn’t understand

And I wish that I could take his hand

But where I’m going is for me and me alone

And I can hear her sing

“If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along”

“If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along”

“If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along”

“If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along” (loved you all along)

If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along

If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along

If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along

If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone

Just know I loved you all along

“

[“Inkpot Gods” by The Amazing Devil]

Craving platonic human touch

I miss human touch. But I’m also terrified of it. 

I have similar contradictory feelings when it comes to the desire for connection with & interest from gay men. 

I think both of these contradictory desires of mine boil down to the same thing: I crave platonic human touch. I not only want human touch, I need it — I remember writing similar things a couple years ago when I was reading the book on trauma “The body keeps the score” that, among other things, mentioned the devastating and traumatic effects on humans from the lack of reassuring/comforting/soothing/safe/consensual physical touch. 

I wish I had more platonic touch in my relationships. Somehow, I feel I’m unable to get it, to even verbalize this need, partly because of my upbringing and the resulting fear that my desire for touch will be misinterpreted as “sexual”, and partly, I guess, because I am asexual & neurodivergent myself. 

When I met the “Big Sibling” that was assigned to me in the gay men’s chorus a couple weeks ago, I was relieved that he greeted me and introduced himself only by shaking hands with me (instead of going in for a hug like many of these gay men seem to do so easily right off the bat with each other). I was especially grateful when I realized that my “Big Sibling” is a touchy-feely person, which shows some sensitivity on his part for respecting personal space on our first encounter. The second time we met the following week, we both spontaneously gave each other a side hug when greeting each other, and that felt good to me. This past Sunday, after my debacle at the dance audition, I really needed platonic, reassuring human touch. So when my “Big Sibling” came to find me during a break and caught my attention by touching me on my shoulder, it felt good, and I spontaneously leaned in for physical comfort and asked for a hug — which I received. 

That’s the type of human touch I want, and not only when I’m upset and need to be comforted or reassured: I’d like more occasions of platonic human touch with friends or people I trust, and I would really like to be able to lean into and partake of the touchy-feely behaviors these gay men have with each other. But I also feel a huge block — shyness, embarrassment, sense of not belonging, fear of “sexual misinterpretations”. And probably I give off some message with my body language, like “Stay away from me”, without being aware of it. 

Part of the problem is also that I’m entering a world that I don’t really know, a world of which I don’t know or understand the rules, so I don’t know how to act or behave. And this is one of the things for which I would really need a “Big Sibling”, i.e. a cis gay man who will guide me through this world, like a brother, as I learn to navigate it. Which is one of the things that my European queer ex-lover did for me a year and a half ago… But it’s a while back, at this point, and it wasn’t enough: I only managed to get a glimpse of it and I still need more guidance… 

How do I solve this?

My internalized transphobia

I had another awful afternoon & evening at the gay men’s chorus’ rehearsal. Gone was all the euphoric gender-bending of the past few days; back was the internalized transphobia in all its visciousness.

Since the second week I have been going to rehearsals without wearing my two “statement wristbands” (the nonbinary-flag colors & trans-flag colors) and this has helped me feel less exposed. But today that wasn’t enough. 

Before rehearsal, this afternoon the dance audition was held and I tried out for that. I love to dance. I really do. It’s one of the activities that gives me the most joy — an authentic, non-performative/non-competitive, youthful, childish joy full of liveliness and glee and sensuality. When I dance, it’s one of the few times that I can really let go and not think, and really go beyond all genders, also tapping into (my) femininity with joy and pride. I enjoy dancing and I’ve been told time and again that I am a good dancer (& that often I look like a gay boy dancing). So I was expecting the dance audition to, at least, be fun for me. Instead, it was torture and I eventually left early — I actually fled. 

The dance audition was organized so that the dancers (ten of us showed up to try out) had to perform a choreography that was given to us then and there by a dance instructor. We had to learn it all together and then perform it to the instructor and chorus director in small groups. 

The feeling of not belonging started gnawing at me almost from the very first moment: I was the only newbie auditioning for dance and everyone else knew each other, not only from the chorus but also the dance instructor. So I was the only newbie, the only one who didn’t know the rest of the folks there, and the only trans person. The other auditionees were all of the more flamboyant feminine cis gay type and as we danced, instead of being able to tap into my own natural femininity, I felt (& probably looked) like I had swallowed a broom. Movements that are usually natural and fun for me when I dance, movements that I’m usually good at with music, like hip-swaying and arm-waving, just felt impossible to me. And it got harder and harder as we proceeded. Instead of loosening up, I tightened up more and more, feeling the panic rise within me, that sense of not belonging, of being different, of not being capable to do this. Two-thirds into the group audition, during a short break before starting to perform the second piece that I just couldn’t get my body to do, I left. I just couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t force myself any more — I had tried but it just wasn’t enough, it wasn’t coming to me. 

The transphobia is there, always laying ready in the shadows to pounce upon me and crush me. Or paralyze me. I felt like a deer in the headlights —  and reacted like one, too: first I froze (i.e. was unable to dance), and then I eventually fled (literally leaving the building and coming back an hour later for the normal singing rehearsal). 

The transphobia is there even if people are nice to me. During a little break we were given in the audition, some of the other guys who were closer to me introduced themselves to me and asked my name and included me in their conversation about the weekend (to which I was anyway unable to participate, my throat constricting and refusing to cooperate). They were nice, I could sense their genuine interest or willingness to include me. But during introductions, when I said my name, one of them asked me if I used “he” or “they” pronouns: a great question, a very appropriate question that should be the norm everywhere, a question that I usually wish people would ask everyone. And yet, there, it hurt me tremendously: I didn’t hear it as an appropriate question; I didn’t even register that he put the “he” pronoun first. What I registered was that he made the hypothesis that I might “be a ‘they’” and in my head that implied that he could tell that I am trans. And then the story in my head continued: if I’m trans, I don’t belong; they don’t like me because I’m trans; I’m unable to make friends here because I’m trans. And on and on and on…

Generally, in most environments and situations, I am open and explicit and proud of being trans, I don’t hide it, I often show it through the wristbands and even some T-shirts I wear. But here, I try to hide it at all costs. Here, in this gay men’s chorus, all I want is for people to think I’m cis or not know that I’m trans. Here, I’m constantly afraid that they might look at me, or hear me, and realize that I’m trans — and therefore not like me, not accept me completely. Here, I have a constant fear that the reason for my not making friends is that I’m trans. And that I’m too shy, that I’m unable to connect — like today, when a few of them tried to connect with me during the short break in the dance audition and I shut down, I couldn’t manage to really enter the conversation despite the interest they showed. I eventually fled. Will that forfeit my making any friends in this chorus for the rest of the season?

And especially: how can I endure the rest of the season this way, with this constant up-and-down of emotions, this constant fear inside me, this constant impostor syndrome and internalized transphobia gnawing at me, eating me up, shutting down my brain, freezing my body even to the point of constricting my throat so that on days like today I can hardly sing? 

Love vs. Romance

There’s a quote in a book on asexuality (by Caterina Appia) that I can relate to very deeply, a quote by Michela Murgia about what could be considered aromanticism. While Michela Murgia didn’t openly identify as an aro person, so neither the author of the book nor I want to describe her as aromantic, I can relate to Murgia’s words (from an interview for Vanity Fair) in my own aro perspective, i.e. her words seem to express very well how I feel as an aro person: 

Interviewer: “You never fell in love again?”

M. Murgia: “What does this word mean?”

Interviewer: “You tell me.”

M. Murgia: “If you mean that lightning bolt that makes your heart beat [faster], that makes everything else go blurry and focus only on that person, no, because I believe it to be a form of psycosis. I love a lot. But I don’t fall in love.”

For me, Michela Murgia’s words from that interview express — probably better than I ever could — what it means to me to be a “romance-averse” aro person (with absolutely no judgement towards people who feel differently from me).

My way of deconstructing gender

Yesterday, I had a difficult but necessary and helpful conversation with one of my dearest friends here who is a nonbinary AFAB person. Being nonbinary AFAB people is one of the things that drew us close two years ago (although I was already openly transmasculine then, too) and among other things yesterday they mentioned how my further shift towards masculinity and, especially, my explicit emphasis on the importance of “male” friendships has felt discounting towards them. 

This pained me immensely. The realization that my getting closer to my own gender identity, or my own exploration of gender and relationships, had hurt a dear friend pained me very deeply: on the one hand, because the thought of discounting this, or any other, friend and/or relationship was the farthest thing from my mind, it would never be my intention; on the other, because my own self-determination is very important to me and losing people in the process of “becoming ourself” is painful (at least, it has been and is for me). 

First and foremost, celebrating or yearning “male closeness” does in no way, for me, mean that I discount or devalue whatever is different from “male closeness”. It does not mean that the friends & relationships I had in the past and still have now that are of a different type mean less to me. Fro instance, I will never consider the “fun girls trip” I had here in Colorado in the summer of 2019 with my cis-woman runner friend from North Carolina less valuable because I use “he/they” pronouns now: that will always be our wonderful (& in many ways life-saving) “fun girls trip” together. Even if my gender expression is very different from when she & I met in Spain a decade ago, even if we’ve made different life choices, that takes nothing away from our friendship or the affection I feel for her or the genuine interest I have in her pregnancy despite that being something I would never want  for myself. And similar examples hold for other AFAB or fem friends of mine. 

My draw towards masculinity that has been deepening or increasing over the past year or two is part of my own internal journey and has nothing to do with the value I give to people or relationships in my life. It stems from an inner need of my own, a lot of it coming from grief: it’s my own grief coming from the sense of loss for having been denied an important part of myself for decades as femininity was imposed on me against my will. 

My draw towards masculinity, which has been present my entire life, is one part of a bigger puzzle or picture, that has also been present my entire life: i.e., my desire or will to deconstruct gender norms altogether. As I claim masculinity for myself and seek closer or more authentic relationships with people on the masculine side of the spectrum (incl. cis-men), I am actually trying to deconstruct the gender norms that have been given us, imposed on us. In (re)claiming my masculinity, I am also (re)claiming my own femininity (I actually wore a skirt to go out these past two evenings!) and trying to go beyond gender, gender norms, gender stereotypes altogether — for example with the inclusive climbing event centered around a “joyful, respectful, diverse, and non-competitive masculinity” that I have started at the gym and that was joined also by an AFAB person who uses “she/they” pronouns and just gave birth to their baby. 

I was forced into the “female box” for over three decades. I don’t want to put myself in the “male box” now nor do I want to restrict my relationships to people who “fit in the male box”. I want to open those boxes, explore those boxes, deconstruct those boxes, ideally eliminate those boxes or redefine those boxes — preferably transform them from boxes into soft, fluid, open containers. I’m doing so while following, or pursuing, my own (gender) journey, maybe because that’s the only way I know — and hopefully along the way I won’t hurt or alienate the people I love.

Close but not too close and often not close enough

Once again the topic of male closeness. 

Yesterday, I finally climbed again with my first climbing partner from Colorado. We met almost two & a half years ago, through my Italian climbing buddy.

I’m not sure what to make of J. or of our relationship. 

The first time we met, we were the two only people from a group climbing chat who could climb on the given day and we headed out into the canyon despite having never climbed together, or even seen each other, before. It was May, I hadn’t started GAHT yet and I had only just finalized my decision of getting gender-affirming top-surgery that coming winter. Although I was regularly using “they” pronouns by then and telling people to use “he” pronouns if “they” was too difficult, I still looked and sounded quite feminine — still had breasts and climbed in my sports bra when it was warm — probably coming across like a strong, lean, athletic “woman”. J. was a “no-vaxxer” and that sort of prejudiced me against him on our very first outing. I was feeling anxious for my own unexplained reasons that day and when we got to the spot at the creek where we should have crossed on the Tyrolean (something I had never done before), I froze and said I couldn’t do it: we hadn’t even gotten to the crag yet and I had to bail on him. My headspace just wasn’t ready for climbing that day and I had to back off. I felt awful. He took it totally in stride, actually thanking me for my honesty and awareness that would keep us both safe. I drove us back into town, dropped him off, and thought I would never see him again. It was actually thanks to my Italian climbing buddy that we met again as we all three went on a hike and then for beers & burgers together a couple of months later. My Italian climbing buddy eventually returned to Europe but J. & I finally started climbing together. It’s been sporadic and not as frequent or regular as I would like but it has allowed us to get to know each other better, finding and focusing on our commonalities rather than our differences, like the fact that both of us have been going through a major life change in our late thirties & early forties, at an age where many people are well settled in their lives/ways. He’s seen me change — the first time we went for a dip in the creek together, two summers ago, I was wearing a sports bra, this summer he saw me enjoy the cold water on my bare chest; and once we were in the men’s locker-room together at the climbing gym and I was bare-chested, he smiled and asked me, “How does it feel?”. As my looks have changed, and probably also as we’ve gotten closer, he’s been treating me more and more “as a guy” in a sweet, validating way: like my closest climbing buddy (whom I also met a little over two years ago when I still looked “feminine”), despite not being at all queer, he not only takes me as I am but also affirms me in my masculine identity. He freely comments on how “jacked” I am and we share tips on exercise & nutrition in the typical way male climbers do with each other, in a way that to me feels like fun and healthy and affirming “bro-time”. But we also talk a bit about feelings, emotions, relationships, in ways that are not that common or typical or easy among cis-men. Granted, we do this while climbing, not sitting down for a chat, which is very “stereotypically male”, but it’s something. 

It’s something but somehow it’s not enough or it’s confusing for me. 

In some ways it’s similar to how I used to feel (& sometimes still feel) with my closest climbing buddy: like we want to get closer, open up more with each other, but don’t know how to. They, as straight cis-men, don’t know how to because of how they were socialized and because of the normative circles they still live in; I, as a gay trans-guy, because I’m afraid of crossing a boundary and scaring these straight cis-men away. J. & I have tried to organize a couple of climbing trips together but they have never worked out for scheduling reasons; now we’re trying to organize a short climbing trip in a couple weeks; every time we discuss this topic, I get the feeling that he’d really like to do this with me but that he also feels a little scared or uncomfortable about going just the two of us — is that because I’m trans? On the other hand, the fact that I am trans, i.e. was socialized as a “woman”, is probably one of the reasons he can actually open up and talk emotions with me… The other day as we were texting to plan our climb for yesterday, I wrote “Looking forward to climbing with you again!” I wasn’t expecting a reply but it came immediately: “Me too, dude”. And then yesterday, after I let him in to the gym for free on one of my guest passes, he offered to buy me chai (something we both enjoy) after our session: he had done this once before but the difference yesterday was that we sat outside the coffee shop together for almost half an hour chatting. And he actually talked a lot, shared a lot of emotions with me: it felt beautiful, like a magical yet delicate moment, something super fragile, and while I enjoyed it, I could also feel the fear in me of it breaking, of doing or saying something that might break the spell. On the one hand, I can feel the desire in these straight cis-men to open up, to get closer, probably sensing a “non-threatening masculinity” in me; on the other hand, I can also sense their fear of opening up, their fear of getting closer lest it be “too close”. 

Later yesterday evening, I found a text message from this climbing buddy asking if I wanted to join him at a fund-raiser at a micro-brewery in town. Unfortunately, I was already back home in a different town so I had to decline but I added that I would be happy to take a rain-check on something similar sometime soon. And while we were chatting over chai yesterday afternoon, since we had mentioned how we’re both in between jobs with relatively flexible schedules and in need of some structure now, I suggested we pencil in a regular climbing session together one day a week, e.g. every Thursday, and he said that sounded like a good idea. But will he take me up on that? And if so, will he do half of the work of reaching out and keeping in touch instead of leaving it mostly up to me? 

Are J. & I slowly building a friendship here or was his a random “social mood” yesterday and/or was he in need of company/talking and I just happened to be around? 

And what am I really looking for when I’m seeking out closer, yet platonic, connections with these (straight) cis-men? Why do I crave these connections, this specific type of camaraderie, this closeness to “males”? Why does it feel to me that we get close but never really “close enough” as if they were afraid of getting “too close”? And is it possible for me to have an open, direct conversation with these straight cis-men about our relationships without scaring them away and/or without making it awkward?

Joy in male closeness

The rehearsals with the gay men’s chorus keep getting better and are starting to become an actual source of joy for me. I still feel extremely anxious for hours before the rehearsal and very shy when I’m there, and I still escape to be outside by myself during our 10-minute break halfway through practice. But overall these rehearsals and the small interactions I am starting to have with other members of the choir are brining me joy. Joy — like the title of one of the songs we are practicing and that we sung beautifully, all together, last night (it was so beautiful, it gave me goosebumps). 

I think a big part of it is that some things are shifting in me. On the one hand, I am finding new & old confidence in my own masculinity partly from getting my injuries under control and being more physically active (& thus physically stronger) again, partly from reconnecting with my cis-male climbing buddies, and partly from the success of the inclusive masculinity event I organized/led at the climbing gym and which will be repeated. On the other hand, though, it also has to do with a different approach, on my side, to this gay men’s chorus, to this group of people. I’m starting — or learning — to really see them, hopefully to see them as they are: not at all a homogenous group, but actually a wonderfully varied mix of persons with low voices, most of whom are on the masculine side of the gender-spectrum and most of whom, I assume, are attracted to men/masculinity. A very diverse mix of people who share the love of music/singing and maybe have some other things in common but are also very different from one another in many ways, and yet find common ground in being part of a gay men’s chorus. Find common ground in being comfortable in the closeness, even physical, to other men/males/masculine persons. Find common ground in wanting some closeness, even physical, with other men/males/masculine persons (and not in a creepy or aggressive way). This is huge. It really hit me, clearly, last night. Maybe because I finally loosened up and was able to allow more physical closeness with some of the chorus members.

It is huge because male closeness is taboo in our patriarchal society. As bell hooks, Terrence Real and others have pointed out, part of “becoming/being a man” entails precisely separation: physical and/or emotional separation, distance from other humans, and especially from other “males”. Socialized as an AFAB person I remember how “natural” it was considered that “girls” and even adult “women” could be close and/or affectionate to each other, even physically. In the “male world” and/or presenting as a masculine person, this closeness is taken away: when I presented female and lived in masculine environments, I had to keep a distance, even when I didn’t want it, to ensure there would be no sexual/romantic misunderstandings; since presenting more masculine, I have to keep a distance from female-presenting persons (especially cis-women) to ensure I don’t come across as a “creepy guy” and I have to maintain some distance from male-presenting persons (especially cis-men who look or are straight) to avoid triggering homophobic biases. There are environments where it’s less so, like the camaraderie & intimacy between climbing buddies and/or the intimacy among folks who practice acro-yoga. But in general, there’s always this sense, if you present masculine, that you have to maintain physical (& emotional) distance. In this gay men’s choir we sit very close to one another and it’s almost inevitable for arms to accidentally, unintentionally brush against each other while turning pages or moving in our seats. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable: it’s neither “creepy” (i.e. nobody is doing it as a “sexual move” on someone) nor something for which someone feels the need to apologize or explain or justify. And then there’s a general sense of closeness, of wanting to be close, even physically, to one another — like the spontaneous hugs or standing very close when talking to each other. It’s not “creepy” or “aggressive” or “making moves on people”: it’s just a desire for closeness that these guys, these persons, including myself, are able to express in this safe space. I hadn’t realized how much this meant to me, how important this is to me. Subconsciously, I knew it and it’s probably one of the reasons I wanted to join this chorus because it fills a need for me that neither my straight cis-male buddies nor my AFAB/nonbinary/fem friends can fill: a shared desire for closeness, including physical, among masculine people. This is the sense in which I am “gay”: yes, I am aromantic; yes, I am asexual/grey-A; but I also enjoy and want and need closeness to other masculine people who enjoy and want and need that closeness, too. A closeness that can be physical and can also be mental, emotional, or in the type of humor we share: even if I was socialized as a woman, now that I am loosening up I can enjoy the “very gay” jokes they crack among each other and the gay double-entendres in the lyrics of some of the songs we are singing. With these gay jokes and gay double-entendres we’re acting silly and boyish but as gay boys, not straight boys, and there’s something very precious and very important in that, because it’s part of reclaiming and owning something that was taken away from us or made hard for us in other environments/circumstances. This is a safe space for us as “gay boys” in whatever way we define our “gay boy” or “gay man” identity. And even if I’m AFAB and aro-ace, I can still revel in — and find joy and affirmation from — this beautiful, shared and explicit desire of closeness to other “male beings”.

Steps in the grief cycle

[Trigger warnings: grief, loss; compulsory-sexuality mentality.]

The guy on my left during the second part of last week’s rehearsal with the gay men’s chorus had a tattoo on his inner left forearm that read: “Acceptance is the answer”. 

I wonder if I’ll ever get there. 

I’m definitely still in the stormy and painful part of the grief cycle with respect to my aro-ace identity. 

It was a great relief to be able to talk about it, to pour my heart out, to someone — one of the few people I know in person — who really knows what I’m talking about. Not just a good friend who’ll ask me to explain it to them, but actually someone who knows first-hand what aro & ace mean, someone who really practices relationship anarchy and might even be able to point me to local aro-ace communities and/or resources if/when I’m ready for it. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to sit and talk about this to someone who really gets it — like I did with my nonbinary friend visiting me from Europe a month and a half ago. On Thursday afternoon, I was finally overwhelmed, got under the covers and sobbed: it was such a relief, albeit a lonely and painful relief, to be able to cry for what feels like a huge loss to me. And then yesterday afternoon, it was somewhat healing to sit and vent with this acquaintance/friend, as they just sat and listened, sat with me in my grief, in my pain, in my despair, in my anger. 

I’m not sure the phases of the “grief cycle” (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) are linear or progress separately from one to the other. I’m pretty sure I had a denial phase (although I wasn’t aware of it at the time) that has ended. And I’m not quite fully at the acceptance stage yet (& wonder whether I’ll ever achieve that). But the anger, bargaining, and depression phases seem a little mixed up to me, as if I were still shifting back and forth between them. A lot of my bargaining seems to be drawing on my being a sex-favorable ace and having a relatively high libido; it’s as if I had a voice in my head saying, “OK, I cannot and don’t want to do things like bars and datings apps and I struggle connecting to people on a level of sexual or romantic intimacy, but given the right circumstances I can have and even enjoy sex so I might still be able to connect with some persons on that level” — as if I were trying to salvage something or prove to myself that I’m not hopeless, not “completely broken”. Which is probably part of the reason I was (still am?) obsessing over the guy I like(d) at the gym: if I can feel sexual attraction towards someone, even if it happens just once in a decade, then maybe I can still feel that “spark” sometimes. I guess this is the bargaining: and bargaining induced by allosexual & compulsory sexuality brainwashing, so it would probably be healthier for me to get out of it as soon as I can. 

All of the sadness and loneliness I’ve been feeling, along with the tears I was finally able to shed this week are definitely the depression stage of the grief cycle. But there’s also a lot of anger still. I still rage, “I don’t want to be this way! I’m OK with being nonbinary & trans but I really wish I weren’t aro-ace!” And, as my acquaintance/friend pointed out yesterday afternoon and my nonbinary European friend has also observed, this anger that people like me, like us, feel is due to how society functions around us: we’re not inherently wrong or “broken” or “to be fixed”, but society functions in a way that makes it seem that way and it is society that needs to change — not us — to be more equitable and inclusive for everyone. 

But we’re still a long way from those changes and in the meantime my pain and my anger are real and I have to carry them and work through them, hopefully one day getting to the point where I can agree wholly, not just with my head but also with my heart/soul, with that guy’s tattoo: “Acceptance is the answer”… 

And in the meantime try to have clearer conversations about our relational needs with my current friends, on the one hand, and on the other, try to find other aro and/or ace people…? 

The ‘aro’ arrow

[Note: the author is claiming that the ‘aro label’ feels like a death sentence or lack or incapacity for themself, and not that aromantic people are lacking or in any way deficient!]

It’s been a week of difficult emotions. So difficult, in fact, that I haven’t even been able to write. 

Last Sunday was a day full of joy (despite some anxiety, too). This week has felt the opposite: joyless. And it’s not just the “natural ebb and flow of things”. The joylessness feels deeper, somehow more fundamental or pervasive to my existence than the joy. I latch onto the joy, I celebrate it when I feel it, because it’s in my nature to do so, or maybe because it’s survival instinct. But the joylessness feels horribly pervasive. 

These past three days have been filled with feelings of sadness, loneliness, frustration, and fiery anger. The never-ending car issues along with the constant health insurance frustrations and the several shitty behaviors of my employer’s HR department have been exhausting and infuriating. A phone call with my mother, who keeps accusing me of the worst things, was painful and also infuriating. And the loneliness I feel is profound and sad. 

I think I’m struggling more with my aromantic nature than with my asexual orientation. There have always been specific situations that trigger or upset my “ace sensitivity” but I have learned to avoid them as much as I can — e.g. by avoiding bars and dating apps. And using the ace label to define my sexual orientation has helped for many situations, e.g. with many friendships and how I feel when I go to the climbing gym. Maybe the ace label feels more like a liberation than a burden or lack or loss to me because I’m a sex-favorable ace…? When it comes to the aromanticity spectrum, instead, I think I’m on the other end of it: i.e. “romance-averse”. At the moment, I am experiencing my aromantic nature as a death sentence. Nothing has changed for me, in the sense that I’ve always felt “aromantic”, I just never had the words for it. And not having the words for it, to a certain extent, still gave me the possibility to hope: to hope that “one day I would be fixed, one day I would change, one day I would find the ‘right person(s)’ and also be able to feel like everyone else does”. But no, that day will never come. And while it’s good, healthy, a liberation, that I stop applying this “conversion therapy mentality” to my own self, it still feels like a death sentence to me, like a huge lack or incapacity I have: I cannot feel in a certain way that almost everyone else does and so I’m doomed to never have the closeness in relationships that I would like/want/need. Maybe this is one of the phases of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance… Is this the depression phase? And the past couple weeks had been the bargaining phase, as I obsessed over a guy at the gym? For the second time ever in my entire life, in the quarter-century that I’ve been having sexual experiences, I felt real sexual attraction for someone (the only other time had been a guy who was my “fuck buddy” for a while in grad school). While being mind-boggling and confusing for me, because so unexpected, it was also very clear to me now that I have a very clear understanding of the types of attraction I feel, and it was also fun: a little pearl of joy (or, at least, excitement) in what has been overall a difficult, joyless summer. But after making up my mind that I would find the courage to talk to this guy the next time I saw him at the gym, I haven’t seen him anymore. It’s a tiny incident and could be almost considered meaningless. But the disappointment I’ve felt at not running into him anymore has been out of proportion: I know this is pointing to something deeper, some deeper unhappiness, some deeper lack in me. And I think this deeper unhappiness or lack in me has to do with the grief cycle that owning the “aro label” has spurred for me…

Will I ever get to the acceptance phase?