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floatingleafSo, I've been pondering the question of labels again, and how we humans love to categorize and divide ourselves into groups and subgroups, and how uncomfortable it can feel if you happen to find yourself somewhere "in between", not quite fitting one definition or another. I know this is a recurring theme in this journal, but I am far from done with it, so bear with me (or feel free to skip this post, LOL). In many ways, labels are necessary to define lifestyles, personalities, behaviors etc. - but they can also be quite limiting, even intimidating... especially if you don't seem to find one you can totally identify with. Or your identification shifts around so much throughout your life that you stop seeing any point in labels altogether. And yet, the need to categorize yourself somehow remains - possibly because it is synonymous with the need to belong somewhere. No matter how introvert/reclusive/antisocial you are, you still want to know that there is a group of people who share/understand your experience, without turning up their noses or raising their eyebrows at it. Feeling accepted by those who are different from you, but open-minded enough to say, hey, whatever is one thing - you still want to find those who are going to say, OMG, yes!!!... THAT.;) But each one of us is a whole made up of many parts, and someone who identifies with one part of you might simultaneously feel shocked or revolted by another. Or, at the very least, not relate to it at all. So trying to "fit in" within a like-minded group is always a form of compromise - you (consciously or not) suppress certain parts/aspects of yourself that seem too far away from the prevalent attitudes of that group (or, at least, from how you perceive them). Sometimes, you suppress them so well you sort of forget about their existence - so when they resurface again, you are just as surprised as everyone else. But those suppressed/hidden parts of you were there all along - like a drawer full of old, forgotten love letters you never knew how to respond to. And there is no definition in the whole wide world that would encompass the full complexity of a single human being...
I have always felt "different" from most people around me, in many ways. I was an only child for the first nine years of my life, while most other kids I knew had siblings. I was the only one in my class at school who wasn't Catholic and didn't go to church or attend catechism (which was, technically, optional, but I didn't know of anyone else who opted out - except for, possibly, one other boy whose father was some important figure in the local communist party structures). As far as I could tell, I was either pitied or despised because of it (not just by other kids, but some teachers, too). I was also terribly shy, awkward and insecure - which I disguised by acting cool and superior towards everyone. I basically walled myself up securely in my inner fantasy world - which was, as far as I could tell, the only place where good things happened. This state of affairs persisted throughout my teens. I never had a group of friends - I usually only had one friend at a time, who was a sort of mediator between my imaginary lonely tower and the outside world... lol (and I probably owe those friendships solely to the fact that the girls in question needed my help with homework, and were not too intimidated by my aloofness to ask for it; and then, once we actually started talking, they realized I totally wasn't what I seemed to be). I could never relate to any talk of boyfriends I might accidentally overhear from other girls; I found boys intimidating, as well as completely incomprehensible... alien creatures. I couldn't fathom why on earth I would want to "date" one. But I had intense crushes on male literary characters/actors at the time, as well as had never heard of homosexuality - so it didn't occur to me that I might be gay. If I remember correctly, the first time I heard the word "lesbian" (or some more vulgar version of it), it was used as an insult; half-joking insult from one girl to another, but an insult nonetheless. I think I was 13 at the time. I figured out what it meant from the context, and filed it away as something bad. So when, a few years later, I felt deeply in love with a girlfriend (used here in the popular American meaning of the word, i.e. "a girl who is a friend"), it took me a while to see those feelings for what they were. Interestingly though, once I got over the initial association of lesbian=bad, I embraced this new discovery with relish. I had always been "different" anyway - and if this new aspect of being different meant I could have romantic relationships with women instead of men, then I was all for it. I understood women. I enjoyed spending time with them. I felt safe and relaxed in their presence. And yes, that also eliminated the sex problem. Namely, I had very mixed feelings about potential sex with men. On the one hand, I enjoyed fiery bedtime fantasies about my actor crush-du-jour sweeping me off my feet and having his wicked way with me - but on the other, the very thought of certain intimate acts with a "real life" guy made me cringe (it still does... LOL). So, I reasoned, if being a lesbian means I never have to worry about it, then so be it. What I didn't realize was that I might feel differently if I happened to be in love with a "real life" guy. And vice versa - that the very thought of certain intimate acts with a woman whom I don't love also makes me cringe. To a lesser extent, I admit - but still. So, gender really has nothing to do with it. I am not, technically, a lesbian. I am a bi-romantic demisexual (how's that for a catchy label, huh?...;P). I have to love people's personalities before I can love/desire their bodies. Seems pretty simple and obvious now that I think about it - and yet, it took me forty years to figure it out. Simply because I hadn't heard of that particular label/option before. Just like I couldn't have thought of myself as a lesbian at, say, fifteen - because I didn't know that it was a legitimate thing to be.
But coming back to group identification - once I embraced my "lesbian identity" around the age of twenty, I finally experienced that feeling of "belonging" that I lacked before. For one, women who had the courage to label themselves lesbians weren't very likely to shun me for not being Catholic.:P And, in exlusively female social groups, it was significantly easier to overcome my shyness. I never felt very comfortable socializing/dancing in regular (heterosexual) bars or clubs - in gay-friendly ones, I did. It was a whole new life for me, on so many levels. Which could be why, for years, it never occurred to me to question that identity - despite occasional guy-crushes that kept happening. Some of my new lesbian friends were quite dismissive of "bi-curious" women - so I guess I didn't want to be seen as one. Just an example of "suppressing certain parts of yourself" that I talked of before. As well as trying to embrace certain attitudes that you can't quite relate to - like enthusiastic reminiscing of casual sex with a random stranger picked up at a bar (not that I ever did that - but I always tried to act like it was a perfectly normal thing for me when I heard about it... and it wasn't). Or, you know, feeling somehow inferior for not having slept with enough people (i.e., much fewer people than your friends claimed to have slept with). I am SO glad I'm over that now... LOL. But I still feel sort of impressed when I see someone on the internet saying openly how they have never had sex and feel no interest in it. Like it's a perfectly "normal" thing for anyone to say (and it is, don't get me wrong; I just wish I had realized this back when I was 23 and so fucking ASHAMED of being a virgin that I jumped into bed with the first lesbian I met - only to end up in a toxic relationship with her that I tried so hard to rationalize to myself I almost lost command of my mental capacity).
And to tie this off... a while ago I tried to join an online forum for people interested in platonic relationships, and when I saw the little disclaimer saying: "Asexuals only, please" - I felt excluded. Again. Because, technically, I am not asexual - despite the fact that the likelihood of me ever wanting to enter into a sexual relationship again is so small it is practically negligible. And yet, I felt like it would be dishonest of me to join, after seeing that disclaimer. So, I was limited/incapacitated by a label that might almost fit me - but not quite. Which reminded me of how some women from the lesbian social group I used to be part of looked down on bisexuals; basically, the attitude towards newcomers was: "Lesbians only, please". And I do understand the need for a "safe space" that might generate such attitudes; but what about a safe space for people who don't fit so neatly into any particular box?... Should they just "make up their minds"?... Life is one big "grey area", if you look closely enough, and whatever you think of yourself at any given point in time is subject to change without notice. The search for new definitions and subcultures within subcultures continues forever. As one brand of "weird" becomes mainstream, others are crawling out of the woodwork and "daring to speak their name". And, sadly, every minority - however small - has some other (often shunned or disregarded) minority within it. Until it all breaks down to each individual person, who is totally unique and, in their full complexity, incomprehensible to anyone else. *sigh*
Yeah... that's the kind of philosophical mood that often descends on me around midnight.;) Whoever's still reading, feel welcome to share your unique perspective.:P
I have always felt "different" from most people around me, in many ways. I was an only child for the first nine years of my life, while most other kids I knew had siblings. I was the only one in my class at school who wasn't Catholic and didn't go to church or attend catechism (which was, technically, optional, but I didn't know of anyone else who opted out - except for, possibly, one other boy whose father was some important figure in the local communist party structures). As far as I could tell, I was either pitied or despised because of it (not just by other kids, but some teachers, too). I was also terribly shy, awkward and insecure - which I disguised by acting cool and superior towards everyone. I basically walled myself up securely in my inner fantasy world - which was, as far as I could tell, the only place where good things happened. This state of affairs persisted throughout my teens. I never had a group of friends - I usually only had one friend at a time, who was a sort of mediator between my imaginary lonely tower and the outside world... lol (and I probably owe those friendships solely to the fact that the girls in question needed my help with homework, and were not too intimidated by my aloofness to ask for it; and then, once we actually started talking, they realized I totally wasn't what I seemed to be). I could never relate to any talk of boyfriends I might accidentally overhear from other girls; I found boys intimidating, as well as completely incomprehensible... alien creatures. I couldn't fathom why on earth I would want to "date" one. But I had intense crushes on male literary characters/actors at the time, as well as had never heard of homosexuality - so it didn't occur to me that I might be gay. If I remember correctly, the first time I heard the word "lesbian" (or some more vulgar version of it), it was used as an insult; half-joking insult from one girl to another, but an insult nonetheless. I think I was 13 at the time. I figured out what it meant from the context, and filed it away as something bad. So when, a few years later, I felt deeply in love with a girlfriend (used here in the popular American meaning of the word, i.e. "a girl who is a friend"), it took me a while to see those feelings for what they were. Interestingly though, once I got over the initial association of lesbian=bad, I embraced this new discovery with relish. I had always been "different" anyway - and if this new aspect of being different meant I could have romantic relationships with women instead of men, then I was all for it. I understood women. I enjoyed spending time with them. I felt safe and relaxed in their presence. And yes, that also eliminated the sex problem. Namely, I had very mixed feelings about potential sex with men. On the one hand, I enjoyed fiery bedtime fantasies about my actor crush-du-jour sweeping me off my feet and having his wicked way with me - but on the other, the very thought of certain intimate acts with a "real life" guy made me cringe (it still does... LOL). So, I reasoned, if being a lesbian means I never have to worry about it, then so be it. What I didn't realize was that I might feel differently if I happened to be in love with a "real life" guy. And vice versa - that the very thought of certain intimate acts with a woman whom I don't love also makes me cringe. To a lesser extent, I admit - but still. So, gender really has nothing to do with it. I am not, technically, a lesbian. I am a bi-romantic demisexual (how's that for a catchy label, huh?...;P). I have to love people's personalities before I can love/desire their bodies. Seems pretty simple and obvious now that I think about it - and yet, it took me forty years to figure it out. Simply because I hadn't heard of that particular label/option before. Just like I couldn't have thought of myself as a lesbian at, say, fifteen - because I didn't know that it was a legitimate thing to be.
But coming back to group identification - once I embraced my "lesbian identity" around the age of twenty, I finally experienced that feeling of "belonging" that I lacked before. For one, women who had the courage to label themselves lesbians weren't very likely to shun me for not being Catholic.:P And, in exlusively female social groups, it was significantly easier to overcome my shyness. I never felt very comfortable socializing/dancing in regular (heterosexual) bars or clubs - in gay-friendly ones, I did. It was a whole new life for me, on so many levels. Which could be why, for years, it never occurred to me to question that identity - despite occasional guy-crushes that kept happening. Some of my new lesbian friends were quite dismissive of "bi-curious" women - so I guess I didn't want to be seen as one. Just an example of "suppressing certain parts of yourself" that I talked of before. As well as trying to embrace certain attitudes that you can't quite relate to - like enthusiastic reminiscing of casual sex with a random stranger picked up at a bar (not that I ever did that - but I always tried to act like it was a perfectly normal thing for me when I heard about it... and it wasn't). Or, you know, feeling somehow inferior for not having slept with enough people (i.e., much fewer people than your friends claimed to have slept with). I am SO glad I'm over that now... LOL. But I still feel sort of impressed when I see someone on the internet saying openly how they have never had sex and feel no interest in it. Like it's a perfectly "normal" thing for anyone to say (and it is, don't get me wrong; I just wish I had realized this back when I was 23 and so fucking ASHAMED of being a virgin that I jumped into bed with the first lesbian I met - only to end up in a toxic relationship with her that I tried so hard to rationalize to myself I almost lost command of my mental capacity).
And to tie this off... a while ago I tried to join an online forum for people interested in platonic relationships, and when I saw the little disclaimer saying: "Asexuals only, please" - I felt excluded. Again. Because, technically, I am not asexual - despite the fact that the likelihood of me ever wanting to enter into a sexual relationship again is so small it is practically negligible. And yet, I felt like it would be dishonest of me to join, after seeing that disclaimer. So, I was limited/incapacitated by a label that might almost fit me - but not quite. Which reminded me of how some women from the lesbian social group I used to be part of looked down on bisexuals; basically, the attitude towards newcomers was: "Lesbians only, please". And I do understand the need for a "safe space" that might generate such attitudes; but what about a safe space for people who don't fit so neatly into any particular box?... Should they just "make up their minds"?... Life is one big "grey area", if you look closely enough, and whatever you think of yourself at any given point in time is subject to change without notice. The search for new definitions and subcultures within subcultures continues forever. As one brand of "weird" becomes mainstream, others are crawling out of the woodwork and "daring to speak their name". And, sadly, every minority - however small - has some other (often shunned or disregarded) minority within it. Until it all breaks down to each individual person, who is totally unique and, in their full complexity, incomprehensible to anyone else. *sigh*
Yeah... that's the kind of philosophical mood that often descends on me around midnight.;) Whoever's still reading, feel welcome to share your unique perspective.:P
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Date: 2011-09-13 01:25 am (UTC)I feel the same way. I only ever feel sexual attraction if I am head over heels in love - but I am still capable of devoted, affectionate friendships without a sexual component, and I don't see why those wouldn't qualify as a "relationship" if both sides involved agreed that that's what they are. It's mostly just a question of terminology, imo, and we don't have to follow society's definitions down to a dot, you know?