“I don’t feel like having sex anymore, how do I know if I'm asexual or if it’s low libido?”
As a sex educator, I’ve become accustomed to fielding people’s most private questions. Upon first introductions, they often open up like a diary full of entries and curiosities they’ve been waiting to share. All of that to say, I’m used to answering most types of intimacy inquiries, but this particular question about low libido, which I recently fielded at a speaking engagement, left me stumped. I stumbled through my best guess, but had to tell my inquisitive new friend that I would search for the truth and get back to them — and search I did.
The queer myth of lesbian bed death — or the idea that certain lesbians in long-term relationships start having sex less often, if not altogether — might tell some of us that our disinterest in sex is the result of being in a comfortable partnership for too long, but this has been long disproven.
Really, there are two distinct concepts that might be your answer and they, in many ways, couldn’t feel further from one another. One is asexuality the crucial “A” under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella, whereas low libido is often associated with health and medicine. In distinguishing between the two, it could feel unclear which route to go. You might end up waving that asexual pride flag, finding a community and accepting your newfound identity, or alternatively perhaps considering sex therapy, incorporating new practices into your life, and even taking medication to address the source of your low libido.
This confusion may only be complicated for those already navigating other queer identities. Stereotypes exist that claim we are hypersexual, and if you’re expected to have sex on the brain 24/7, any dips and drops in sexual appetite may feel like cause for concern. Gender dysphoria can also make the idea of sex feel uncomfortable, and feelings of sexual attraction might be overshadowed by compulsory heterosexuality induced guilt. Not to mention that queer folks are more likely to have experienced trauma, which can absolutely impact one’s desire for sex. This is particularly worth noting, as 72% of people who identify as asexual are nonbinary or genderqueer.
With all of this to consider, determining whether asexuality or low libido fits your experience can provide important clarity around questions you may have about yourself. I spoke with queer experts on the topic to get a well rounded understanding of how to approach this.
What is asexuality?
Put simply, being asexual, or “ace” for short, refers to people who rarely or never experience sexual attraction. Like many other queer identities, there isn’t a single way to be ace, and asexuality exists on a spectrum. Gray asexuality, also called “graysexuality,” also fits under this umbrella, and refers to people who sometimes experience sexual attraction or require specific conditions in order to do so. Some people on the ace spectrum are demisexual, or need an emotional connection in order to feel sexual attraction.
How do I know if I’m asexual?
According to Cody Daigle-Orions, asexual educator and creator of Ace Dad Advice, figuring out if you’re asexual is a very personal, individual process.
“I encourage people who are thinking they might be asexual to ask themselves a few questions,” Daigle-Orions tells Them. “Does calling myself asexual feel authentic to me? Does calling myself asexual feel like the truth? Does thinking of myself as asexual help me understand my feelings and experience more fully?”
As with many markers of identity, this part of self-discovery boils down to if this language affirms you. Though this is a personal process, listening to other ace people’s experiences rather than just focusing on the dictionary definition of what it means to be “asexual” can give you some important guidance.
“Definitions are useful, but it can be even more useful to see if another asexual person’s experience resonates with you,” Cody says. “There are a lot of us on the internet making content and sharing about our lives. That’s how I figured it out for myself. I read some posts on Tumblr from ace folks talking about their lives and I thought, ‘Oh! That’s me!’”
What is low libido?
Low libido is defined by Mayo Clinic as a change in one’s norms when your sexual appetite is not what it was in the past. There are many factors that can contribute to a change in libido, from stress to hormones to aging to substance or prescribed medication use. Transfemmes who opt to medically transition, as an example, frequently experience a drop in their sex drive after starting hormone replacement therapy. It is worth acknowledging, however, that it can often be hard to differentiate between expectations you hold for yourself and societal expectations about how often someone “should” want to have sex. Comparing your libido to others can also make that insecurity worse. It’s important to remember that gender and sexuality can also be huge components in feeling like your libido is low, not only because experiencing oppression is stressful, but also because, historically, what is considered to be “normal” sexuality has been defined in terms of cis-het men.
How do I know if I have low libido?
I wanted to get an impression on how a queer, sex positive, mental health professional might go about explaining low libido to their clientele and treating it. I spoke with Flo Olivera, who is just that, a sex therapist and educator. Their insight was particularly valuable, as they generally do not believe in pathologizing people’s sexuality.
“Instead, I would guide clients to ask themselves how they feel about their libido as individuals and if there is a desire to change it for themselves, not because others have asked, questioned, or influenced,” they tell Them. “The only times there should be a dive into the medical field are if there is pain or extreme discomfort leading to an effect on libido and therefore signaling that something might be physically wrong.”
Addressing low libido also requires understanding that the source of the problem could be something different altogether. Flo does so by asking clients about their medications, media use, and questions that get at their overall feelings of shame.
“If shame is impacting someone’s libido I usually advise them to go the basics again, sexually,” Olivera says. “My prescriptions to my clients are usually to begin with non-sexual sensate focus, exploring your genitalia with mirrors and providing affirmations to self. Then working up to a fun self pleasure practice that is comfortable.”
How can I tell the difference between asexuality and low libido?
The answer to this question is far more complicated than it seemed to me at first glance. In truth, even medical professionals struggle to come to a consensus. Asexual activist Sherronda J. Brown asks people to question whether their standards should be the ones we look towards. In their book, Refusing Compulsory Sexuality, there is a chapter that addresses the question of asexuality vs. low libido, which can largely be summarized by the following quote.
“The medical industry has a distinct history of medicalizing, pathologizing, and punishing things that fall outside ‘normal’ and that do not align with white cis-hetero-patriarchal and gendered expectations,” they write.
For this reason, some medical professionals throughout history have denounced the existence of asexuality altogether. To this day, some address asexuality as an issue in need of fixing. In the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5), the standard for diagnosing all mental health disorders in the United States, low libido is identified as Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD). Lifelong libidinal concerns are labeled “Sexual Aversion Disorder” (SAD) in the DSM-5, which is defined as “persistent or recurrent extreme aversion to, and avoidance of, all (or almost all) genital sexual contact with a sexual partner.” Some asexual people could technically fit within that description.
What is or is not considered a disorder in the DSM has changed throughout time. Queer history shows that homosexuality was considered a mental illness as late as 1973. Across the revisions of the DSM, the diagnosis of “transexualism” was changed to “gender identity disorder” and most recently to “gender dysphoria.” It is clear that queer inclusion has been an issue for the field of psychology over the years. In their book, Brown asserts that mental illness itself is socially determined and that “a significant amount of acephobia is rooted in healthism and ableism.”
Still, it can be helpful for many to put words to their experiences, especially so that they may make more informed decisions. One helpful way to do so is by considering the duration of and changes in your sexuality. Asexuality is a living phenomenon, which is why Daigle-Orions advises those questioning to, “think about the way folks experience their sexual orientations. It’s a longstanding pattern of experiencing attraction that way. The same is typically true for ace folks […] Low libido suggests that at some point there was some other level of libido (probably higher) that serves at the comparison. So that may not present as a longstanding pattern. It’s a change.”
That is to say, generally, low libido is a change in an overall pattern of sexual attraction (likely a decrease in sexual desire) and asexuality is a consistent pattern or low or no attraction. But, ultimately, there is no rush to parse through whether your lack of sex drive means you have low libido or you are asexual. Exploring what term feels best for you can be an important and empowering journey of self-discovery for many, and taking the care to ask yourself these questions and be introspective is crucial.
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