Posted by Richard Willett - Memes and headline comments by David Icke Posted on 6 July 2024

What is an abrosexual? Let me explain, as it took me 30 years to realise my identity

‘When did you decide this? Is this even a label – I’ve never heard of it. I support you, obviously, but this doesn’t sound real.’

Just some of the words that greeted me when I came out as abrosexual to a close friend, back in 2020.

Needless to say, we’re not friends anymore.

For those of you who don’t know what abrosexuality is, in layperson’s terms, it simply means when someone’s sexual identity fluctuates and changes.

I read and re-read the text, the dismissiveness of their message cutting deeper each time. Here I was, sharing my identity with someone I trusted, only for them to scoff at my words.

Although the easy defence is that you can’t determine someone’s tone from a text message, I think it’s clear that the vibe was far from supportive. It was judgmental, and immediately doubtful.

Sadly, this person isn’t the only one who has voiced their opinions on my abrosexuality – and I doubt they’ll be the last.

When I was growing up, I’d never heard the term abrosexual – you were either straight, gay, or lesbian as far as nineties society was concerned. Anything else was made up.

Of course, we know that’s far from the truth – but societal blindspots mean we learn terms much slower than if they’re readily accessible.

Often, people don’t go looking to educate themselves on different orientations unless it directly affects them – without that incentive, I’ve found many stick to what they know already.

I didn’t learn about abrosexuality until two years ago, when I was 30. Up until that point, I’d struggled to identify what my sexuality was because it fluctuated so rapidly.

There were times that I too scoffed, chastising myself for being so uncertain of who I was. It wasn’t that I couldn’t make my mind up, but rather my identity shifted.

One day I felt like I was a lesbian, yet days or weeks later, I’d feel more aligned with bisexuality. My sexuality was fluid.

Before learning about abrosexuality, I felt lost, as if out at sea. I also felt like a fraud because of how much I changed my identity when chatting with loved ones.

No one was intentionally hurtful, but I’d get the occasional, ‘but you said you were a lesbian only last week’. They didn’t understand and, at that time, I didn’t have the right words to explain myself.

It was only when I was reading the Instagram page of Zoe Stoller, a US based creator, educator, and social worker, who seeks to improve the visibility of the LGBTQ+ community, that I saw the term abrosexuality for the first time.

You know in cartoons when a lightbulb appears above their heads? That’s how it felt when I read their post.

Finally, I feel seen.

Yet, while discovering a new term for me has been hugely beneficial to understanding myself better, to some people, my identity is one that evokes confusion.

When I tell people that I’m abrosexual, I’m often greeted by a blank expression, followed by a question of what the term means.

And questions are fine, as long as they’re respectful. I’m not expecting everyone to know what it means – hell, I didn’t until two years ago – but you should always listen with respect.

Read More: What is an abrosexual? Let me explain, as it took me 30 years to realise my identity

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