The Reason for Relationships

Lately I have been once again ruminating on the likelihood that I will spend my life alone. This isn't said in a way to invoke pity or imply that I have been simply waiting for my prince, princess, or gender nonconforming royalty to come along and sweep me off my feet. The reality is, as someone who is asexual, demiromantic, and neurodivergent with a heaping side of social anxiety, the chances of me meeting someone I want to get to know and who has the patience to get to know me enough that I might someday develop romantic feelings for them is practically nonexistent. And so I have come to accept that, unless some sort of miracle happens, I will remain single. 

Accepting that inevitability, however, does not mean that I am not profoundly lonely. It doesn't mean that I don't crave connection. It doesn't mean that I don't lay in bed some nights and wish that there was something other than a pillow for me to wrap my arms around. 

Contrary to what society would have me believe, I know that a lifetime of being single is not a death sentence. I know that romantic love is not the be-all, end-all of life. When talking with my therapist about my latest slump, however, she said she wanted to challenge me on what she perceived as me stating I had a need for a romantic relationship. 

I tried explaining that I didn't think I needed a relationship to be romantic. I almost certainly don't need it to be sexual. I want someone who I can count on as a constant companion. Someone who, if I buy tickets to see my favorite band in concert, I automatically know I can buy two tickets because I can count on them coming with me. I want someone I can lean against while we both sit on the couch doing our own activities. I want someone I can talk to about an article on emotional dysregulation or the latest musical I've fixated on and I don't have to worry that I am annoying them. I want someone who knows that I struggle with getting the trash and recycling out on pick-up day and is willing to take on that task for me. 

When sharing some of these desires with my therapist, the response I got was that what I am talking about is not a relationship, but a tool I can use to avoid my anxiety. I was shocked when she said this. It seemed like such a callous way to describe the image of support and intimacy that I have in my head. Unfortunately, the session ended shortly after this and I was left feeling like we had just unearthed yet another massive flaw in my system that will take months to unpack.

In the hours following my session, the more I perseverate on it, the more convoluted my thoughts have become. I feel annoyed, sad, misunderstood, lonely. I feel ashamed. I feel ashamed for wanting someone to provide me comfort in uncomfortable situations. I feel ashamed for wanting connection.

And the more I think about that, the more my shame turns to anger. Because people who experience romantic and sexual attraction want these things too. They want companionship. They want intimacy. They want someone who will make their life easier. They just also want sex and romance and, to them, those are the components that actually make up a partnership. A real relationship is about sexual and romantic attraction and those other things are just added and often unnoticed benefits. 

So as someone who hasn't experienced sexual or romantic attraction, am I just not allowed to have those benefits? Because my ideal relationship doesn't look like what society has deemed "normal", am I expected to be ashamed for wanting intimacy without romance? Am I expected to believe that my desire for companionship is actually a function of my anxiety? Am I expected to force myself to be comfortable in solitude instead of receiving comfort from another person? Am I expected to accept that my life is just going to be more challenging and that's that? 

I don't have the answer to any of these questions. My heart says no, that I have a right to experience my version of companionship without shame and without the implication that my reason for wanting it is as an avoidance tactic. But my brain says that we live in an allonormative society that is structured solely for a type of relationship that I may not be capable of experiencing. It's a bleak thought that does nothing to soothe the anger and hopelessness that have been building in me lately.  

But I guess shouting into the abyss isn't really about getting answers. It's about release. And maybe setting these thoughts adrift will be good enough for now.