I’m an asexual, non-binary, married mum – none of that is contradictory

Lazy morning in bed. Happy couple in pajamas sitting in bed at home. (Picture: Getty Images)

‘You should really see a doctor, a low libido at your age isn’t normal’. 

I got this direct message on X in 2014, from an old coworker of mine, concerned about my wellbeing.

I hadn’t heard from them since I had quit the job we worked at together, so didn’t understand their vested interest in my sex life.  

But I knew after sharing my sexuality that someone would have an opinion.   

I had just hit send on a post simply saying: ‘Please don’t hit on me – I’m asexual’, after being catcalled a few times, and I became increasingly tired of it. 

At just 21 I was sure of – I had virtually no interest in having sex.  

I am asexual – a sexual orientation that means I experience little to no sexual attraction to others. It is a broad spectrum, meaning every individual’s experience with sex is different.  

Many people assume that asexual means you never have sex.  

That’s true for many asexuals, but others, like me, do have it occasionally. 

It is a broad spectrum, meaning every individual’s experience with sex is different (Picture: Getty Images)

But no matter how often I do, I’m still asexual, and I still have an exceptionally fulfilling marriage. 

Growing up, I understood that I was different from other people. 

For me, the concept of sex is a biological one – necessary for human life. I don’t need to be privy to anyone’s sex life, it’s just not interesting to me.

Whenever I read or watch a sex scene, I flinch, because it feels like it’s none of my business. 

Having sex simply never became a priority or a need, like it was for others.

I just kind of went along with it, and never spoke up for myself (Picture: Getty Images)

By the time I was 21, I had slept with two people – one of whom was a serious partner, who turned out to be a sex addict.

I was with him a year, and in that time, he would initiate sex at least three times a day – it was utterly exhausting and felt like a job.

But, at only 20, I was terrified of being alone and ruining my first real relationship. I did love him – and outside of the constant sex, we got on really well. 

So I just kind of went along with it, and never spoke up for myself. 

But six months in, I found out about the term ‘asexual’ from a friend of mine who identified that way. They were not interested in sex, and I frankly didn’t even realise that was an option. 

I confided in my roommate at the time, telling him that I thought that word applied to me, hoping he would validate and support me – but it didn’t go well. 

‘That’s selfish’, he said, ‘what about your boyfriend?’ 

His reaction caused me to go right back into the closet and hide my real feelings. I didn’t tell anyone else how I felt and dutifully went along with my boyfriend’s sex drive. 

At this point, my boyfriend, however, had already started to distance himself, sensing that I wasn’t sexually attracted to him.  

That’s when I found out he cheated on me with another person who claimed to have loved him. At some point, they got together and hooked up without me knowing – he told me all this after we had sex and were lying in bed.

I should have ended the relationship, but it was he who ended things when I told him I didn’t want to open our relationship.

I should have ended the relationship (Picture: Getty Images)

Twelve years on, I have made many revelations about my sexuality and my gender. 

I met my husband in a hobby group. We immediately bonded over movies and became best friends, and what felt like overnight, we fell in love. 

When we started seeing each other, I let him know that I was asexual – he didn’t mind. He said he wanted to be with me even if sex was not a factor. He loved me, and I could really feel it. 

Intimacy for us can look like many things – cuddling, spending time together or non-sexual touching.  

But I still have sex with my husband. It’s infrequent but something that we see as ‘relationship maintenance’ when the time is right. He isn’t very sex-motivated himself, so it suits both of us. 

And now, five years into our marriage, we have a two year old child together.

People may not understand or find my life strange – my best friend introduced me at a party recently, jovially saying: ‘they’re autistic, they’re asexual, they’re a mom…you figure that out.’ 

I like being an anomaly, but I get tired of the more serious questions – such as if I’ve had IVF to get pregnant. Sexual intercourse is still the easiest way to make a baby, and I was ready to be a mum. 

Five years into our marriage, we have a two year old child together (Picture: Getty Images)

Then in 2025 I came out as non-binary. 

When I told my husband, it didn’t matter to him – I’m still the same person I always was. 

I didn’t realise I was until after I became a mum – although I had rumblings that I wasn’t what a woman is defined as in society, since I was a teenager.

I don’t subscribe to any of the hallmarks of femininity, so a non-binary identity made more sense to me. 

After years of struggling with my identity, I am finally happy with who I am, and I am happy and grateful to have a fulfilling and peaceful family life. 

Whatever works best for your relationship is what matters.  

Ultimately, the only people in my relationship are myself and my partner – we support each other, and we are all exactly who we are meant to be. 

And we are so dearly in love. 

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