On the Intersection of Asexuality, Femininity, and Transness

I've been trying to understand a tension in my life recently, and it just occurred to me that there's a framing for it which makes a number of different ideas snap into place and make a bit more sense. It's rooted in the idea of social usefulness, as interacts with femininity, sexual attractiveness, transness, and asexuality.

Before I came out as a trans woman, I was very attracted to women. Just, full stop, attracted to women. In many ways, I still am, but my understanding of that attraction has morphed considerably. Now, I understand that my attraction is primiarily centered around gender envy: the desire to be a woman. Transition theoretically meant I was achieving that goal, and I started to realize that my attraction was actually somewhat problematic, as envy necessarily involves elevating another person above myself for some trait or collection of traits I admire.

Society tells us, generally, that women are primarily useful as sexual beings. I don't agree with this, I think it's horribly wrong, and I was thinking that for decades before I realized I actually was one. But it is an overwhelming message society sends. Women who don't attract sexual partners are worth less, or even worth nothing. Women who refuse sexual interaction are frigid and to be shunned. Women who hide their attractiveness receive insults. And so on; I'm sure, if you're here reading this, you don't need the full list.

One important factor that I want to pull out of that litany of awful, though, is that a woman is instructed to perceive her value through the lens of sexuality. Her ability to attract a sexual partner is one of the greatest measures of her worth.

As my awareness of my own attraction to others grew and became more refined, I also came to realize that my interest in sex, both in terms of attraction to others, and in terms of the physical act, was waning. I thought I wanted sex before, because in truth I desired proximity to femininity; what's more proximate than sexual intercourse? Now that I have (at least nominally) achieved femininity, my interest in sex has waned basically to the point of non-existence.

As I was coming to understand my asexuality a couple years ago, I discussed it with my friends and fellow trans women. I was trying to understand what I was feeling, but also to gauge others' reactions and tendencies toward asexuality themselves. This discussion was productive, and did help me a great deal, but it also served as a broadcast message: I was no longer interested in sex.

Previous to this point, I was a participant in one of the main passtimes of many freshly-hatched trans women: massive thirst. Our sexual appetite, as a population, seems to be unmatched. We are finally free of the shackles of a gender that doesn't fit correctly, and our expressions of desire can become quite ardent.

However, with my public musings on asexuality, I stopped receiving attention along those lines. This was, I'm sure, intended in a respectful way, and I appreciate it on those terms. Unfortunately, it also had the effect of removing one of the primary expressions of worth I seemed to be able to perceive. Now that I was no longer fair game for flirting, many of my former friends drifted away.

Previous to transition, I perceived value in myself primarily from the skill and labor I could bring to a situation: I built theater sets, I programmed computers, I photographed, I helped others maintain their bicycles. I was deeply uncomfortable with being perceived as sexually attractive, even though I desired other women.

After I started transitioning, I was delighted to realize that others found me attractive, and pursued those relationships. I perceived value in myself through them, and through the attention I was able to generate baased on my attractiveness. I was also hit with the mind-bending task of trying to understand what value I brought as a woman.

It was easy to fall back on society's message: I should be sexually attractive, and sexually available. And I achieved those goals. Early transition was very difficult in some ways: it's a terrifying minefield of interpersonal traps and maneuvering a society which says I shouldn't exist in a thousand ways every day. But at least in terms of sexual attraction, I seemed to be doing well.

I'm sure you can see how this proceeds: with my declaration of aceness, I stopped receiving this sexual attention. It's to the point, now, that I can count on one hand the number of people who I would consider friends, down from dozens before that declaration.

Which leads me, now, to wonder what value I do bring. Most of the time, this isn't a deep problem, and I can ignore it. But when my mood is down, it becomes a significant barrier.

I certainly do many things which bring value to my friendships and relationships. I produce several community events which are successful and appreciated. I provide stability for my partner and my roommate. Although I'm out of practice, I still have the ability to build sets or photograph or repair bicycles.

However, society doesn't value those things in a woman. It values sexiness. No one is telling me this, and in fact I regularly receive approbation from those around me in appreciation for the value I do bring.

But lying alone in bed at night while my ace-friendly polyamorous partner is off with their other girlfriend, it's very easy to feel completely valueless. The other things I do pale in comparison to the value of sex in our society, and I have more or less consciously rejected sex (even though it's a consciousness raised by listening to what I really want).

I don't know where to go with this. It's a complex problem rooted in societal brainwashing and anxiety and the precarity of trans existence, and there is no simple solution. The complex solutions lay in changing society's valuation of women, undoing half a century's negative training, and recognizing my value even when it's not what society values. No problem. Sigh.

The benefit of writing this all out is that it helps clarify my own thoughts about my value, my sexuality (or lack thereof), my femininity, my transness, and where those things intersect. It also points out a potentially good next step: figuring out how to properly value the benefits I do bring to relationships, and not let those things be outweighed by the measure of a sexuality I'm not really participating in any more.