I’ve told my mother I consider myself asexual three times. Each time, I was wracked with fear, trying to explain the inexplicable. Each time, I rooted the discussion in discussions of sexual orientation, making it perfectly clear that this was my version of orientation. I concisely explained what asexuality was and my relation to it- no easy feat considering how non-typically grey-a I’ve felt even at the best of times. Each time, my mother indicated grudging, troubled respect.
And then I watched her face as she meticulously and unconciously forgot the conversation that just happened. Each successive coming-out was a new first. She couldn’t internalise the fact of asexuality, because she wasn’t willing to listen.
Passing isn’t fun if you have no other option. Forced denial of who you are is not privilege.