Untitled

I often find myself wondering about the overlap between my autism and being aroace.

Not in a “something must have caused this” way, but more in a quiet, reflective “this feels connected” way.

A lot of what I experience around attraction (or the lack of it) lines up closely with autistic traits. Sexual and romantic attraction don’t come naturally or instinctively to me; they feel abstract, distant, or theoretical rather than something I feel in my body. When people talk about chemistry, sparks, or “just knowing", it often sounds like a language I was never taught.

Physical closeness, especially touch that’s expected to be intimate, can feel overwhelming rather than comforting. Sensory boundaries matter a lot to me. What others describe as warmth or closeness can register as overstimulation, pressure, or loss of control.

That said, physical closeness is something I can accept, but only with people I’m extremely close to, like my mother or father, and only when I’m ready for it or when I’m the one initiating it. Consent, familiarity, and control make all the difference. Without those, even well-meant touch can feel intrusive.

There’s also the social side of romance and sex, the unspoken rules, flirting, expectations, and scripts. Autism makes me question social norms anyway, so I don’t automatically accept the idea that romantic or sexual relationships are something I should want. When I strip away that expectation, I’m left with… not much desire at all.

That doesn’t feel broken. It feels honest.

I don’t think autism causes aroace identities, but I do believe it can shape how attraction is felt, understood, or even noticed. For me, being autistic has always meant relating to the world differently, so it makes sense that I’d relate to intimacy differently, too.

At the end of the day, this isn’t about labels explaining each other. It’s about recognising patterns, respecting boundaries, and understanding myself a little better.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how long it took me to realise that nothing was actually “wrong” with me.

For years, I just thought I was missing something, that invisible spark everyone talks about when they describe love or attraction. People would say things like “you’ll understand when it happens,” but it never really did.

When I learned about being aromantic and asexual, aroace, it suddenly made sense. I could find people nice to look at, even cute or “my type” in some visual way, but it never went beyond that. I didn’t want to do anything with the feeling. It was more like appreciating a piece of art or a sunset: beautiful, but not something I needed to reach out and touch.

And then, with time, I started seeing how much of that connected with me being autistic too.

I process the world differently. Touch can be too much, closeness can feel overwhelming, and I don’t always understand social expectations around flirting or relationships. People can mistake that for coldness, but it’s not,  it’s just that connection looks and feels different for me.

I love deeply, but in my own quiet way. Through comfort, trust, consistency, and small shared moments. That kind of love feels real to me, calmer, safer, more me.

Sometimes I wish more people talked about how autism and sexuality can overlap, because maybe then I’d have understood myself sooner. Instead of thinking I was broken, I could’ve realised I was just built differently, and that’s not a bad thing.

So yeah, I’m not missing anything. I just don’t fit into the usual script. And honestly, that feels kind of freeing.

For a long time, I couldn’t quite put into words why romance and sex never really clicked for me. I liked people, I cared about them, but that spark everyone talked about, the crushes, the butterflies, the desire, just wasn’t there.

Eventually, I found the words that actually fit: aroace.

I don’t experience romantic or sexual attraction, and honestly, that makes sense of so many things I used to wonder about.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice beauty.

Sometimes I find men or women (or anyone, really) aesthetically attractive, the way someone carries themselves, their style, the energy they give off. It’s not about wanting them, it’s just a quiet kind of appreciation.

That’s why I also describe myself as bi-aesthetic aroace.

I can see beauty in anyone, but I don’t feel the need for romance or sex. It’s not absence, it’s peace.

Touch and closeness are personal for me, too. Being touched or crowded can make me anxious, and I’ve learned that letting someone close — physically or emotionally — is a privilege. It’s about trust, not distance.

Realising this about myself has been freeing. I don’t need to force a type of connection that doesn’t feel natural. I can still build strong friendships, deep bonds, and meaningful relationships — just in my own way.

It’s okay to exist outside the boxes. It’s okay to be comfortable with who you are, even if it doesn’t match what others expect.

💚🖤🤍💜

bi-aesthetic aroace | autistic | proud to know myself better