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Identity

People are sharing how they discovered their sexual orientation and every journey is unique

"I first realized that I liked men at the tender age of 12 while watching 'The Mummy' with Brendan Fraser for the first time."

via Cottonbro Studio/Pexels and Maharael Boutros/Pexels

Everyone's journey of self-discovery is different.

Discovering one's sexual orientation is a deeply personal journey that unfolds differently for everyone. Some people have a defining moment when they know what they’ll be into for the rest of their lives, and others go through life without much questioning.

Some people go for more of a trial-and-error approach where they come to an understanding over numerous experiences, while others view their sexuality as fluid and would rather live without any label.

What’s important to remember is that there's no "right" timeline or method for this self-discovery. What matters most is allowing oneself the time, space and love to grow and evolve organically. Everyone deserves the freedom to find their truth at their own pace.

​A Reddit user by the name of Jacklawd asked the online forum, “How did you conclude that your sexual orientation is what it is?” It received nearly 5,000 responses from almost every sexual orientation imaginable. Many people's journeys also made them understand that they were asexual—meaning they weren't sexually attracted to other people.

The discussion was valuable for many because it gave them a free place to express their personal journeys in a public forum. After reading other people’s experiences, there were many who felt a lot less alone.

Here are 17 of the most interesting responses to the question: “How did you conclude that your sexual orientation is what it is?”

Bisexual

"I can't remember a time when I didn't feel attracted to both men and women. It never went away, never wavered. Figured by 25, that's pretty well set that I'm bisexual." — TinyTinasRabidOtter

"Saw a hot girl. Saw a hot guy. Thought 'yeah both is good.'" — HailYourSelf717


Lesbian

"I accepted that I like women pretty quickly, but it was far harder for me to accept that I DIDN’T like men. I don’t know why but apparently that’s pretty common with lesbians. Compulsory heterosexuality (look it up) is a bitch. But one memory I frequently go to as proof is my especially close relationship with my 'best friends' and literally using one of her shirts as a pillowcase, vis a vis Jenny by Studio Killers. Also, having sex with a woman for the first time and all my fears melting away once I got lost in the moment. I can’t fathom being intimate with a man without feelings of extreme anxiety and nausea (no offense gents, you’re all great!! This is a me problem, not you!)." — Hannah_of-Acero

"I dated men forever and thought all straight women were attracted to other women. And then I had sex with a woman and there was literally no doubt. The glaring neon sign was there, I just didn’t see it for what it was. Nobody in my life was surprised though lmaooooo I wanted to have a big dramatic 'coming out' moment and everyone was just like 'oh good you figured it out.'" — melxcham

"I like my best friend -> I like girls -> bi?? -> I've never been attracted to a man -> lesbian." — Environmental-Cap727

Queer

"The labels got too annoying, so I just went with Queer. I feel comfortable with it, and it's not like I owe anyone an explanation. Nobody really asks for specific labels these days." — Random_Person


Gay

"I’ve liked guys since I was like 3. When I was 14 briefly wondered if I might be gay. Realized I’d never liked a girl and liked many guys so decided it was very unlikely. When I was 20 realized straight people weren’t typically interested in or turned on by the thought of having sex with people of the same sex as them. Decided I like guys so much more than I would ever be interested in a girl that it really didn’t matter. The thought of dating a girl is also a complete turn-off for me." — Harakiri_238

"I'm gay and grew up in a small, Christian village. So being openly gay was not really an option. I first realized that I liked men at the tender age of 12 while watching 'The Mummy' with Brendan Fraser for the first time. Everyone was talking about Rachel Weisz and I was always thinking 'She's pretty but... Did you see that guy?!' Then things moved back into the shadow thanks to some religious brainwashing and witnessing how my best friend was sent away to one of these 'healing camps' for just mentioning that he thought he is gay when we were 16. So I bottled it up. Dated a couple of girls, later a woman. Never was really into any of them. And I'm still to this day really sorry that I wasted their time. I completely closed that chapter when I moved to a big city and was finally able to explore myself without the fear of the entire village finding out and talking. I was 24 and had finally a feeling of knowing who I am and where I belong." — OneMorePotion

Straight Women

"I never had that need to explore my sexuality I see a lot of people have because I have only ever felt attracted to men. I’ve had women come up to me, but I have never even felt curious, I just don’t feel attracted to them. I guess that makes me straight." — NenaBurguesa

"I just knew as a young girl that I really liked boys. I had two older sisters, and I loved it when they'd invite their boyfriends over! I would bother them and ask them questions." — I_Need_A_Better_Name

Straight Men

"Heterosexual 34M here. Contrary to a lot of heterosexual men, I'm not just saying 'well I'm straight, that's it' because you also do have to realize it at some point...I played basketball and practiced jiu-jitsu, saw a lot of beautiful, athletic men showering naked, and never was attracted to them. I had beautiful gay men hitting on me and didn't feel attracted (nor repulsed, just: that it's not for me, sorry). So I concluded I was straight." — Teebo_

"When I was a teen I questioned it because I thought that even thinking some men are attractive made you gay. But I later realized that I didn't want to be physical or romantic with men at all, I actually am kinda repulsed by the idea of naked guys, I simply liked they way they looked. Same way I look at a car or something else that is aesthetically pleasing. But with women, I want to experience them physically, emotionally and intimately. I want to be with a woman, I don't want to be with a man in any way. So that's when I understood I'm straight." — MembraneintheInzane

Asexual

"After well over 20 years of never having a crush on anyone, it starts to dawn on you that maybe you're the odd one out not feeling anything. For me, sex was always just this super distant thing that I never, ever thought about unless it was brought up externally. Masturbation was always an 'oh yeah people do that, right' kinda deal. Any sexual body part was always either completely unremarkable or outright ugly. That people really did imagine having sex with people was surprising to me. 'Wait, they're not just meming about a taboo subject because it's taboo? People actually think that way?' Porn never interested me, and I have zero desire to look at it when I can instead be watching a documentary on Dave Stieb. Yeah, at some point it becomes hard to ignore that you're different.

"While I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything by being asexual and being in a position where I never want to try sex, I definitely do feel like I'm missing out by (possibly) being aromantic. I can appreciate a well-written romance (note: most are not for infuriating pacing reasons alone), and it does feel like it's something I'm missing even if I've never felt it. While I can think of someone as 'pretty' or 'cute,' words like 'hot' and 'sexy' have no intuitive and intrinsic meaning to them. I can give you a dictionary definition, and I can tell you how other people use them, but I don't actually feel it." — 47Robin

"Fellow ace here. I really thought that people were kind of arbitrarily deciding who they liked. I really didn’t understand that you actually had some feelings for someone. I only thought it was kinda judging the appearance of someone. And it was just crazy when people started to like each other at like 13-15. I just faked that whole thing. I remember when learning about sex ed, in my own thoughts, I was like why do we need to know this? Nobody is having kids. Might as well learn about colonizing Mars or the Moon as well. I really thought everybody was like that and just lied about finding people sexy and the like. I can understand someone being pretty, but it’s the exact same feeling when seeing a sunset, art, or listening to great music or seeing a great movie." — Craigularperson


Aromantic-Asexual (AroAce)

"Never developed a crush, never felt drawn to anyone sexually, and even as I grew older was repulsed by the idea of having sex. I heard the term 'aroace', researched its meaning, and the label just fit. I am aroace. I can love people platonically, but I do not feel sexual or romantic attraction/love." —

​Pansexual

​"I fell in love with a man who transitioned. After I'd come to terms with 'losing' my lover, I realized that I still loved her just as much as I'd ever loved him, and that was that my pansexual orientation was born." — Fluffy_Fox_Kit


No Need for a Label

"If you're asking for insight to better understand others who are different from you, I think you've gotten plenty of great responses already. However, if you're looking for info relating to your own definition of sexuality, then I want to STRONGLY impress upon you that there isn't actually any need to define yourself with labels. Society is really obsessed with putting people into categories to better understand them. You don't have to do that. It's totally fine (and I feel really healthy) to just experience life as it comes. My mom is 65+, has 3 previous hetero marriages, and has recently found a girlfriend. It doesn't mean she's been gay the whole time. It doesn't mean she's straight and acting out. She's just in love, and that's great." — IronFlower

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Equality

I'm still a closeted, queer woman. This is what pride means to me

Photo by Jose Pablo Garcia on Unsplash

Editor's Note: Raleigh Van Ness is a pseudonym used by Upworthy in order to protect the anonymity of the author.

It's hard to pinpoint the moment I knew I was queer. Growing up, I knew I was different. I liked boys because I was told I should like boys. I chased Chris for a kiss in Kindergarten on a whim and a dare—not out of any true want or desire. In fifth grade, I dated Brandon for his ball cap. It was a status symbol. It got me clout with the hip kids—the cool kids, you know, the girls who wore cropped sweaters and acid-wash jeans. While I had a steady stream of boyfriends in middle school, I did so to appear normal. To be normal. Plus, I couldn't possibly go to the Halloween dance alone, so I didn't.

I held Tyler's shoulders and swayed to Savage Garden.

Terrance sang every word of Boyz II Men's "I'll Make Love to You" in my ear.

But the truth is my eyes weren't for them, not at 10, 12 or 17. I was—and always have been—attracted to women.

The first girl I recall liking was my best friend, Kathlyn. She was a sweet girl. A kind and loving girl. She was also beyond smart. The bookish type. Her long, brown locks regularly covered her eyes. But there was something about her gap teeth and freckled skin that enticed me. It entranced me. I wanted to be more than good friends.

I began having fantasies which would make you blush and would make my mother ashamed.

In high school, I scoured the scenes of scrambled porn—which, for those unaware, is how kids watched X-rated films in the pre-internet days—for curved lips and hips. For breasts and bare buttocks. I became obsessed with women's reactions and the sight of their satisfaction. I wanted to know that feeling. I wanted to share it with another.

On occasion, I've flirted with my desires. I've kissed and caressed some amazing women in my life, but no one knows it. Well, besides a few drunken college encounters caught on camera. But no one knows it because I am living a double life.

I am married to a man.

I am not alone. According to the Williams Institute at UCLA, 4% of adults in the United States identify as lesbian, gay, transgender or bisexual. This means there are approximately 9 million LGBTQ individuals in America, and many more live like me, in silence and in secret. While living in the closet can be isolating—scratch that: it can be upsetting, enraging and (some days) it fills me with shame—during Pride Month, I am humbled. I am thankful. I am accepted and understood.

You see, when I see a rainbow banner or flag I smile shyly, coyly because I feel seen. Even though I am closeted, I feel a sense of community. I feel like I belong and I am understood.

During Pride Month, I feel I am able to celebrate myself completely. Fully. I've spent my whole life ashamed of who I am—of what it is I feel, want, need, who I love and what I deserve—but seeing others embrace LGBTQ individuals makes me love myself and embrace myself. Seeing others celebrate Pride makes me value myself.

Pride month reminds me of how far I've come. Sure, I haven't "come out" to my friends and family, but I have come out to myself, and that is worth celebrating. Acknowledging my true self is half the battle.

Pride makes me feel backed. Supported. Like I have a family and home.

I also feel an immense sense of gratitude during Pride. I am thankful for the voices of others. For the strength of others. For the fight of others, and hope one day I can join them. I hope one day I have the courage to be myself. Loud and proud.

Make no mistake: There are days I still struggle. I hate myself. I am angry with myself. I feel like a failure and a fraud. On these days, I convince myself I have no community. Until I am open and honest, I am neither straight or queer. But while closets hide things, they don't keep secrets. Silence does not take away my identity. I am a wife, mother, runner, and a writer.

I am also a proud queer woman.

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Wellness

As an asexual woman, finding my place in the queer community wasn't as simple as it sounds

Photo by Anthony Intraversato on Unsplash

Nervously, I reached into my purse and pulled out my ID, flashing it to the bouncer. It was 6 p.m. and I'd just come from work. My roommates were supposed to meet me, but they were always late, and tonight was no exception. So, it was with a pounding heart that I faced the crowd alone, trying to find the least threatening person to approach.

It was my first Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) meeting, specifically for those in the LGBT community, and I thought I'd found my people. Queer and political, sign me up. But as I took a closer look at those milling around, I realized that the space didn't look that different from what I was used to. I was still in the minority, because of both my race and gender. I was still being talked at by men who thought they knew more than me. I was still around people who seemed to assume that everyone wanted sex.

One of the only other women in the group came up to me and said "It's good to see another one of us here." "Another what?" I asked, a bit confused. "Another lesbian," she replied easily, as if it were obvious.

But that was not true. I'm not a lesbian. I'm asexual. And I had thought that coming to a group geared toward LGBT individuals—the full acronym being LGBTQIA+, where the A stands for asexual (also known as "ace")—would have allowed me the opportunity to meet others who identified similarly.

After figuring out that I was asexual, I thought finding community would be easier

I'd done all the hard work of figuring out that I was ace—I thought that finding a community would be easier. After years of internalizing heteronormativity, of consuming various movies and books where sex and relationships were presented as the ultimate goals, it was no wonder that it took me such a long time to realize that I didn't want that. And even longer still to accept and embrace that part of my identity, to realize that there were others who felt the same way. There was a whole community out there if I could just find them.

With the DSA LGBT event, I finally thought that I had. It turned out that it wouldn't be that simple. I kept attending events with queer and LGBT+ labels attached to them, hoping that I'd find someone who would understand. But I was realizing that just because we shared the queer label did not mean that we shared experiences. Many understood being different, sure, but not the difference that I felt. They still experienced sexual attraction, just not of the heteronormative variety. Sometimes, these spaces were even more sexualized as people felt comfortable expressing themselves in ways they couldn't in everyday life.

To find other ace people, I had to look elsewhere

When I was unable to find the community I was searching for by going to in-person events, I turned to the internet. Once I knew the terminology, I was able to search on various social media sites. I started following a blog on Tumblr that posted about ace topics. I began to see others post about experiences that mirrored my own.

It was on Instagram that I found a community of ace individuals in New York, where I live. They posted various resources for asexuals and even hosted monthly events. What I'd so desperately wanted earlier, an in-person community, was suddenly within my grasp. The page posted about a new support group for asexuals, and I decided to go.

What struck me first was that the room was diverse—there were a lot of non-cis men and a lot of POC folks. The organizers were women of color. As people began to share their stories, I felt a sense of calm envelop my body—I had found people who understood me. They had been uncomfortable in high school because they didn't understand everyone's desire to have sex. They had faced challenges navigating dating when sexual intimacy was something that may not even be on the table. They were older and wiser and made me feel like it was all going to be alright.

I may not feel like I belong in all queer spaces, but I've found a queer space that fits me. This space, and the people in it, provide me with the confidence to live my life authentically, to embrace the ace part of my identity. And when I inevitably encounter those who don't understand me, I know I've got a place to go for support.

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They went to Pride with 'I'm sorry' signs, and people are feeling all the feels.

The Philippines' LGBTQ community and its allies gathered near the capital city of Manila on June 30 to celebrate Pride.

There was no shortage of colorful love to go around.

Photo by Ted Aljibe/AFP/Getty Images.

There were also more than a few religious groups in attendance, eager to make their own opinions heard.

Like most public Pride events, the march drew plenty of people who were decidedly not there to celebrate love and acceptance.

Like this disgruntled gentleman.

Photo by Ted Alijibe/AFP/Getty Images.

Or this dude on the far right of the photo (and probably the political spectrum).

Photo by Ted Alijibe/AFP/Getty Images.

Unfortunately, this type of behavior is not uncommon in the Philippines.

The southeast Asian country still has a serious lack of legal protections for queer people, and is grappling with one of the world's worst track records when it comes to anti-transgender violence.

Surprisingly, though, some religious groups were there for a completely different reason — they came to say sorry.

"I'm sorry," read a large banner carried by one Christian group that marched in solidarity with the LGBTQ community. "We're here to apologize for the ways that we as Christians have harmed the LGBT community."

Photo by Jamilah Salvador, used with permission.

The banner continued, noting the reasons why the group was apologizing:

... for not listening.
... for judging you.
... for hiding behind religion, when really I was just scared.
... I've looked at you as a sex act instead of a child of God.
... I have looked down on you instead of honoring your humanity.
... I've rejected and hurt your family in the name of 'family values.'




Photos from the event have gone viral, like the one below that shows two people holding their apologies high.

"I used to be a Bible-banging homophobe," one read. "Sorry!!"

"Jesus didn't turn people away," read the other, "neither do we."

Photo by Jamilah Salvador, used with permission.

The two viral pics were shared by Twitter user Jamilah Salvador, who attended the festivities near Manila.

Her photos were just two of the several different pics capturing the group of supportive Christians marching proudly — and apologetically.

"I literally cried when I saw this," Salvador wrote in her tweet sharing the images.

The people in the photos are from the Church of Freedom in Christ Ministries in Makati, BuzzFeed News learned.

The group has been marching in Pride celebrations for years as part of their "I'm Sorry" campaign.

"I used to believe that God condemns homosexuals," Val Paminiano, pastor of the church, explained to the outlet. "But when I studied the scriptures, especially the ones that we call 'clobber scriptures' that are being cherry-picked from the Bible to condemn LGBT people, I realized that there's a lot to discover, including the truth that God is not against anyone."

That message made a world of difference to Salvador, who had a strict, religious upbringing.

"I felt goosebumps all over my body reading their [banner and signs]," Salvador wrote to Upworthy in a message. "As a 'full-blooded' Catholic (born and raised), it is impossible to not encounter hate from the people who cannot understand the [LGBTQ community]."

The church's efforts have made an impact on LGBTQ people around the world.

It goes to show that, as we learn and grow, it's important to do more than just fix our problematic behavior — we have to make amends for our past beliefs and behaviors, too.

Wrote Salvador, "These people's effort of apologizing and showing that they accept and understand us really means a lot."

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