In 2020, Emma Flint decided to share a deeply personal truth with a close friend: she had discovered she was abrosexual. The response was not one of support, but of dismissal and doubt. "When did you decide this? Is this even a label – I’ve never heard of it," her friend replied. That friendship, sadly, did not survive the revelation.
What is Abrosexuality?
For those unfamiliar with the term, abrosexuality describes a sexual orientation that is fluid and fluctuating. An abrosexual person's sexual identity and attractions can change over time, whether that shift occurs over days, weeks, or longer periods. It is an identity that challenges the notion of a fixed, lifelong orientation.
Emma, like many, grew up in the 1990s with a limited societal understanding of sexuality, where being straight, gay, or lesbian were often presented as the only options. "Anything else was made up," she recalls of the era's attitudes. It wasn't until she was 30, just two years ago, that she first encountered the term that would finally make sense of her experiences.
The Relief of Finding a Label
For years, Emma struggled to define her sexuality as it shifted rapidly. "One day I felt like I was a lesbian, yet days or weeks later, I’d feel more aligned with bisexuality," she explains. This left her feeling lost and, at times, like a fraud, especially when loved ones would question her changing identity. She lacked the vocabulary to explain that her sexuality was inherently fluid.
The moment of clarity came while reading the Instagram page of Zoe Stoller, a US-based creator, educator, and social worker who focuses on LGBTQ+ visibility. Seeing the term 'abrosexuality' was a lightbulb moment. "Finally, I feel seen," Emma says. It provided the framework to understand that her shifting identity was not a sign of confusion, but a valid orientation in itself.
Navigating Understanding and Judgment
While her discovery was liberating, sharing it with the world often invites confusion. Emma is frequently met with blank stares when she says she is abrosexual, followed by questions. She welcomes respectful curiosity but has also faced less supportive reactions, including demands to "pick a lane" or suggestions she is "just confused."
She is keen to stress that being abrosexual does not impact her romantic relationships in a negative way. "I love the person, rather than their gender," she states, explaining that her fluctuating attraction does not alter her commitment to a partner, much like a bisexual person's capacity to love.
Thankfully, her wider family and friends have been supportive and willing to learn. However, the experience with her former close friend in 2020 remains a painful reminder of the prejudice that still exists. Emma's story is part of a broader need for education and acceptance of the vast spectrum of LGBTQ+ identities.
"I want people to know that, just because you don’t know or understand an identity, doesn’t make it less authentic," she asserts. She hopes that one day, abrosexuality will be seen as a normal part of human diversity, not a trend. For now, she has found peace in naming her experience. "I’m no longer nervous about my sexuality because it makes sense to me, and in the end, that’s all that really matters."
