This weekend, I attended a DEI exchange in Laos, hosted by Vientiane International School, for the second year in a row. One of the workshops I took part in was about seeing autism and ADHD through an equity lens, during which the facilitator, Jonathan Norlin, asked us to peruse stories about individuals who lived with intersectional identities; AuDHD/female, AuDHD/POC, and AuDHD/LGBTQ+. I naturally found myself curious about the stories of queer people with autism and/or ADHD and while listening to them speak so candidly about how their neurodivergence affects their queer identity or vice versa, a seed started to grow in my brain. How does MY neurodivergence (ADHD) affect my queer identity?
I’ve given a lot of thought to my sexuality over the last few years. I’ve even recorded a monologue about my queer discovery journey. In it, I talk about how growing up, I had “crushes” on boys and girls – my attraction to both genders was never a question, even when I struggled to put a label on it. Things clicked once I discovered the term “bisexual” through Tumblr, and since then, I’ve identified as bisexual, pansexual, and queer. Bisexual, because that was the label I stuck with for so long. But pansexual because that is more inclusive of trans and non-binary people. And queer, because it allowed me to continue the self discovery without putting myself into a box, and because something still felt amiss.
As we got older and everyone around me began dating seriously, I felt no sense of urgency or need to find myself a romantic partner. Living in SE Asia, it is so easy to meet travellers who are passing through the city, people who are here for a fun time but not for a long time. That, to me, was enough. I went on dating apps, swiping left and right, and honestly enjoyed messaging “strangers” and finding out new things about new people, but I also never felt real interest in grabbing coffee or going on an actual date. Conversations from dating apps would fizzle out, once they realised I had no intent to meet up with them in person, and I always closed the apps feeling a slight heartache and confusion. Why am I speaking to strangers on the internet, on an app designed for finding true love, when it never went beyond a few messages?
After being diagnosed with ADHD, my therapist told me about the spoon theory in the neurodivergent community. The Spoons Theory, by Christine Miserandino, is this idea that we all start with a certain number of spoons to start the day, and each activity you engage in takes spoons away from your pile. Learning about The Spoons Theory early on in my ADHD journey allowed me to rationalise my lack of interest in “going on a date” as a lack of spoons. I thought that by the time the end of the day rolled around, I would have no spoons left to doll myself up for a date or to spend an evening with a stranger because social interactions take a lot of spoons for me too.
This rationalization gave me a way to explain my lack of interest in dating, almost blaming my neurodivergence and its challenges. And even though this afforded me a little bit of comfort, the confusion and wonderings about myself, and my sexual and romantic identity, didn’t really dissipate. Because if I’m being honest, it wasn’t always true that I didn’t have the spoons to go out to dinner or do other activities after work – on average, 2 days out of the 5 work days, I had enough spoons left in the day to go to the gym or go to dinner, or even do both sometimes. So this “excuse” I had built in my head about the spoons were beginning to collapse and I started to think that I was broken for not having any interest in something everyone around me seemed to find easy – most of my friends are married now, even the ones who “swore off” dating a few years ago.
Now, I’m no stranger to the emerging terms in the queer community. I spoke to my therapist about the possibility of me being aromantic, someone who experiences little to no romantic attraction, but that didn’t really sit right with me either. Because I had crushes and been in relationships, and even though none of it amounted to a long-term committed relationship, I still thought I felt attracted to the people I was dating.
But as I sat in this workshop listening to neurodivergent queer person describe themselves as neuroqueer, that seed in my brain began to take a life of its own. I thought specifically about my crushes and relationships, through an ADHD lens, and started to realise that they may have actually been one of my “hyperfixations”. A hyperfixation is an intense occupation a person with ADHD may have towards a certain subject or activity, and in my case, these crushes were my hyperfixations. I thrived on the dopamine rush I got from talking to my crush or getting attention from them, but they never evolved into anything substantial or long-lasting, because just like a hyperfixation meal can feel wrong all of a sudden, the crushes would also disappear overnight. Dating apps gave me hits of dopamine that my brain was craving, because of the notifications on my phone, the excitement of meeting new people, and, with an endless amount of people to swipe through, even simply matching with someone felt like a game.
While I haven’t entirely let go of the idea that it would be lovely to find a partner to share life with, I now feel more comfortable using aromantic as one of my labels, leaning towards the “having little interest in romantic relationships” side of the spectrum. I recognised that my past crushes and relationships were truly based on my need for attention and dopamine, more than true romantic feelings. Looking back now, I also notice a pattern in my break-ups. It was always because I lost interest. Because the relationship became too familiar and I lost that excitement around being with that person.
Upon further reflection, I realize now that I probably care for my friends and even my students more than I cared for my romantic partners, and that should’ve been a sign. I’m always interested in what’s going on in my friends’ lives. I love hearing about their new accomplishments. And I definitely feel an immense amount of pride and joy when students share their achievements. I care deeply for friends and students, and I do try to give all of my love, because I’m not incapable of feeling love. It’s just that romantic love has never really been an interest to me and I didn’t realize it because I kept finding other explanations for why I wasn’t wired the way most of my friends were.
So unbeknownst to me, ADHD has been affecting my sexual / romantic identities for the longest time, probably even before I was diagnosed. And if it hadn’t been for DEIx25 and Jon’s workshop, I wouldn’t have actually sat down to think about how neurodivergence affects queer identity for me, so thank you to VIS and to Jon!
Kanako Suwa (she/her)
LinkedIn / Instagram / Website