Ghostflower

Thank you for the recommendation! I actually adore gothic literature and read a lot of it in college. And I don’t worry about “one-upping” Death Note, because it’s so near and dear to my heart at the moment. It has some of my favorite fictional characters, too :) Ooh, I’ve heard of that title and author, but I didn’t realize that the books were queer. Thank you so much for the recommendation! :D I am writing all of these down, thank you so much!! ^_^

Yes, so I’m afraid of harping on the subject by bringing it up again the next time we talk. I keep replaying the first conversation in my head and thinking about how I could have worded things better and imagining that his voice must have been expressing all sorts of negative emotions, like discomfort and fatigue.

A close friend of mine recently acquired a romantic partner, and I want to treat the situation with equal parts honesty and understanding. I would love to hear other people's experiences in similar situations and get some advice on how they would or have navigated it. A few clarifying points about my situation: 1) I am definitely experiencing feelings of jealousy, but I don't think that this is because I want to be in a romantic relationship with my friend. It seems to stem from my fear of being "left behind," specifically in long-term scenarios like living arrangements and lifelong commitments. 2) Imagining other friends gaining romantic partners does not distress me like it does with this friend specifically. I think that's because this friend and I have known each other for so long (roughly a decade) and I had started to see him as a safety net and to envision a future together. 3) We do not live together, though we have discussed it, and we have a long-distance friendship. Still, my ideal scenario would involve sharing a home with at least one other person, although that feels unrealistic in this economy (in terms of staying close to my job and being able to afford a new place). And a couple of clarifying points about what I'd be most interested to know (although by all means, feel free to comment with anything that this post brings to mind): 1) Do people derive a sense of comfort from having a label to "compete" with the more romantic phrases "boyfriend/girlfriend"? I wonder if perhaps I should have an open discussion with my friend about cementing our relationship in some way so that I feel less afraid of being left behind as he starts dating someone, although I'm nervous that this is the wrong reason to add a label like "best friend" or "queerplatonic." 2) Part of me feels like I should put on a brave face and keep my fears to myself, because I don't want to make my friend feel uncomfortable or guilty. I genuinely want him to be happy, but I'm afraid of standing still on what feels like a sinking ship, staying there for my friend's sake until the water pulls me under and he no longer needs me/wants me around. What advice do other folks have on striking a good balance between brutal honesty and stoic acceptance?

Ooh, thank you so much! :D I literally just saw the section for his books at the library earlier today, so I will add his name to my to-read list and be sure to check some of them out in the future! ^_^ (Also, I love SF/Fantasy, so never fear!)

I am an avid reader and don't necessarily mind books that are about or have romance in them. Sex scenes don't bother me, either, although I would probably avoid a book that's founded too heavily upon moments like that. Still, I'm trying to embrace my aromanticism and fight the amatonormative demon inside my brain by shifting my focus away from stories that revolve around amatonormative values. Does anyone have book recommendations? They don't have to feature canonically a-spec characters. A good example might be "A Gentleman in Moscow" by Amor Towles, which has a small bit of romance, but which focuses mainly on the protagonist and his non-romantic relationships. The heart of the story doesn't sit between any two characters, but if I had to pick a single stand-out duo, it would be between the protagonist and his daughter. It's also nice to read about messy, imperfect romances every now and again, like in Haruki Murakami's writing, where you can see allo people in committed relationships but not envy them for it at all. I want to avoid stories that pair up the cast into romantic duos, and while I'm glad that a-spec characters are more common in YA now, I feel out-of-touch reading about high schoolers discovering their identity. (I am in my mid-20s at the moment.) Some books that I currently enjoy are: 1) "The Murderbot Diaries" by Martha Wells (because the protagonist's autistic swag resonates with me, and I like when narrators are also confused by social norms) 2) "Anxious People" by Frederik Backman (because the ensemble cast is great, and the romantic relationships are nuanced and believable, while not stealing the entire show) 3) "Death Note" by Takeshi Obata and Tsugumi Ohba (because it's fun to see unhealthy, murderous dynamics play out, and also because the authors accidentally made their cast of characters incredibly autistic and a-spec) Does anyone have books they enjoy that fit this criteria? Stories that don't prioritize romance but have compelling characters and realistic dynamics, perhaps spotlighting friendship and family members or personal introspection? I will read pretty much any genre, and I have no qualms about length.

I'm a bit late to this topic, so I hope it's alright that I'm chiming in several months later. But I relate very strongly to what you're describing here: Even when my alloromantic friends reassure me that our friendship matters to them, regardless of the people they're dating, I can't help but think that won't always be true, because romantic partners tend to get priority for things like moving in together and being considered their "plus one" for trips and activities. I would love to know how your situation has developed over the past year and if it's gotten better at all. I am by no means an expert (especially since I am currently in the thick of fighting back my fears of loneliness and amatonormativity with a tennis racquet), but here are a couple of things that I'm trying to tell myself to quell the worst of my anxieties: 1) The things I'm afraid of haven't happened yet. While they may be founded upon situations that I've experienced in the past or tropes I've seen play out hundreds of time in books and movies, right now, my friendships are stable. No one is leaving me to be with a romantic partner, and if I'm sad that I'll "never" get to move in with one of my friends, well... It's not like we were about to move in together anywhere. I'm mostly afraid of the collapsing of possible futures, but when I shift my focus back to the present, my anxiety feels very extreme and defeatist, like I'm imagining the worst possible scenario that might happen years down the line. Things will likely play out more slowly, and I will have the time to communicate with my friends and make my fears known when (or if) they become relevant. 2) I should trust my friends and consider their feelings. I feel terrible telling an alloromantic friend something like, "I'm afraid that, no matter what you say right now, you will eventually devalue our friendship because of the person you're dating." Even though that's just me expressing my fears (which I genuinely cannot label as either rational or irrational), what my friend probably hears is, "I don't trust you to value our friendship like you have for the past several years." I've been reading up on relationship anarchy lately, and some of the values include acknowledging that love is abundant and does not diminish no matter how freely you spread it, and that you might want to "fake it until you make it," to stop your fears from getting in the way. Combining these two tenets, I feel like the best thing that I can do right now is to keep reminding myself that someone can hold both a romantic relationship and a committed friendship, and while it's fine to voice my fears every now and again, I should focus on what's happening in the present, not stress over what might happen in the future, and try going about business as usual until something happens to seriously upend that. Something that especially struck me about your initial post, Cloud, is that you felt lonely after being invited to a movie night with your friends and their romantic partners. I would probably feel the exact same way in that situation. Paradoxically, I fear being abandoned when my friends start dating, but when I'm invited to tag along on their romantic excursions, I am confronted by my aromanticism and easily spiral into thoughts of, "I will never have someone to prioritize me like that," which makes me feel lonely rather than included. I'm not sure if this is the case for you, but for me, I'm starting to think that this jealousy (this fear of losing what I have in the form of specific friends and relationships) stems from the fact that I genuinely want the level of commitment that is typically associated with romantic relationships. Then it gets difficult, because I'm not sure if that means that I should aspire to a QPR instead? Because what if I could get the right level of fulfillment from friendship alone? Perhaps I just want a label that reassures me that my friend isn't going anywhere, and the amatonormativity is ingrained so deeply within me that I always feel anxious when the only thing holding me up is the often-devalued and dismissed term "friend"? I hope that things have improved with you and your friends since you made this post in December, and I hope that you're feeling more confident in your own self-worth and aromanticism. I really appreciated hearing your story and feeling a sense of, "Ah, so other people have experienced this specific anxiety, too."

I experience this feeling depending on the friend who starts dating. With my closest friends, I feel an unwelcome twinge of jealousy, founded on the fear that our friendship will diminish now that they have a romantic relationship. That’s happened to me in the past, and no matter how understanding my friend seems to be about my aromanticism, I fear that they cannot resist the siren song of amatonormativity… Seeing my closest friends add their romantic partner’s name to their social media page besides a little heart, for example, makes my chest ache with both frustration and jealousy, because first of all, why do people only do that for romantic relationships? Why is that the only relationship they feel the need to spotlight for the random people visiting their blog? And secondly, it reminds me that, if this is a hallmark of romantic relationships, then I will never have someone who prioritizes and uplifts me that way. I know that I could find this level of commitment with other a-spec people, and there are definitely people out there who share my valuation of non-romantic relationships and who don’t plan to start a romance of their own. But I can’t change the fact that some of my close friends are allo and want romance in their lives, and it makes me feel insecure that they might “leave me behind,” intentionally or otherwise. To use a silly analogy, I feel like Spongebob in the episode “Grandma’s Kisses.” He watches his grandmother shower Patrick with cookies and plushies and picture books, while she insists on treating him like an adult, and he’s like, “But /I/ would enjoy those things for kids, too…” Similarly, I want the closeness and dedication that romance entails, but I don’t think that I experience romantic attraction very much, if it all. I get a lot of joy and fulfillment out of my friendships and don’t feel the need to change them—until a romantic relationship rises to the surface and I fear that I’ll never be able to compete and that I might lose the things I love about my friendship. Overall, seeing friends begin to date activates my fear that I will be “left behind,” and it reminds me that it can be difficult for a-spec people to get the same level of commitment and recognition, especially with their alloromantic friends. I do NOT experience this jealousy with my friends who have sexual relationships, though; I think this is because romance still confuses me, and the line between friendship and romance often seems muddled. I want the rewards of romance (the social recognition, the association of my name with someone else’s, the comfort that someone will be at my side as we go through this scary thing called life together), but I don’t feel the need to initiate anything until it’s “too late” and I sense a close friend pulling away from me and closer to their “actual” partner.

I had a similar experience several years ago. At the time, I didn’t identify as aromantic, and I was absolutely crushed when my best friend from high school met someone they wanted to date soon after they moved away for college. We had discussed dating before and decided that “the person you date should ideally be your best friend.” I was scared, because I thought that I could no longer be my best friend’s best friend if they had suddenly gained a romantic partner. They promised me our relationship wouldn’t change, but… On several occasions, they canceled plans with me to accommodate the last-minute decisions of their romantic partner, once during one of the rare times when we were in the same city again and they had promised that things would be like they were in high school (just us hanging out and having fun at a sleepover). Then, when they realized how adversely these changes were impacting me, they began acting cagey about sharing details about their romantic relationship with me. I stopped them once from telling me the details of a date they went on (which involved romance and a kiss), but then I didn’t get the memo that they had moved in with their romantic partner until I repeatedly pressed them for information. (“Are you still living with X?” “No.” “Okay, who are you living with, then?” “Someone else.” “Oh, who?” “A friend.” “Can you tell me their name?” etc) It’s been several years since that drama unfolded now, and we are tentatively rebuilding our friendship, although I’m always a little bit sad thinking about what we lost. What helped me was a combination of the following: 1) Adjusting my expectations. I was so caught up in being their #1, of having “my person” and being someone else’s “person.” I stopped using the term “best friend” soon afterwards, because I felt that it placed too much pressure on a relationship, and while I value commitment and would still be interested in finding a partner, I needed some time to forcibly pry myself away from that ideal. I worry that it’s steeped in amatonormativity, where I have this fear that everyone will pair off into a romantic relationship but me, so I really ought to find a person who will commit to me soon. I also pulled away from that friend about a year into their romantic relationship, because like you said, it was painful constantly feeling like I was valued beneath a romance. 2) Exploring the label aromantic. I already identified as ace at that point, but I thought that my desire for closeness meant I must be alloromantic. Still, looking back, I think that my “crush” on my best friend was actually jealousy that I would lose them if my feelings weren’t romantic enough. Even people who know about amatonormativity and care about their friends have trouble resisting the allure of that relationship hierarchy. I think that even I, based on everything I’ve been taught to value, would be incredibly relieved to have “the” relationship that so many people covet. It’s treated like a necessary piece of a happy life, and I still need to convince my brain that this equivalency is false and that romance doesn’t always lead to happiness. 3) Time apart. After a couple of years had passed, my intense feelings towards this person faded, and I was no longer so hurt by being “left behind.” In retrospect, I do think that I pulled away and held back my feelings on purpose, letting myself become more apathetic, and I feel guilty about that. I wonder if I should have held on to the friendship a little harder, because now I think that it must have been hard from my best friend’s perspective, and I worry that they’ve fallen into a romance where they have very few outside relationships to take solace in. But this was an important step for me to take at the time, to give myself the distance to prioritize other friendships and not be so stressed out about what my old friend was up to in another city. It also gave me the opportunity to question my identity, and although I’m still far from having everything figured out, having the term aromantic helped me understand my reaction to that situation, and knowing more about amatonormativity gave context to both my actions and those of my friend. All this to say: I relate a lot to what you’re going through, and it sucks. But it does get easier, or at least, it did in my experience. It took months, but I managed to shift my focus to other aspects of my life and to cultivate the relationships that were actively making me happy. That friend and I never cut things off completely, but I did take some time for myself, and it allowed me to be more accepting of their romance and less defensive of my feelings when we reconnected a few years later.