It's no secret that I love BBC Radio Four. Or to be more
accurate, I ADORE it. Alongside the various things this PhD has given me (including
lab skills, time management ability and the resolve to keep plugging away when
absolutely nothing is working) is a lifelong
love of the self-described “Speech based news, current affairs and factual
network”. I couldn’t count the number of
hours spent transplanting, making up rhizotrons and infecting my plants that
have been made less painful – and even enlightening – by the comforting
presence of this national institution. Even though I stand hunched over my
plants, through its programmes I range across the world, filling in all sorts
of knowledge gaps the school curriculum never touched and picking up countless
quirky facts.
One of my favourites has to be Women's Hour (10.00 am
weekdays and 4pm on Saturday) as it demonstrates how radio is so appealingly approachable
compared to say, television. If you have a story that fits the topic of the
day, they really do want to hear from you and you have a chance of having your
voice recorded for prosperity. Back in the days when my heart was set on
becoming a Professor, I used to dream of being invited on the show as a distinguished
expert, perhaps to talk about GM crops or a fascinating new discovery in plant
development. Whilst that particular ambition has died, two weeks ago I did realise my dream of getting on BBC
Radio Four....and it had absolutely nothing to do with my research!
Until now, a significant part of my life has been mostly invisible
to others. Not because I am ashamed of it, but because most people aren’t
familiar with the concept. I am asexual. I do not experience sexual desire AT
ALL – not to men, not to women, nothing, nope, nada. As a young child, I
naively assumed that everyone felt the way I did: sex was a terrible ordeal that you would only force yourself
to go through if you really really wanted
children. It was only through novels and films that I realised that – for most
people – there was actually a pleasure aspect to it. My time as an undergraduate student was a very
isolating experience, with the overriding culture seeming to be “If you've got even just one drop of red
blood in you, you'll be lusting after at least someone, so get your free
condoms here!”. I felt very miserable, concluding that either a) I was
truly weird and would never be accepted by society or b) At some point I needed
to change and 'catch up' with everyone else in terms of sexuality....and I
wasn't sure I could be comfortable with that.
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| In my 'broom cupboard' waiting to go live on air! |
Fortunately I stumbled across a magazine article that described
people who felt exactly like I did. They had a name for themselves even a
community. Isolation transformed into elation. I was not alone! Since then, I
have only become even more sure about my identity as an asexual, but it was
still something that I felt a bit nervous about telling anyone. Would judge me
as a prudish and think I was making a moral judgement, squashing down my sexual
desires so I could look down on others? Or would they completely miss the point:
“You just haven’t met the right one yet!
Have you tired Tinder?” or “It’s
probably a hormonal imbalance, your GP can give you something” or even “You’ve just been too focused on your work!
' Just to be clear, I do still appreciate
beauty and romance – I even have my own opinions on who is good looking! And ‘finding
the right one’ is ultimately a different issue to feeling sexual desire towards
others. Surely if I had any drive in me, it would be aroused by those Hollywood
actors on screen, or the ‘fine specimens’ I encounter at the gym?!
With asexuality being so unknown and misunderstood, it just
seemed pragmatic not to mention it. Yet part of me slightly resented never having a box to tick on all those surveys
and forms that, for some reason, need to know your sexual orientation. If your
viewpoint isn’t recognised by society, it can suggest that it isn’t valid or
can’t be possible – putting pressure on you to change to be like everyone else.
So when Women’s Hour announced that they were looking for contributions for
‘Listener’s Week’, it sparked an idea and I sent off an email.
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| 'My' episode, available on the BBC Women's Hour online archive |
I wasn’t really expecting a reply but just a few days
later one of the producers was in touch. Not only were they interested in
asexuality – they actually wanted to interview me live on air! The following
week was a whirlwind of phone conversations, arranging logistics and mentally
rehearsing what I would say. With such a crowded labwork schedule, it wasn’t
feasible to go down to the BBC studios in London and meet Jenni Murray in
person (a dream for the future perhaps…) so we arranged that I would be
interviewed remotely from the studio at BBC Radio Sheffield. On the day itself,
my initial excitement began to tip over into nervousness: what if I blundered
and said something utterly appalling? Not only would thousands of people hear it,
the programme would be available on the internet for prosperity! Fortunately, my
confidence was bolstered by good luck messages from the few people who knew
what I was going to talk about. I arrived early, hoping to have a proper look
round the studios but alas, I was shunted into a room barely larger than a
broom cupboard containing just a chair, table and headset. I ended up reading a
magazine for half an hour, with the sound engineer at the London studios
occasionally checking in to check I was still there!
Suddenly the time had come: “The next voice you hear will
be Jenni Murrays’”. Women’s Hour had
begun and I was the lead item. I cringed slightly as Jenni started by reading
out the original email I had sent, then it was over to me to elaborate on my
experiences. Thankfully, my preparation kicked in as I described how isolated I
had felt, particularly during my undergraduate years, and my relief at finding
out that I wasn’t alone. Between my responses, Jenni also asked the perspective
of my fellow guest on air, Sam Rosen, who is researching the online asexual
community as part of her PhD at the University of Nottingham. Bizarrely enough,
Sam and I used to share a University flat in Sheffield but had no idea we were
both asexual at that time. We kept in touch and I managed to persuade her to
come on the programme with me to represent the academic perspective. Although
we only made up the first 15 minutes of the show, we felt that we managed to
cover the main points about what it means to be asexual. But even as I spoke,
part of me was wondering how people would react to me now that it was all out
in the open.
“Well Caroline, I have to tell you…” Jenni was
drawing the topic to a close and my heart tensed – what was coming next?! “You
are NO LONGER invisible!” Relief flooded through me: what a lovely way for
her to end the discussion!
Since then, I have been touched by the number of people who
made time to listen and even get in touch afterwards with messages of support.
Best of all, perhaps, was the email read out at the very end of the programme
from a grateful mother whose son had just identified himself as asexual. If the
show helps others out there to realise who they really are, and that there is
nothing strange or abnormal about being asexual, then it will have done a good
service. At the very least, I hope it raises awareness that asexuality really
does exist. Maybe one day, even the National Census will realise…
You can learn more about asexuality on the AsexualityVisibility and Education Network (AVEN) website. You can also listen to my
debut on Women’s Hour on the programme’s website here.
