Human attraction is rarely a static, unchanging line; for many, it is a winding path that evolves with time and experience. While society often demands that individuals categorize themselves into permanent boxes, there is a growing recognition of a unique and deeply personal experience known as abrosexuality. For Emma Flint, a writer based in Staffordshire, England, the journey to understanding this part of her identity spanned three decades—a period defined by internal confusion, a sense of isolation, and the eventual, life-changing relief of finding a word that finally made sense of her life. Her story, which she shared with the public in mid-2024, serves as a powerful testament to the importance of language in the quest for self-actualization and the validity of sexual fluidity.

For thirty years, Flint lived in a state of perpetual uncertainty, feeling as though she were “out at sea” without a compass. In her early twenties, she identified as a lesbian, convinced she had found the definitive answer to the question of who she was. However, that certainty was frequently disrupted. Over days, weeks, or months, her feelings would shift. She would find herself unexpectedly drawn to men, or perhaps to people regardless of gender, or sometimes she would find that her sexual attraction vanished entirely, leaving her in a space that felt akin to asexuality. Because her internal compass refused to point in a single direction, she began to feel like a “fraud.” When discussing her identity with loved ones, the frequent changes felt less like a discovery and more like an inconsistency she couldn’t explain. She wasn’t indecisive; she was evolving, but without the terminology to describe that evolution, she felt lost in the gaps between traditional labels.

The turning point came not through a sudden epiphany, but through the quiet discovery of a term on an online forum: abrosexual. To be abrosexual is to experience a sexuality that is inherently fluid. Unlike terms such as pansexuality or bisexuality, which describe the breadth of attraction to various genders, abrosexuality describes the movement of that attraction over time. For Flint, reading that definition was a moment of profound visibility. It provided a framework for her thirty-year journey, transforming her perceived “inconsistency” into a legitimate and recognized identity. It was the realization that she wasn’t broken or confused; she was simply abrosexual.

Understanding abrosexuality requires a shift in how we perceive identity. Traditionally, sexuality is viewed as a destination—a place you arrive at and stay. Abrosexuality, however, is more like the weather; it is a persistent part of a person’s climate, yet the specific conditions change. For some, these shifts occur rapidly, moving from one day to the next. A person might wake up feeling exclusively attracted to one gender, only to find that attraction replaced by an entirely different preference forty-eight hours later. For others, the changes are more gradual, manifesting as “seasons” of attraction that last for months or even years before transitioning into a new phase. This can include periods of high sexual activity followed by stretches of asexuality, where the individual feels little to no sexual pull toward anyone at all.

This fluidity often brings a unique set of challenges in a world that prizes “picking a lane.” Flint has noted that even after coming out and explaining her identity, she often encounters people who view her fluidity as a lack of commitment or a desire to be “on trend.” This skepticism stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to be fluid. For Flint, the core of her connections remains the person rather than their gender. She describes a capacity to love an individual deeply, even if her specific sexual orientation fluctuates while she is in a relationship with them. The authenticity of her experience is not dependent on its permanence; rather, the authenticity lies in her honesty about her shifting internal state.

The societal demand for a “static” identity often places an unfair burden on those whose experiences are more dynamic. When someone comes out as a lesbian and later expresses attraction to a man, they are often accused of “going through a phase” or being “confused.” Abrosexuality reframes this experience. It suggests that the “phase” is not a temporary stop on the way to a “real” identity, but that the alternation of these phases is the identity itself. By recognizing abrosexuality, we acknowledge that for some people, the only constant in their attraction is change. This visibility is vital for the mental health of individuals who, like Flint, may have spent decades feeling alienated from both the heterosexual mainstream and the more rigid structures within the LGBTQ+ community.

The role of the internet and digital communities in Flint’s story cannot be overlooked. For many people with lesser-known identities, the traditional educational systems and media outlets often fail to provide the necessary vocabulary. It is often in the corners of online forums and social media groups that individuals find the specific words—like abrosexual, lithromantic, or demisexual—that allow them to piece together their self-image. For Flint, the internet acted as a mirror, showing her that there were others who experienced the same “seasonal” shifts in attraction. This digital representation serves as a lifeline for those living in geographic or social isolation, providing a sense of community that the physical world may not yet offer.

As awareness of abrosexuality grows, it challenges the broader culture to be more comfortable with ambiguity. It asks us to accept that “I don’t know who I will be attracted to next year” is a valid and honest statement. Flint’s hope for the future is that abrosexuality will eventually be seen as just another facet of the human experience, rather than an exotic or “trendy” label. This normalization is a key part of human growth and development. Just as we accept that people’s tastes in music, art, and career paths can evolve as they age, we must also leave room for the evolution of the heart and the libido.

Flint’s thirty-year journey is a reminder that it is never too late to find yourself. Whether you are twenty, thirty, or sixty, the discovery of a new word or a new way of understanding your feelings can be a transformative experience. Her story encourages a more compassionate dialogue about sexuality—one that prioritizes the lived experience of the individual over the convenience of a label. By sharing her vulnerability and her triumph, Flint has contributed to a more inclusive world where the “lost at sea” feeling can be replaced by the steady ground of self-knowledge.

In the end, the story of abrosexuality is a story about the beauty of human complexity. It highlights the fact that we are all works in progress, constantly learning and unlearning aspects of ourselves. Flint’s transition from feeling like a “fraud” to feeling “seen” is a journey that many can relate to, regardless of their specific orientation. It is a call to move away from judgment and toward a curiosity that honors the fluid, ever-changing nature of our identities. As we continue to expand our understanding of the LGBTQ+ spectrum, voices like Emma Flint’s are essential in ensuring that no one has to spend thirty years wondering if they are the only ones who feel the seasons change within them.