On April 1, I sit down with my parents. I've never felt more nervous. This is way worse than when I came out as a lesbian. I take a deep breath and tell myself that it's easier than I'm making it appear. Mountain out of a molehill, I conclude in my mind.

"Do you remember when I came out as a lesbian?" I begin. My parents nod silently. They know that I have the floor right now. "Well, I'm now an asexual lesbian. That means that I'm not into girls sexually, only romantically or platonically," I say. I wait for their reactions.

"No grandchildren?" my mother asks. My father places his hand on top of hers. "There's always adoption," he whispers in her ear. My mother nods, beaming at me. I smile back.

"We accept you. It doesn't matter if you're straight or lesbian. You're our daughter, and we love you for who you are," my father says. My parents hug me, and I return it. I came out. This weight is off my shoulders. I can breathe properly now.