I like to have sex. I enjoy it more some days than others, but I can say I like having sex — maybe even love it.
I love the way it makes me feel to know I secured the person at the bar everyone else was scoping out. I love the way sex feels underneath my skin and in my bones, and how it feels to be seen through the eyes of someone else. I love the power and control sex gives me, which is something I don’t always seize as a woman today. I would say I love almost everything about it. Almost.
What I didn’t love was the subtle creeping way it changed my relationship with myself. I no longer trusted my own opinion but deferred to asking what *insert name here* would think of me.Â
I stood in front of the mirror, morning after morning, asking myself, “Will my guy friends think I look hot in this?” I’d think back to a previous compliment and torment myself over how to be noticed in a similar way — one that worked as well the night before.
“Skirt because you can see my legs, or pants because they’re tighter on my butt?”
The more sex I had, the more I craved the validation it gave me. It was almost like something I couldn’t give myself, or at the very least, something I didn’t know how to give myself. But, when and why did this act I love so much begin to make me value the opinion of someone else rather than my own intuition?
Taking a break from sex wasn’t something I intentionally sought out, but over the past six months, I let the notion of seeking out sex vacate my mind. While six months may seem like a blip to some people, pausing my sex life for that long was difficult. It was especially difficult journey for the six inches between my head and my heart.
At first, I thought I was just tired of the effort sex required, the constant attempt to look perfect (whatever that means), to keep my phone within arm’s reach, and the refusal to make concrete plans in the event that a better offer arose. But, that wasn’t the real problem at all. I know I craved human connection, but at what cost? I couldn’t figure out why was I so willing to throw all my efforts into how I looked, forcing all other parts of me to take the backseat.
Sometime between going to bed alone every night and waking up alone every morning, I started to become interested in myself and who I had become.
Days of being by myself turned into weeks which turned into months, and with this passage of time my mindset shifted. I started treating myself with actual care, cherishing my own opinions dearly as they were often the only ones present. I had more time to do what made me happy and to explore things I thought might make me happy. As I continued on, my need to search for sex became less and less. And, I say “need” because it was first and foremost a need, not a want — something I resulted to when I needed to feel good about myself when the exploration of my own validation seemed too daunting to tackle.
I took long walks with no particular destination in mind but simply with the intention of feeling myself carried by my own two feet. I felt liberated as a woman in a new way, differently form when I had first felt sexual liberation. I felt free of the label I had put on myself which read, “I’d rather be with someone else than be alone,” which is what I thought a young woman should want. A partner, a “provider”, a person to make me whole… But that was no longer my truth — I’m not sure if it ever really was — maybe, I just thought that way before this experience.
My truth is that I much prefer to spend time alone than to have sex at this moment in my life. I’m not saying that I no longer crave intimacy because I often do, but are intimacy and sex really the same thing? Can I be fulfilled through sex if I’m only doing it to be recognized and essentially worshiped by my partner(s)? And, more importantly, to avoid being alone? These questions are among countless that remain unanswered.
I’ve learned a great deal about myself simply by eradicating the intention of actively seeking out sexual partners. At first, it was uncomfortable, mostly because of the lifestyle I had been leading.
A typical Saturday night used to look like this: attend a sporting event where seeking sex was the game and my friends and I were the players. But, the more I questioned why it was hard to give up sex as a replacement for self validation, the more I discovered the doubts I had about and within myself. My own lack of self worth revealed the trust issues I have — not with other people, but with myself.
Now, as I reflect back almost two years later, I’m still learning a whole lot about who I am… all twenty-four years of me.
I’ve learned about my real weaknesses and my real insecurities. I’ve gotten to know parts of myself I never wanted to know and learned to love them anyways. I’ve learned to embrace my loneliness and doubt. I know now what it feels like to be a woman in her 20s who doesn’t need sex, even though the desire may always be there. I’ve learned how to love and how to share that love through silence and kindness. I’ve learned how to leave my heart open even on days when I get nothing in return. I am learning to love those days no matter what..
So, here’s to honoring and loving oneself. And to all the people I haven’t had sex with in the past two years who I love, and who love me anyways.
Photos (in order of appearance) by Kaela Smith, Uma Schupfer, and Sweet Suezy.Â