What I learned from 6 months of celibacy

There is a phrase I never thought I’d write. Though I didn’t start out this past year wanting to have very minimal partnersex (and in the case of the past six months, none at all), at a certain point, it became intentional.

Here’s a no-duh statement: sexuality has been one of, if not THE, organizing principles of my life. My own, other people’s, the smear of all that together – this is how I’ve built not just my identity, but my career, my being, my sense of place in the world. Another no-duh statement: I’ve had a lot of sex, in a lot of amazing and peculiar configurations. The only kind of patnersex I haven’t had in the last fifteen years – is none.

Over these months of celibacy I’ve felt waves of shame about my condition. What kind of sexuality “expert” doesn’t actually have sex? I’ve beaten myself up a lot about this. The answer, of course, is: this one.

And here’s some of what I’ve learned:

• A lot of the partnered sex I have had has not been about my desire. I have spent a lot of my sex life reflecting and responding to other people’s desire. And of course, the sex industry is not about channeling genuine desire by the worker – but this isn’t really what I’m talking about. I have spent too much of my time being incredulous that other people could be attracted to me – and I felt so amazed and grateful that anyone found me attractive that I would have sex to try and see what they saw. But now: fuck that. I’m not 100% certain what my “type” is any more, just that it’s a lot more complicated than “people who want to have sex with me.” I like feeling like I’m open to possibilities, and that those possibilities can be punctuated by my curiosity, my gaze, my decision making around who I do and don’t want to be banging. And I don’t have to rush the evaluation of someone’s hotness either.
• I have gained a presence in my body and have begun to inhabit my gender in an entirely new and awesome way. Other than being celibate, two other things have been happening with the way I present to the world: I’ve gotten a full time job that requires me to put clothes on and leave the house every day (which has made me actually think about how I articulate my gender in a consistent way) and I’ve gotten heavier than I’ve ever been. Though I’m not thrilled with my body size, I’m not totally hating it either. I have really come into femme in a playful, slightly over-the-top way that makes me feel pretty awesome about my shape and has given me a new sense of presence – especially because on an average day I’m not dressing for anyone other than me. I don’t think I would have been able to get here while being in the presence of someone else’s desire.
• Six years ago, when I started to experiment with non-monogamy (with ugly, hurtful all-around, disastrous results. I mean: learning experiences), the thing I picked up on really quickly was that no one is more responsible for my sexual pleasure than I am. Being celibate from partnersex has reinforced this. But I don’t think I’ve found the magical key to asking for what I want, or even necessarily knowing what that is. I’m trying not to be too hard on myself about that though.
• After years of telling myself and the world that I’m very slutty and all about the no strings attached sex, I’ve realized that is 100% not true. I actually strongly prefer my sex with a side of intimacy. I need my sex partners not only to respect me, but to see at least a sliver of my insides (metaphorically I mean, I’m not talking about anal gaping here) and know me in an authentic way. I need trust, I need some security, and I need aftercare. I’m done sharing myself with people who are completely incapable of taking care or caring for me, I’m over fucking people who are entranced by the idea of me.
• Back in July, while I was in Berlin, I had this sparkly melancholy moment, which now I actually think is kind of amazing and liberating. After 8 years of devoting my life to studying and thinking about sexuality, I’m no closer to knowing or understanding my own sexuality than I was at the beginning of all this. That doesn’t mean that I know nothing – just that my awareness of what I don’t understand expands much more rapidly than my knowledge of what is certain. Though I felt sad about this for a moment when it came to me, I ultimately realized that actually this is a great thing, a thing that means the possibilities are endless. It also means that the notion of being a sex expert is ridiculous. Most of the so-called sex experts I know have personal sex lives that are far from perfect and are fraught with all kinds of issues that might surprise the layperson. There is no expertise in sex – to pretend otherwise is both irresponsible and foolish.
• And last but not least: masturbation is awesome.

I want to say that by giving myself the gift of freedom from partnersex and giving myself room to breathe and think and wank by myself, I’ve done a lot of soul searching and now I deeply understand the roots of my desire. That’s not really true either. This whole thing has perhaps left me with more questions than answers, but it has certainly provided me with the space to accept those questions and space to make it ok that I just don’t fucking know.

This lack of a stunning conclusion, incidentally, is why I haven’t pitched this story anywhere. I know I’d get bites for this as a polished piece of freelance writing for some fancy magazine – but I also know I’d have to magazine-ize my experiences. And I don’t want to. This isn’t a story with a real arc, it’s not simple, it doesn’t have a perfect little takeaway. Because it’s my life, and it’s my experience with sexuality. It’s messy. It’s kind of weird and maybe a little sad. And it doesn’t make sense, and I still don’t know what to do with it.

The last thing is: I know I overthink things every step of the way. Being celibate is a way to allow myself to slip down inside my thinky cocoon. And that’s not the best thing either. Though this has been great and important and good for me – there’s a threshold I passed through in the last month that made me realize that I’ve gone into hiding. And I think I’m ready to emerge from that into something new and mysterious, into something that will raise more damned questions. Always with the questions.

Usually when I write a heart-rending personal post, I have to kind of take a swig of scotch, close my eyes, and hit publish. I don’t feel that way about this post. I’m glad I’ve laid this all out. I hope you all find it useful and affirming in whatever way you need it to be.