You might think the biggest challenge to my vow to abstain from sex and dating until my 36th birthday in November would be being surrounded by the topic of sex day and night; almost all my work revolves around erotica or sexual nonfiction. But over the years I’ve managed to separate, in most ways, work from play. I can’t spend all day turned on, and am able focus on creating quality sex writing without being personally aroused by it.
The biggest change I’ve noticed so far, a month in to this ten-month experiment, is that my desire for sexual contact has dissipated. It hasn’t disappeared entirely, but I don’t find myself as consciously horny as I used to. I think this is because usually I focus on an object of my affection?or, okay, lust. It’s that specific person I want to be with and I’ll think up all sorts of fantasies about them, as well as other non-sexual thoughts, like how I can help brighten their day or just make them smile. Since I set my mind to focusing on other areas of my life?finances, writing, home improvement, losing weight?I’ve let those topics take over the time I used to spend obsessing about “Does __ really like me?” and “I can’t wait til the next time we see each other.”
That process has been, for the most part, pretty easy?in the abstract. I feel more relaxed and less anxious, because I’ve stopped thinking of being “single” as the equivalent of having a major life deficiency. But when it gets less abstract is where I get into trouble. I may not miss “sex” but I do miss the specific relationships I had with the people I was sleeping with, however incomplete they felt.
I scared myself by how quickly I grew attached to someone I’ve only met once, briefly, in person. In my head, even though I know better based on way too much experience, I started to think a long distance relationship was possible, even though there was no solid foundation for it. I did what I tend to do, which is build up a fantasy life in my head that the other person is completely unaware of. That is a surefire way to put pressure on a fledgling relationship and drive someone away, as I did more than once last year.
Knowing that I tend to think people are more into me than they are, I’m grateful for the chance to figure out some of my relationship errors, as well as the good qualities I could bring to a relationship, within the comfort zone of my own life. I don’t have to worry about sticking to someone else’s schedule, feeling inadequate because I want to spend the night working or am just not in the mood to be social. I like not having to answer to anyone else. Someday, I hope to meet someone where we both want to answer to each other, but I know I can’t give of myself in that way right now with so many other things I need to work on clamoring for my attention.
In her new memoir, Lost and Found: Unexpected Revelations About Food and Money, Geneen Roth is writing mostly about money (she lost the life savings she’d invested with Bernie Madoff), but this passage about obsession could just as easily be applied to sex, or in my case, crushes and inappropriate attachments:
“When we are obsessed with anything—food, drugs, alcohol, spending or making money—the obsession takes on a life of its own—and then defines how we spend our time, our energy, our resources. Obsession is a form of autism, a way to cover our ears and block out the background noise, a way to protect ourselves when the situation feels vulnerable or dangerous or anxiety producing. Obsession is a way to change the channel when you don’t like what’s barreling across the screen of your mind.”
Spending so much time alone has helped me work on getting over some of my obsessions, allowing me the crucial space to see where I put too much of myself into relationships that, by definition, could never give that much back.
When I think about returning to dating and sex, I feel both confident and uncertain. I feel confident because if the next nine months go the same way this one has, I’ll have built the kind of life that’s closer to the one I want to live, where I am not so stressed, where I have a clean, healthy home, where I’m not living so paycheck-to-paycheck and am happier with the size of my thighs. I’ll be able to approach other people with less awe at their interest in me, knowing I can truly give something back. But even these short few weeks away have made me wonder whether not accessing my sexual side is somehow stunting me. Will I remember how to flirt, how to act on a date, how to fuck? I’d like to think those are skills you don’t forget, like riding a bicycle, but I’ve never taken this long of a hiatus to truly test that out.
I’ve turned down booty texts and come-ons by people who I know I could, or at least, once did, have a good time with in bed, and each time I’ve done so with about 75% certainty, 25% fear. There’s a fear that if I turn down sex with Person A now, will there ever be a Person B whose offer I do want to take up? Am I missing out on what’s supposed to be my sexual peak? Maybe friends with benefits is the best life can offer me and I’m being foolish or stupid to hold out for something more fulfilling. Or maybe I’ll find that I like being on my own so much I don’t ever want to actually join forces with someone else.
The truth is, I have no idea what will happen between now and November. I feel much more 15 than 35. Maybe I’ll decide that I’ve figured out everything I needed to and take a break from my break. For the moment, though, I feel like I’m on vacation from the drama that is dating, from feeling like I have to look at every single person I meet as a potential partner. I like what The Science of Single author Rachel Machacek said in a recent interview: “You have to like your life, and like yourself, before you can really be a good date, or a good partner to someone. Find out what you love to do, what makes you better, and then go on dates—don't expect the dates to make you happy.”
Since I stopped obsessing about my personal life, every day hasn’t been a laugh fest, but overall I feel more in control of myself, and while it’s sometimes lonely, it’s better than having sex with someone I know is not into me for the long haul. In the meantime, I’m actually using the lingerie I’ve unearthed in my decluttering sessions, pieces I never got around to wearing when I was dating. Something about wearing a sheer, sensuous nightie is comforting, letting me know that I haven’t given up on my inner dirty girl entirely, even if I’m the only one enjoying her presence.