Actually, Celibacy Might Be the Answer

I had a different newsletter planned for today to close out Mental Health Awareness Month, but I couldn’t resist tapping into the current celibacy conversation instead because sex does have an impact on our mental health—positive and negative. The topic of celibacy and abstaining from sex unless we're in committed relationships has been coming up frequently amongst my friends, and of course, Bumble’s tone deaf billboard saying, “You know full well a vow of celibacy isn’t the answer.”

Well, abstaining from sex is my answer. 

Now, I don’t think there needs to be any hard and fast rules for celibacy if you are not someone waiting for marriage to have sex, becoming a priest, or someone who has perhaps experienced sexual trauma. I think celibacy or abstinence, whether that includes dating or not, is an opportunity to prioritize yourself and your self-worth, re-evaluate your relationship with sex, and to have a break from the complexity that it adds to the early stages of dating. There’s a reason why Matchmaker Maria’s infamous 12 Date Rule (there's specific math involved) is so successful in helping women enter healthy relationships: it enables them to decipher whether someone is right for them before the oxytocin comes flooding in and causes confusion. Another brilliant dating coach I follow, Jillian Turecki, also shares a similar viewpoint for women who experience a lot of anxiety in dating. She recommends delaying sex until you know that you are on the same page as the person you’re dating because sex amplifies that desire to attach.  

Sure, if you’re single and want to impose a 6-month no-sex rule, or however long because you need a reset, you should feel empowered to make that decision for yourself. We can’t forget that sex is power, and it only serves us to be mindful of how we wield that power because, unfortunately, it can also be used against us. 

I was 25 when I lost my virginity. I went through all four years of college without having penetrative sex, which felt quite radical at the time. Even though I did feel like I was left out of the conversation or missing out on fun from time to time—but I also felt pretty powerful in knowing that, as much as some may have tried, they could not have that kind of access to me.

While I made up for lost time in the latter half of my twenties, one thing that has remained the same is that I am incredibly discerning about who and why I’m having sex with someone. 

I love sex, but I don’t seek sex just for the sake of having sex. 

I have a whole arsenal of vibrators, and an orgasm is always guaranteed. So, I don’t believe in sex for sport (a view I hold for myself) because my ability to enjoy sex with someone is dependent on feeling safe, respected, and desired. The right conditions have to exist, and that’s the case for most women. We don’t get enough credit for how complex female sexuality is, but sex educator and researcher Emily Nagoski expertly tackles it in her book Come As You Are. I think this is a book ALL women should read (or anyone who has sex with women) because she helps us understand the intricacies of desire, how much context matters, and the array of variables that affect a woman’s ability to be aroused.

I have extremely high standards for who can have access to my body—which means I often go long periods without sex, and that’s okay. The general consensus amongst my friends is that at our age (late thirties) it's better to abstain than putting yourself at risk of having terrible sex with someone you never want to see again. There’s nothing wrong with not participating in hook-up culture. And yes, in the past, I’ve gone through all the feelings like, “I’m too hot not to be having sex all the time,” and “I’m wasting my best years,” which honestly isn’t true. Your best sex happens when you know yourself, your body, what you like, and you're able to communicate that with your sex partner—and that’s not always so easy to do when you’re younger. 

Of course, masturbation is never going to replace the intimacy you create with someone else, but I think it’s an important element that makes celibacy easier. Since I started having sex, the longest I’ve gone without it is nearly three years, between 2019-2021. At first, it was a self-imposed break as I got into the thick of my healing journey. Then, the pandemic happened, and I found myself uninterested in dating—and I really enjoyed the peace that came with that. 

I can’t forget to mention that avoiding pregnancy is also a huge reason I am discerning about my sex partners. I am not on any birth control by choice. I’ve had awful reactions to the pill when I was taking it in my early twenties for acne, and I just know that the pain of the IUD is too much for me to bear. So, I only have sex with condoms, and I absolutely do not care how much a man says it feels better for him without one. 

A few days ago, Julia Fox was making headlines about adopting celibacy due to the rollback of women’s rights. She appeared on Watch What Happens Live, where she said she’d been celibate for almost two and a half years. Her reasoning? “With the overturning of Roe v Wade and our rights being stripped away from us, this is the way I can take back the control. And it just sucks that it has to be in that way, but I just don’t feel comfortable until things change.” I don’t normally pay attention to her, but I respect the stance—and considering she's also a former dominatrix, she's intimately familiar with the power dynamics of sex.

For those navigating the dating world and apps, things can feel especially fraught and anxiety-inducing right now. As much as we can follow all the dating experts, influencers, and their “rules,” we still have no control over how another person feels about us and their actions. That’s why I find it even more offensive (and borderline violent) for a dating app, which has undoubtedly played a role in the demise of dating culture, to create a billboard ad that suggests women shouldn’t be doing whatever they need to do to feel safe, secure, and in control.

Women are judged and shamed regardless of our decisions or how we try to play the game. If we’re owning our sexuality by having sex as often as we like, then we’re “for the streets”, and no one’s going to marry us because our “body count” is too high. On the other hand, we’re also going to be shamed for having a “dry spell” or making a decision to abstain from sex while we’re waiting for the person who deserves us. I value listening to myself, my body, and what feels right for me. I have to live with my choices—and I try not to put myself in situations that might cause me distress down the line. So, at the end of the day, I support women doing whatever the fuck they want—as long as they’re being safe and prioritizing their wellbeing.