UUntil recently, I used sexual encounters the way anyone else would have a glass of wine after a long day, or some chocolate after a meal—and before you know it, one glass can quickly turn into two or three a day, or A piece of chocolate.
After nearly five years of being single, I find myself viewing sex more and more as a competitive sport. It becomes a means to an end—an orgasm, a stress reliever, a cure for boredom or loneliness. I once joked with a friend that I “masturbated with his body,” referring to my latest conquest.
I’ve been acutely aware of my casual attitude towards sex for some time, but I didn’t consider it a problem – I’ve never been addicted to sex and have long been a proud member of the anti-slut-shaming community. My mantra is: “Singles deserve to have intimate relationships too.”
In hindsight, it’s obvious that I confused sex and intimacy. I thought, “Just because I’m not in a relationship, doesn’t mean I can’t have all the sex my heart desires.” But what started out as a journey of “I’m different and I wear my nymphomania as a badge of honor” quickly turned into It snowballed into saying yes when I should have been saying no.
Last summer I slept with a man and I had a rare chemistry with him. But at 7am, after about four hours of sleep, he rudely woke me up and asked me to leave – telling me he “couldn’t sleep” while I was there. After asking him to book an Uber for me, I packed up my things and left. Five minutes into the trip, the driver told me the flight had been cancelled. When I called the guy to ask what happened, he said I was “cold to him” when I left. When I found myself trapped somewhere in uptown Manhattan, my jaw hit the floor.
Last fall, I met a man on a dating app and slept with him on the first date. When we were done – it was already 3am – he announced that he had to go home now. I was taken aback and asked him why he didn’t stay and leave in the morning. His response: “Sleeping next to a woman is too intimate. I’d rather risk her falling in love with me.”
I can think of at least 10 other similar situations where I felt belittled, marginalized, slut-shamed, or all of the above. But what bothers me the most is that I know I’ve done the same thing to some of my sexual partners in the past. My numbness led me to believe this was normal behavior in the jungle, also known as casual sex for singles.
With the help of social media and a good cry, my unhealthy sexual relationship ended unceremoniously. In November, inspired by the social media trend of “date packages” (where singles post slide presentations summarizing their year of dating), I counted the number of people I’d slept with in the past year – 20. I was shocked by the relatively high number considering almost none of them left me feeling satisfied, excited, or empowered.
Many of these encounters were so memorable that I had a hard time recalling how I felt at the time or afterwards, or found myself wandering off and thinking about other things while doing it. Sometimes I agree to sleep with someone just because they ask, even though I’m not attracted to them.
Looking back, there wasn’t a single eureka moment that made me pass up on a chance encounter. (This probably won’t work anyway; quitting suddenly after years of binge eating may lead to a relapse.) But sitting at the Thanksgiving table, surrounded by my happily married parents and my sister, she With my fiancé and toddler, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. I suddenly became aware of the juxtaposition of my life and theirs: “I can’t remember the last time someone I liked held my hand or hugged me.”
I knew I needed to stop having sex with anyone but myself—a realization that came from sheer exhaustion. I now have one rule about my current existence: I won’t sleep with anyone I don’t have romantic feelings for. It’s been almost four months since I’ve had sex (what I used to call my “dry spell”) and I feel cleansed. The “sugar” and “toxins” are leaving my body, or rather, my mind, and I am clear-headed and focused. This was a whole new world for me, and I was excited, dedicating the time I’d spent recruiting the next leader, and later crying to my therapist, to my career.
Of course, there are withdrawal symptoms. They usually come up when I’m exposed to a sex scene in a TV show or movie, or when I witness a friend coming home with someone after a night out. But I’ve come to realize that sex isn’t a numbers game and that intimacy and sex can be completely different things.
While my body was closed to business, my heart was open to romance.
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Cornelia Holzbauer is a health and wellness reporter based in New York City
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