Why I Call Myself 'Solosexual'

And how this became the most fulfilling path I've ever experienced

Photo by Livi Po on Unsplash

I’ve finally done it. I have the most fulfilling sex life I’ve ever had - at almost 50. And you know what’s crazy? I’m not currently having sex with other people.

I know, that might sound confusing. Most people would say you cannot have a sex life in the absence of a partner.

And yet, I do. And a very happy one, at that.

I don’t consider myself celibate. I see myself as “solosexual.”

Some might call this silly nonsense, playing with semantics, or even someone trying to convince herself that she’s happy when, in fact, she’s really not. And if you’re one of those people, this story is likely not for you.

But if you’re curious - and, in particular, curious about creating a happy sex life that you can enjoy in absolutely any circumstance of life - then let’s get into it.

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Last year, at my annual gynecological exam, my doctor asked me, as she always does, “Are you sexually active right now?”

Without even thinking, I answered, “Yes, but only with myself.”

I wasn’t joking or trying to be cute. That was the most honest, genuine, spontaneous answer I could have given - and certainly not the one I had planned, which was a simple, and perhaps less embarrassing “No.”

She immediately averted her eyes, as if to discourage further explanation, and suddenly, I almost laughed. I realized I’d just flippantly brought up masturbation with my gynecologist even though there was no medical reason to do so, and it had clearly surprised her.

Hell, it had surprised me. But I was also incredibly proud of myself in that moment. Yes, I know what she was asking and why, and in medical terms, masturbation is completely irrelevant in that context.

But I’m not sure it should be. Sexual fulfillment is important for our mental health, and so why shouldn’t we talk about it in that context, too? She always asks me about my diet, exercise, and supplement habits. Why shouldn’t we also ask patients, “And how about pleasure? Are you getting enough sunsets, warm baths, and orgasms?”

That should be just as important as diet and exercise, as I’ve learned in middle age.

And having come to that understanding, I was quite proud of myself for shamelessly sharing that I was enjoying a happy sex life, all by myself.

I came to this realization several years ago, in my early forties, when I found myself single again and quite unhappy about it. I was on a journey of sexual liberation, and I couldn’t believe how hard it was to find people who wanted to explore that in ways that felt safe to me.

But part of that journey included the exploration of what it means to be sexually liberated and fulfilled. Over time, I began to understand that I’d been chasing a partner because the cultural narrative tells us that’s the only path to good sex. Actually, that it’s the only path to sex, at all.

I didn’t like these narratives. They made me feel trapped. We aren’t in control over when we fall in love or even when we fall in lust. Should being single mean that I couldn’t access sexual expression or fulfillment? Did there have to be another body in the room in order to be able to enjoy my sex life?

And perhaps worst of all was the “comphet-ness” of it all. The “heteroquirement” that stood in my way as a woman looking for fulfillment. As we all know, there’s a prevalent narrative in our culture that nothing counts as sex unless a penis is inside a vagina. And wow, that really inspired the rebel in me. I couldn’t have a fulfilling sex life unless I had a man in my bed?

No. Absolutely not. By that point in my life, I was done with this notion that I couldn’t access anything I wanted without men’s permission or participation. The idea that not only having a fulfilling sex life but having sex at all was dependent upon a man’s involvement was a hard no for me.

That’s when I decided how I was going to define sex. That’s when I decided that not being in a relationship was not synonymous with being “celibate” - and that celibacy isn’t really a thing outside of a religious discipline. (Unless you want it to be, of course, because again, it’s each person’s right to choose their own narrative.)

Why shouldn’t masturbation count as sex? And once I started asking that question, an even bigger one emerged.

We spend so much of our lives chasing sexual partners and experiences. Our dreams for sexual adventure and fulfillment tend to exist outside of us.

But what about what we have within? If we’re so dogged in our pursuit of sexual partners, why on earth aren’t we at least as enthusiastic about exploring our sexual relationship with ourselves?

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When it comes to sex, I’ve become concerned about the narratives America and the rest of the western world are creating. In particular, I find that many men are creating a strangely disempowering ideology around sex.

This includes incels, of course, but that’s just one end of the spectrum of this growing demographic of self-described “sexually disenfranchised” men. As someone who has an online presence, I’ve been shocked over the years by the amount of men I’ve heard from who would describe themselves in this way.

I don’t want to ignore or diminish any legitimate issues these men might have, because of course sexual connection is important. However, as I’ve seen this narrative strengthen over the years, it further inspired me to question why we’re so often encouraged (all of us, in one way or another) to buy into a story that makes it impossible for us to achieve fulfillment.

I didn’t want my happiness, sexual expression, or physical pleasure to ever be dependent upon another person. Look what it does to us when we buy into that. It’s a misery-making machine.

I realized I might find a good partner someday…and we might break up. Then what? I’m right back where I started, unhappy and unfulfilled until I find a new partner?

And what if we don’t break up but my partner falls ill or experiences a radical shift in their sexual rhythms, leaving our sex life dry? Where would that leave me? With the choice of breaking up or enduring, both of which would leave me sexually unfulfilled at least for the short term?

I believed there must be another option. An option for fulfillment that is available to me under any circumstance in my life.

You know what that option is? Cultivating a strong sexual relationship with ourselves.

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I know what you’re thinking. Does it really work? I know people will have their doubts. Some might even argue that this sounds like nothing more than romanticizing masturbation.

Excuse me for being direct here, but if this is what you think, I can state with 99% certainty that you haven’t romanticized it enough.

If you’re rolling your eyes at the thought of having a little fun with yourself in the bathtub or sprinkling rose petals on your bed before you get into it with your favorite toys, you’ve gotta push yourself out of the box.

Think about it this way: There are entire books written on how to explore sexual pleasure with a partner. Doesn’t it stand to reason that there is an equal amount of exploration one can enjoy with oneself? It’s literally beyond the scope of this essay.

What I’ll tell you, though, is that the relationship part of this equation is the most important factor to work on. The other factors we associate with fulfilling sex (things like attention to the present moment, physical pleasure, etc.) are the natural outgrowth of the deepening of our relationship with ourself.

The most magical aspect of this is that your sexual expression and fulfillment will grow and evolve over time as your relationship with yourself grows and evolves. I’m not sure I even noticed that in the first year of my own journey into solosexuality, but five years later, I am stunned by how much has changed.

This growth and the deepening of self-love that is inevitable when you treat yourself as your own partner and lover, begins to feed into the process in ways I struggle to describe. You might say it’s self-generating, and this cycle of nourishment creates a complex, beautifully layered experience much like our relationships with others.

And it is always available to us, because it lives within us.

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Your final, and perhaps biggest objection, I suspect, is that it’s just not the same as having a real partner. And you are right. Let’s be very honest here. It is not the same.

However, the narrative in this culture is that it’s not as good and therefore can never be fulfilling.

Again, let’s be honest that “not the same” is not the same as “not as good.”

Why do we need to compare our experiences with other lovers to the one we have with ourselves? And if we do, why must they meet the same metrics when that’s clearly such an unreasonable expectation?

Why can’t they be two different experiences, neither better (or worse) than the other?

Remember, if the assumption is that solosexuality is inherently less interesting or fulfilling than having a partner, you will experience what you believe.

And that’s part of the magic of solosexuality - it truly challenges your narratives about selfhood, sexuality, and relationships. It brings you to a whole new understanding of yourself if you bring curiosity and commitment to the process.

I don’t think it’s possible to start this journey and not end up experiencing a profound shift in your sense of love and compassion for yourself. And there’s a whole new level of pleasure and joy that comes with that.

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You know what I most love about solosexuality? That you can practice it in any circumstance. You can’t be single and married at the same time, but you can be solosexual and married.

Absolutely anything that might be relevant to a sexual partnership with another person is not necessarily relevant in the journey of solosexuality. It doesn’t matter if you have health problems, low self-esteem, poor body image. It doesn’t matter if you are married, single, throupled, or enjoying short-term experiences. It doesn’t matter if you are gay, straight, cis, trans, or aroace.

Solosexuality already exists within you, exactly as you are, in every circumstance you find yourself.

I consider solosexuality less as a label or identity, and more a practice of curiosity and self-love. As such, it’s there for you to practice at all times.

That’s why it’s so important. Because everything on the outside will always bring change: our bodies, our desires, and even our partners.

But there’s one thing that remains constant throughout it all. We will always be with ourselves, always be in this body that we have, always processing the world through our own unique perspectives and experiences.

Why not make this the most important, fulfilling relationship we have?

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