Originally published November 2023
Statistics, data, and numbers are fine. I was very good with them, but I think that has more to do with the “bad at math” programming I received during my extremely gendered education and upbringing than any actual aptitude. There’s nothing wrong with data, in fact, I enjoy a good analytics geek out as much as the next extremely online gal. Numbers and stats are an okay thing to care about, as long as there’s a good reason why you care. In singlehood, I think we have a terrible habit of tallying things that literally don’t matter. I also think the numbers we keep track of are shaming us into feeling worse about something that isn’t actually bad. “How long it’s been” doesn’t say anything about us at all. How we feel about that timespan most certainly does.
In singlehood, I personally think that numbers don’t count for shit. What matters to me is the perspective from which we view those numbers. How long have you been single? How long have you been online dating? And my absolute favorite and by favorite I mean my least favorite: How long has it been since you’ve had sex?
Ah yes, the dry spell—that old chestnut. Oh my god, it’s been how long?! This inappropriate, grotesque tally indicates to us just how much sexual value we have as women out in the world. Unfortunately, we can also use this number to assign value to ourselves in our own heads. As if our worth and desirability could ever possibly be dictated to us by how often we spend time naked with another person — any other person. Beyond that, a woman’s sexual worth is a perpetually unbalanced scale. Have sex too little? Prude, pathetic. Have sex too much? Slut, hoe. I wonder where a woman’s sexual sweet spot is? Probably regularly scheduled sex with a spouse from age 28 until death, I’d imagine.
There’s a fear we allow to root in our single brains: if we’re not having sex, if we’re not booking a lot of dates, if we don’t have “enough” people interested in us, that means we’re not desirable or lovable at all. We let what’s happening outside of us mirror back what our self-worth should be, when in fact self-worth has nothing to do with other people wanting to fuck you. Forgive the vulgarity, I need your attention.
There is no sexual sweet spot, no perfect amount of sex that a single woman should be having, or should be using to validate herself and her singlehood among her friends. I hate numbers associated with sex because there’s shame on either side of them. It’s a no-win situation socially and also it’s nobody’s business. That’s why I think keeping track of “how long it’s been” since you last had an orgasm with another person present is an absolutely pointless effort.
We have a terrible habit of associating singlehood with casual sex, with “you’re so lucky, you can fuck whoever you want!” and so forth. The bullshit legacy of Sex and the City truly is the gift that keeps on giving. We don’t have to associate singlehood with the responsibility to have sex unless we want to. And further, we don’t have to associate a lack of sex with any sort of inherent flaw inside us. A societal association of singlehood with sex doesn’t have to become a personal one. And any shame around “how long it’s been” since your last sexual experience with someone doesn’t have to feel shameful because it’s fucking made-up.
A far better use of time in my mind, instead of calculating the distance between our tandem orgasms, is evaluating why you even want to have sex, what you enjoy about it (and what you don’t), and how you want to feel before, during, and after. Are we ever taking time to evaluate these things? Or are we just moving into adulthood accepting sex as just something we… do? Single women don’t have to have sex for sex’s sake, but when we are afraid of being embarrassed by “how long it’s been” I think sometimes we feel compelled to. Further, what if we can’t find someone to have sex with? How does that lower our own self-worth and the opinions we have of ourselves from a sexual standpoint? Does that even feel fair to you?
I think the same thing about sex tallies that I do about every other component of singlehood. We often let what other people think about us dictate the way we feel about ourselves. I used to be terrified of a “dry spell,” because sex was such a casual topic among my friends and it was also seen as pretty much the only benefit to my single life among a cohort of cronies constantly coupling. I was so worried they’d blatantly ask me how long it had been. Do I tell them and face certain shame? Or do I lie and bear the burden of entertaining them with fantastical sex stories that I’d have to entirely invent?
Now I know that casual sex doesn’t (and never did) satisfy me sexually or emotionally — not really — and unfortunately after casual sex, I used to feel pretty terrible about myself. In letting go of centering how often I was “wanted” by another person, I had time to figure out what I actually wanted for myself. Now I don’t see it as a “dry spell,” I see it as time I’ve had to evaluate what sex means to me, and how I want it to happen in my life moving forward. Not everyone can have casual sex and enjoy it, and so because I’m in that camp, I have less sex than what social and internet currency prefers. And I couldn’t give less of a shit. Societal thoughts on my sexual frequency no longer have the power to shame me. Sex that also comes with a genuine emotional attachment to someone I know will text me tomorrow however, does have the power to feel pretty fucking amazing.
Your years spent single—and years spent without sex—are gifts, not gaps. They’re wealths of time and self-exploration, to find out what you genuinely desire in ways that get clouded over when you’re focusing your attention on someone else or focusing your effort on avoiding shame. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since you’ve had sex, just like it doesn’t matter how long it’s been since your last relationship. Distance between does not indicate lack of fitness for. Statistically speaking, that’s just fact.
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If you liked this essay, you’ll probably also enjoy my book A Single Revolution: Don’t look for a match. Light one. Book link is affiliate link.