I’d never gone longer than 3 months without sex – so I set myself a challenge

I’m not a sex columnist for nothing. 

But a few years ago, something shifted.

Now in my 30s, I found myself getting fed up with flings and short-term romances that I’d previously enjoyed. 

I was going on dates but found that many of the people I was seeing were more interested in getting me naked than getting to know me on a deeper level. 

It bothered me because my sexual side is only one part of who I am – and definitely not the most interesting aspect of what I have to offer a potential partner.

Conversations, both online and in-person, often veered to sex, and it was getting tiresome (dating apps can be a dark hole sometimes).

Physically, getting intimate was still enjoyable but I was no longer connecting to the experiences emotionally. 

Some friends, including a few I have since chosen to cut ties with, also shared negative comments about my lifestyle, which compounded my thoughts.  

In hindsight, I should never have taken their unwanted (and sometimes judgemental) opinions to heart but at the time, it made me feel uncomfortable. 

Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the three-month-mark, asking myself what it meant – if anything at all.

Having always loved an unusual challenge, I decided to go cold turkey – spending 90 days without any sexual contact. I’m aware and respect that for many people, three months isn’t a big deal or even a long period, but we all have different relationships to sex. And I make it a rule never to compare my love life to someone else’s. 

I always knew I could do it (my desire has never been compulsory) but I was curious about how it would make me feel. 

When I told friends about this decision, some of them were stunned to discover that I’d never gone for longer without getting laid, while others – sharing their own experiences – admitted to being jealous.

One female friend confessed that she hadn’t slept with anyone in two years because she was afraid of rejection and disliked dating. A male friend said his ‘record’ was 18 months.

Kissing, hugging and cuddling was still allowed, as was masturbation. This wasn’t about denying myself pleasure but to seek it from myself – sexually or not – and to revive the connection between my body and mind.

The first few weeks went by without much fuss. I didn’t really think about sex, nor did I miss it. 

In my second month however, something began to unlock in my mind. By taking the pressure off, I had freed up space to ask myself some tough questions, like considering what I really wanted from my love life.

I discovered that my desires had changed. To me, sex was no longer just about achieving orgasm or exploring new things. It was more about who was in bed with me than what we were doing.

This introspection was a difficult process, but also a rewarding one because it made me understand myself better. It felt freeing to give myself space to think things through.

I also noticed that conversations with friends revolved less around the bedroom, likely because I had less ‘gossip’ to share – though I gladly listened to theirs.  

To avoid temptation, I avoided dating during this time but fate is a fickle mistress and decided to put me to the test during the final month. 

Through friends, I met a lovely man who set my body on fire. We made out like horny teenagers on a night out.

I wanted him badly but I had made a decision, and I wanted to honour it. I told him about the experiment I’d undertaken – and why – and he said he’d gladly wait until I was ready. 

It felt nice to take sex off the table and I noticed that it intensified my emotions, as well as my longing. My mind-body ‘connection’ began to roll back into gear.

Sadly, things didn’t work out between us and we never slept together – but I don’t regret abstaining because I stayed true to myself and what I needed, which was time.

As for self-pleasure, my ‘routine’ didn’t change much, though I did notice that my libido rose as the months went on. It’s important to acknowledge that, at this time in my life, I already felt comfortable with masturbation. 

But for anyone who doesn’t, doing this type of challenge can be a great way to explore your body and get a closer relationship with yourself.

The challenge lasted longer than intended, about three and a half months, and I celebrated by – you guessed it – having sex. It happened after a few dates with a man who was an incredible kisser.

Physically, it was intense but what felt even better is that I remember taking a few moments before we went home together to ask myself if this is what I wanted, if I was ready. 

This is something I’ve since continued doing. Before I sleep with someone for the first time – whether it’s a casual or more serious situation – I mull it over to make sure I’m in a good place in myself. 

Let me be clear: this is for my own benefit. Society has a nasty habit of telling us how, when and how often to get laid, especially if you’re a woman. To me, you could shag someone every five minutes or every five years – more power to you either way – so long as it’s a decision you’re making for yourself.

Many of us have a tendency to shame ourselves or believe that we have to be a certain way or uphold ideals that are imposed on us by others, when we should let ourselves grow.

I’m grateful for what I learned from giving up sex for, admittedly, a limited time period. 

If you want to try a similar, temporary, challenge, it can be very beneficial to allow time to explore your body and self-pleasure, or get to know yourself better. 

Delayed gratification is also a powerful sexual tool for both singles and couples, as a way of spicing things up.

The biggest lesson I learned from this challenge is that, without intending to, I’d allowed an imaginary deadline to hold power over me. Now, I’ve thrown the three-month-mark out of the window. And it feels great.