If someone had told me that I'd intentionally go seven years without having sex or dating, I wouldn't have believed them. And yet, that's exactly what happened following a difficult breakup in 2016. The end of that relationship was messy and painful, but it was also the catalyst for a solo journey that I, and a survivor of , didn't know I needed at the time.
Ever since, choosing single living and a solo sex life has been the most liberating thing I've ever done for myself. It all started when I promised I was just going to be single long enough to get my life in order. I was a traumatized mess at the time.
I was burnt out from work and perpetually anxious, and my self-esteem was the lowest it had ever been. To top it all off, I'd just started openly talking about my bisexuality, too, which disappointed many conservative family members and unimpressed other queer people. Fortunately, as a child of the 1990s, I felt seen by queer representation in general, thanks in part to shows like " ," " ," " ," and " .
" But at the same time, I felt like I was constantly being gaslit about my sexuality by both heterosexuals and people from the LGBTQ+ community. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?" they would ask. "But didn't you used to say you were straight?" "Are your preferences for men and women 50/50?" "Why don't you just say you're sexually fluid?" I felt constant invalidation and tried to prove my bisexuality by continuously talking about my sexual experiences with both women and men, s.
