Lately, I’ve found myself lost in thought, pondering questions with no straightforward answers. The leaves are changing, the temperatures are dropping and naturally our bodies’ demands follow suit. But are these seasonal changes the only explanation for our sudden desire to cover up? Is our sudden unwillingness to be touched an indicator of there being something deeper going on?
With the constant social interactions and newfound independence, it’s no wonder that college students, both female and male, find themselves in a swirl of sexual thoughts. Not a single brunch goes by that doesn’t result in very detailed discussions of my friends’ latest romantic escapades and sexual dilemmas. We’ve been told that having these open discussions around sex is healthy and progressive. Women have been encouraged to go out and act on their desires with no shame –  told to mirror the mindset men have exhibited for centuries. But here’s a thought that I haven’t been confronted with until recently: Does having all that freedom come with some unexpected libido consequences? Is it possible that the labels we attach to sex actually influence our desire for it?
As I was on a walk with my friend Diane – a sophomore, Ft. Lauderdale native, and one of my closest confidantes here in Gainesville – I wondered if this was what was happening to me. I wondered if my past negative associations with sex had caused my brain to permanently tuck my libido away. “Maybe you just don’t view sex like you used to. Maybe your mind is craving a different kind of stimulation?” I reacted to Mia’s questions the same way I’ve reacted to every surprise party ever planned for me, like I knew it was coming. “It’s probably a good thing, like your mind is catching up to your heart or something.” I nodded my head in agreement, masking the dread brewing inside me and hoping it wasn’t plastered all over my face.
But my growing concern and curiosity about my dwindling sexual desire was enough for me to hear Mia out. I needed to be confronted with the years of encounters that blurred into one another, what I affectionately dubbed “the graveyard of bad sex past.”
As I sifted through all the emotional rubble in my head, I felt like I was an outsider looking in. Each experience a tombstone, marking what felt significant in the moment but had ultimately faded into the shadows. Was the solution to my newfound intimacy issue to come to terms with what seemed to be my broken relationship with sex?
Would that only solve half of the puzzle though? Sex by nature is a plural act. Sexuality, a major part of a woman’s identity…single. It would be easy to write this all off as a little celibacy phase I was trying on for size, but that didn’t explain why ALL my needs vanished into thin air.
On a call with Giselle, my best friend of over eight years back home in NYC, I posed some similar questions. She was not the type to sugar coat anything, in fact, she often sprinkled a bit of salt for good measure. “You just have to refuel your fire again,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “There has to be something that you fantasize about every once in a while. Start there, and then get back to me.” Even with her long list of past boyfriends, Giselle was never the type to rely on them to fulfill her. She was always the captain of her own ship and rarely floated adrift. Giselle has always been candid about the lengths she would go for her own needs. She knew all too well the limitations of men when it came to pleasing a woman. She tackled any dips in her desires head on, with confidence and a trusty battery-operated device.
As I continued to ponder and gather advice from my sources, I did something I haven’t done in ages: I took a long, hard look in the mirror. Sure, I looked the same, there was no neon “temporarily closed for business” sign on my chest for all to see. But it almost felt as though my internal candlelight was gradually dimming – the one that represents my womaness.
Was I losing my spark or rediscovering a new way to shine? Maybe it was OK that right now, at this very moment, I didn’t feel very sexual. In a world that’s so obsessed with chasing the next thrill, was I finally ready to embrace the beauty that came out of stillness?
That’s not to say that at our healthiest, all women are sex maniacs. Like women, libidos come in all shapes and sizes. Some women find the idea of sex thrilling, while others find sex to just be one of those boxes to check on a long to-do list. But here’s the truth: no matter how often you daydream of getting it on, whether with a partner or by yourself, our sexuality weaves itself into the very fabric of who we are– and that, my friends, deserves to be celebrated.
It’s a curious sensation, this internal reevaluation of self, so I’ll leave you with this: you’ll drive yourself mad listening to every little thing your body tries to tell you. The beauty of us women is that we’re fluid like lava, our desires ebb and flow and are never quite the same as the day before.
Maybe I’m not in a rush to reignite the flame, maybe I’ll just let it simmer for a while. After all, isn’t life just a little more exciting when we allow ourselves to embrace the pauses along the way?
-Love, Nessa