Whenever I’ve found myself in relationships, my solo sex life has always taken a drastic hit.

I would get so excited and wrapped up in my developing relationship(s) that all of my sexual energy and consideration would go towards another person. Essentially, my sexuality would become about them, their desires, their libido – how I could satisfy their needs.

I have a pretty high libido. I’m quite open-minded about trying new things or incorporating my partners’ desires, so I never thought of it as a compromise when I would adjust to someone’s libido. I was usually game for whatever, whenever, so this never struck me as an imbalance.

But after my last long-term relationship, I was single for quite a while. It was during this time that I really, truly got to know my sexual self: through having sex with myself.

Up until that point, I had maintained a solo sex life in the spaces between relationships, rather than as an ongoing, committed practice regardless of how my partnered sex life was looking.

Image: Taken by the author, Taylor Neal. Alexis (they/them), Unraveling Series (collaboration with Bonjibon), 2023.

We are regularly taught that we’re only valuable when being actively pursued and desired by another person.

Because of this, my solo sex practice has often operated as a second fiddle, or a last resort in the place where a partner should be.

I didn’t see sex with myself as valuable as sex with partners. Therefore, my solo sex was often uninspired and unadventurous – used as a means to an end.

When my last relationship ended during COVID lockdowns, I had no one around to channel my romantic and sexual energy into. There was no one else to look to for my pleasure.

My relationship with myself couldn’t just fill in the gaps until the next partner came along. It was March 2020; we didn’t know when there would be an opportunity to experience intimacy with other humans again.

Amid grief, heartbreak, fear and facing the unknown, I was forced to look inwards at my relationship to myself. Many of us were.

During lockdown, I started exploring sex with myself a little more intentionally. It started mostly as a way of relieving the physical pain of heartbreak, alone in an apartment in Montreal.

There were days where everything felt so hopeless and painful that the only way I could find relief was by turning to my vibrator. I would lay around in bed for hours, alternating between reading and fucking myself. These activities were the only things that felt remotely within my control.

This went on for days: masturbating as pain relief, masturbating through rejection and anxiety, masturbating to face the fear of not knowing what was to come.

Out of boredom mostly, I began experimenting with my body: switching things up to find new sensations, trying new positions, using different objects – anything I could think of.

Through this experimentation, my body revealed to me a wealth of information it had been begging me to hear for years.

After a lifetime of seeing myself through a very specific lens, having an extended period of time when I was only fucking myself gave me the opportunity to discover my non-binary identity.

Not only did I learn about my gender, I also discovered many new kinks, fantasies and ways of accessing pleasure.

I felt like I was meeting myself sexually for the first time. In many ways, I was.

When I started dating again years later, I approached new sexual relationships from a much more self-informed place.

Advocating for my pleasure was easier because I was familiar with my sexuality in a more thorough and intimate way. Where in the past I believed I was just ‘open-minded’, I could now show up to the conversation with much more guidance and information about my body and my pleasure. This led to more expansive connections and richer sexual experiences.

Through the development of my solo sexual relationship, I grew more capable of choosing partners that were closely aligned with my needs and desires. Naturally, these were more safe and nourishing connections than ones I’d had in the past.

I became my own primary partner. I took the time and care to understand myself more, in the way that I would have taken time and care for a partner in the past.

After that, I was able to go out into the world as a more confident advocate for myself: my most important lover.

Now that I’m in a long-term relationship, I uphold my sexual relationship with myself first and foremost.

By continuing to get curious and explore myself sexually, I better understand what I need from others to feel safe and supported in exploring pleasure.

Holding myself as my primary partner also allows me to keep some parts of my sexual self as sacred – just for me. This reminds me that my pleasure is completely within my control; it’s mine alone.

My partner may wish to offer me pleasure, but even in moments when I occupy a more submissive role, I am still in control. My partner can never own my pleasure.

There are many times when I have desires that my partner may not share, or they may just not be in the mood every time I desire sex.

My menstrual cycle plays a big role in this, as my libido fluctuates with my cycle each month. My desire ebbs and flows with the phases of the moon in an exciting way that may not line up with what my partner experiences or needs.

The knowledge that I control my own pleasure offers support in navigating these sorts of libido discrepancies. Intimacy can be found in many non-sexual ways with my partner, and I can turn to myself to fulfil my sexual needs whenever and however I choose.

If I’m in the mood and my partner is not, I’ll tell them not to come in the bedroom – the equivalent of having a sock on the doorknob – so I can fuck myself for as long as I want in the safety of my own body without any interruptions.

I enthusiastically cheer them on in the same way when they feel the call to engage themselves sexually.

My partner and I often have long conversations about how our solo sex lives are going, which toys we’re liking alone, and what new things we’ve tried.

I have a particular vibrator I like to use with myself, but not with my partner; I get so excited about using it because it’s just for me.

While I like sharing my discoveries, my current interests and what porn I’m watching, I also like knowing that I can share about these things without obligation. Sometimes we like to share, but other times we don’t feel the need.

Sometimes it’s nourishing to keep these things just for ourselves.

No matter my relationship status, the libido differences I navigate, or the frequency of my partnered sex life, nothing will ever change the fact that I am my own primary partner.

My unwavering commitment and love for myself and my pleasure will always be a number one priority. My sexual self can be shared with partners when and how I choose.

When I feel called to explore, I can always get curious with myself, no matter how I exist in relation to others. 

I will always be waiting there for myself, with safe, warm, open arms.