66 Days of No Sex <– Where it all began…
You asked, so I answered.
These questions were collected from readers in an anonymous survey after the 66 days. Sorry, I couldn’t include all of them! I tried to pick a variety of umbrella questions that covered most of the feedback. Here we go!
Q1: What do you feel you got out of this challenge?
I have a greater appreciation for self-awareness. One of my fave entrepreneurs Gary Vaynerchuk stresses the importance of knowing yourself. For me, 66 Days was about cutting off my own crutch. This challenge was me executing on a “self-audit.” It’s important reflect because no one will tell you to get your shit together like you can.
I have a lot of blunt friends, but no one was going to say:
“Connie, you talk like President of the Lonely Hearts Club, but one that hosts meetings from the middle of a dick frenzy. You want to find a worthwhile connection? Start acting like the type of person you want to attract. Because your path now and all the dumb shit you’re doing? It’s not going to get you there.”
- Step 1: Figure out what your crutch is.
- Step 2: Have the conviction to be stronger without the crutch.
- Step 3: Try your fucking hardest.
Q2: Did you learn something about yourself that you hoped to learn?
Intentional or not, the challenge forced me to be vulnerable with myself. There were moments throughout 66 Days where I would just cry: in the car going home from work, in bed after a night out with friends, and in the middle of writing my next post. Instead of relying on a person or body to distract me, I had to lean into the discomfort of an unspecified sadness. It was never a single trigger, but rather a perfect storm of loneliness, anger, hopelessness, resentment, disgust, and envy.
In piecing together my week to write a coherent blog post, I realized a lot of things didn’t add up. Despite the overhaul of my love life, there was still dissonance between what I did and what I said I wanted. I documented my life as a stream of consciousness when I couldn’t identify a theme. The blog was a novel with a convoluted story arc and underdeveloped protagonist.
I learned I’m in a selfish grey area where I want the comfort and convenience of an exclusive partner, but the freedom and wishful thinking of single life. All this analysis means nothing if I don’t first figure out what I’m willing to invest.
I’m pleased that I felt disappointed in myself during the challenge. Disappointment is a great place to start because it means you have expectations of yourself. You can’t better yourself if you don’t know where you went wrong.
Q3: I’m an Asian woman and I judge myself for wanting sex outside of committed relationships. The thing is, I judge all people (not just women) for sex outside committed relationships. Is this something you experience at all?
I can’t say I feel bad about having sex outside of committed relationships. I think sex inside a committed relationship is not inherently better or worse than sex outside a committed relationship. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. Looks like we disagree here, which is fine. However, I do relate to the feeling of self-judgement when I behave in ways against my own approval. Example: I judge fuckbois and belligerent drunks, but have I acted like a fuckgurl and a belligerent drunk. Whoops.
Your conflict is consistent in that you disagree with all sex outside of committed relationships, regardless of if it’s you or someone else. I read a good quote somewhere: “The first thought that goes through your mind is what you’re conditioned to think; your second thought defines who you are.”
Step back and think about why you judge sex outside committed relationships. Is it because of society’s standards or your own beliefs?
You and I face the same stereotype of Asian women being submissive, reserved, and modest. If we don’t fit that mold, then we also have the option of playing the “exotic sex object.” It’s hard to find middle ground as an Asian woman in American culture, especially if traditional upbringing reaffirms the former and pop culture reaffirms the latter. How do we win here?!
I have an Asian mom who is unusually supportive of my independent thinking and outspoken nature, but also wishes I didn’t kiss so many boys. When I told her the premise of 66 Days, I joked I was turning over a new leaf to be a good girl. She said in Mandarin, “Dog farts. You are a bad girl.”
My mom and I may not agree on what I ought to do with my body, but we can agree on the choice being mine to make.
Peace of mind comes from living in accordance with your own values.
So I ask: How do you privately feel about sex outside committed relationships? When it’s just you and nobody else is judging your answer. I know it’s tough to separate our morals from what we’re raised to believe, especially when those lessons come from people we may love and respect.
If the concept still feels wrong in the the privacy of your own brain space, then that may be your true belief. Having sex should be a comfortable decision to make, something you feel good about before, during, and after. If it feels off, then start making strides toward a sexual lifestyle you do feel good about. If you aren’t already, try only having sex in committed relationships or not having sex until you gain some clarity.
Also consider if it’s really the sex you’re seeking. Are you looking for something typically associated with sex, such as companionship, connection, or validation? I found I often confused horniness with loneliness. Make sure you’re identifying the right problem to find the right solution. A 12-course meal will do nothing to cure a thirst problem.
Q4: The whole basis of no sex for 66 days made me think, “Can this girl not go without sex for 66?” Sounds crazy, but 66 days isn’t that long. Before I just thought you were quite normal, but now I’m thinking you’re a bit of a slut? It’s 66 days! I’m no “stud” myself but I think I’ve done over 66 days at least 3-4 times in my sexual career and I’ve yet to write a blog about it. I’d have doubts about dating you after this. I just don’t like a girl’s sexual history laid in front of me before I’d even met her.
Not really a question here, but I wanted to address this. Let’s get one thing straight: It doesn’t bother you that I share my sexual history; it bothers you that I have a sexual history. Because regardless of when you learned about my past—before meeting me or years into a relationship with me—your perception of what earns a girl “slut status” does not change.
Help me understand your definition. Am I a slut for publicly admitting I’m sexually active? If I fuck in a forest and nobody hears it, am I still a slut? Or maybe I can be Schrödinger’s slut where if nobody finds me in the bushes with my pants down, I’m simultaneously a virgin.
Does “slut status” depend solely on activity level or also choice of partner? Am I slut if I have sex with a hypothetical boyfriend for 66 days straight? Or is it sluttier of me to have a single one night stand? Am I slutty if I sleep with a different partner each week but am transparent about my engagements? Or is it sluttier of me to cheat on a long-term boyfriend in secrecy?
If a slut is someone who likes sex and wants it frequently, then I am a big slut.
I love having sex and addressing sex has a healthy and normal part of life for both men and women. I don’t get why people are so ass-backwards about women talking about sex. Nobody bats an eye if a chick takes three dicks in her left ear canal, but the second a woman wants to have an open dialogue about S-E-X? She’s a slut.
Women can watch porn. But we can’t talk about it.
Women can masturbate. But we can’t talk about it.
Women can have sex. But we can’t talk about it.
The reason you think I’m a slut is because I’m talking about it. It’s as if women’s mouths were designed for something other than making men come prematurely.
If you prefer girls who are embarrassed or uncomfortable discussing sex, then I advise you get tested. You’re due for a retroactive STD warning from a woman who was shamed for “laying out her sexual history.”
I don’t think 66 days is a long time now, but dry spells are subjective. Heck, I once went 18 years without sex.
But it was never about the length of the challenge—it was about the stage in my life when it began. Accomplishments are measured in the context of a person’s life. A month of sobriety for me is not the same as a month of sobriety for a recovering alcoholic.
If I started the blog in the midst of a dry spell or even as the person I am now, it would be a dull read because there lacks conflict. Similarly, maybe you haven’t written a blog because limited female attention and a dormant sex life are normal for you.
Please lean into your doubts of dating me. You don’t deserve the driest, nibbliest, virgin-mouthed blowjob, let alone mine. Men don’t get to shame women for the practice and then reap the benefits of a woman who knows what she’s doing. Women are scolded for putting out for anyone other than the one trying to get in our pants at the moment. Oh, the karma of a Catch-22 chastity belt designed to frustrate the very inventor.
That’s not how this works, dude. Should you ever pull your head out of your ass and surface from the infinity pool of pussy I’m sure you’re drowning in, I’d be happy to have a conversation with you about sex.
Q5: How different would it have been if it were 6 months? Or a year? Any thoughts about how different that challenge would be for people who have a more difficult time hooking up with people/are less attractive based on social norms?
If it were a longer timeline, I may have felt more discouraged in the beginning because the goal was daunting. Bite-sized milestones are easier to digest. After overcoming the first few weeks, the rest of the challenge became exponentially easier like I caught a second wind. By Week 6 or 7, I plateaued with fewer urges (unless temptation was directly in front of me).
A zero-sex challenge for people who have trouble hooking up? It wouldn’t be a challenge, it’d be cake. They would just keep living as usual. That’s like me saying I’m going to go 66 days without becoming an Olympic gold medalist. Probably couldn’t fail if I tried my hardest and drank Michael Phelps’ body sweat as an elixir.
Being attractive gives you an advantage, I don’t think the impact is as drastic as you think. When guys hit on me, I don’t think it’s because I’m incredibly attractive (though it’s a nice assumption if I’m feeling down). It’s because 1) I’m female and 2) the guy is the type who generally hits on women. This guy has probably approached 5s as well as 10s. I was the lucky (or unlucky) number in his immediate range of options.
Hooking up isn’t about looks or game as much as it is about timing, convenience, and persistence.
I stand a chance against more attractive women because I proactively approach men. I reach them before other women (timing) and break the ice, so it requires minimal effort/work from their end (convenience). Then, I occupy their full attention (persistence), so they have no time to approach their Choice A. That’s how the turtle wins the race.
Attractive people have more opportunity in the sense they can select from a pool of people at their attractiveness level and below. It’s like when you’re shopping a BOGO sale and you have an item in hand and need a second of equal or lesser value. If you have an expensive item, you have more options in the store. However, you’ll be shopping longer for a piece of comparable value that you really like.
In other words, hotter people have the benefit of choice, but the burden of selectivity. They want maximum bang for their buck.
At the end of they day, everyone can get laid. There are enough horny people to go around. It’s a matter of if you’re willing to dig through the clearance bins instead of shopping the front table.
Q6: Will you attempt this again?
I’m still on my first attempt (Day 128 – May 8th). Honestly, I feel like I could go years without sex. The magic of habit! I’m still guilty of the occasional SnapChat to old friends with benefits, but it’s nothing compared to my former sense of urgency.
I couldn’t attempt this again because I’m in a different mentality, one where I don’t consider it “giving up” sex. When I do decide to have sex again, I think I’ll feel a stronger sense of control. I don’t need to have sex; I want to have sex.
I’d like to think I’ll never return to a place where sex dictates so much of my happiness. Out of respect for the great thing sex can be, I need to separate physical involvement from my unresolved issues with intimacy. Until I can have sex in a responsible mindset, it’s best I don’t have sex at all.
I don’t want to be a man-hater.
I don’t want to be a relationship-hater.
It’s easy to blame external factors, but so much of what shapes life and love satisfaction is internal.
Despite the many male characters that made appearances in 66 Days, the only relevant character was me.
To answer your question: If a similar challenge could have a significant and positive impact on my life, then sign me up, babycakes.