I've joked plenty of times in the last 12 months about the irony of me, a sex writer, not having had sex with another person since December 2024. I discuss everything from consent to kink in my work, and yet I haven't been experiencing any of it in my day-to-day life. I won't lie: this made me feel like a bit of a fraud for a time. Should I really be writing about sex when I wasn't having any?

But here's the thing: I was — just not in the way many of us would usually define sex. Solo sex is still sex, and my year of it interestingly became the time I learnt the most about pleasure and what I want.

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As a single person no longer keen to have casual sex or one-night stands, (don't get me wrong, I had opportunities to have partnered sex, I am just in a mindset now where I want to prioritise meaningful connections), self-pleasure became crucial for me in 2025.

It allowed me to work out what feels good (and be confident enough to communicate this in future partnered experiences), rediscover my sexuality and have fun with pleasure again. Plus, as someone who's experienced sexual trauma in the past, time alone also helped me to process this by feeling safe in my body again.

Here, I share my most notable lessons in the hopes you too may discover the joys of a solo sex life.

Yes, solo sex is just as important as partnered sex.

Let's start here: solo sex is just as valid, relevant and meaningful as partnered sex, whether you're single or in a relationship.

2025 was the year I really started to understand this. I used to tell all my friends I was suffering because I hadn't had sex 'in so long' — but by the end of the year, I realised I'd been having it all along.

Sex isn't just penetration with a partner; being with women intimately (I'm bisexual) solidified this for me several years back. Sex has a broad definition, and can include everything from oral to phone sex, as well as solo play.

Questioning my definition of what really 'counted' as sex and what it means to me was a huge takeaway from 2025. A lack of comprehensive sex education from a young age and plenty of heteronormative messaging across the board can have you thinking about sex in a very one-dimensional way.

But broadening your mindset and realising solo sex matters and is actually part of self-care is a shift 100 per cent worth making: I'm proof of this.

I don't need to 'perform'.

Porn, poor sex education and old-school portrayals of sex in film and TV have a lot to answer for when it comes to performative sex. From a relatively young age, women in particular are covertly (and TBH, sometimes overtly) told to look and sound a certain way to turn their partners on and be 'worthy' of their desire — a nd this can affect our enjoyment of sex.

"Many of us fill our minds during partnered sexual experiences with worries about how our bodies look, how we sound, whether what we enjoy is 'normal,' and if we are providing pleasure to our partners," notes Christine Rafe, Lovehoney's sex and relationship expert.

Solo sex allowed me to free myself from these constraints and insecurities, and realise sex should never be a performance. When I'm alone, I don't worry about what I look like, how loud I am or whether my moans sound hot or not. Oh, and I never fake anything.

Taking this time with myself and remembering the things our bodies do are all natural, has given me back my confidence for partnered sex. I will arrive as I am and not feel the need to look, sound or act a certain way to be deserving of pleasure or attraction.

It's possible to find 'masturbation material' that works for me personally.

Look: I've just never been a porn girlie. I can't get on board with the lack of storytelling in most traditional types of porn, and it goes without saying that plenty of it still prioritises sex from the male gaze. That's not hot to me. I want romance and yearning; I want passion and chemistry; I want fireworks. None of that comes from a shitty 10-minute clip from PornHub.

In truth, for many years I was worried I'd just never find the right 'material' that worked for me. But modern, female-founded, ethical erotica sites such as FrolicMe were a revelation to me; as was audio erotica (think: Bloom Stories and Quinn).

What surprised me most though was my penchant for smutty books. I've written entire essays about how spicy Romantasy books have totally revived my solo sex life. ACOTAR, Quicksilver and From Blood and Ash are all personal favourites, and as someone who usually experiences responsive desire, I need stimuli like this to get things going.

Good Romantasy features slow-burn tension, 'will they or won't they' energy and tropes such as 'enemies to lovers' and this is SO HOT to me. I now keep my vibrator within reach whenever reading.

Shopping for a solo sex life can be really fun (and empowering).

As someone who loves to shop, embracing my solo sex life opened up a whole new realm of purchasing possibilities for me — and it was just a really bloody fun process. Despite being a sex writer, I'll admit that until fairly recently, I hadn't really experimented a whole lot with my sex toy collection, and 2025 allowed me to properly go there.

Brands like Lelo became my go-to, with innovative takes on classic rabbit vibrators (such as the Soraya Wave) and new clit suction devices becoming instant favourites.

2025 showed me that waterproof devices are a must, as I now most commonly enjoy masturbating in the shower. Speaking of which, this one by Womanizer has been a game-changer.

I also rediscovered my love of lube, with a tube of Bed Intentions (a water-based prebiotic lubricant) now always sitting by my bedside.

My brain is my most important sexual organ.

Solo sex really allowed me to rediscover what turns me on, and that this actually starts in my head. Creating a context for arousal to thrive is essential in solo play, and for me this meant indulging in a slow process that revolved around self-care and things that stimulated my brain first.

I'm not the kind of person who can spend five minutes masturbating and feel satisfied. I need to put some energy into getting turned on because it doesn't always happen easily when I'm single — and there's no shame in that. I need to allow myself at least an hour to read a spicy book, create the right environment (think: mood lighting, candles, a hot bubble bath and some deep, sensual breathing) before I even start to touch myself (which again, can go slowly, starting at nipples, thighs, stomach etc).

In short, I have to stimulate my brain before I can feel sexually stimulated: solidifying this learning not only enhanced my solo sex life, but will help in my partnered sex life.

And finally… It's about the journey, not the destination.

So many of my partnered experiences have made me feel like sex is all about the end goal: an orgasm for both parties. But in the past, this has made me feel under pressure, rushed and in my head. This year reminded me that sex is as much about the journey than the destination, if done right. As long as you enjoy yourself and feel comfortable, that is pleasure in itself.

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Struggling to get out of your head? Anna Richards, founder of Frolicme, explained to me that it's crucial to "take the pressure off" and let go. "You don't have to orgasm, so don't make it the goal," she said.

"Use solo play as your time to get curious rather than be goal-oriented — there is no rush, this is about you. Explore touch, texture, temperature; notice what feels pleasurable and relaxing, not just what feels sexy. And just be patient and kind to yourself; desire ebbs and flows… have compassion for pleasure to arrive."

Feature image: Supplied.