There are people in my life who have never left the town or city where they grew up. They’ve been in the same job for decades, and have either had a partner for just as long or are happily long-term single.
There are others in my life who have lived in multiple countries, who change jobs every couple of years, and cringe at the term “settling down.”
Sometimes the latter folk chase new relationship energy (NRE – it’s a thing), and sometimes they’ve found a person who matches their need for variety and novel experiences, within a committed relationship.
But there’s something all these people have in common:
Whether they actively seek it, welcome it, or try to avoid it at all costs, change is inevitable.
No matter how hard they try to control their external circumstances (where they live, the work they do, etc.), “life” has its own plans.
I fall somewhere in the middle of those two types of people I just described.
I’ve lived in three countries and over 20 different homes (although I’ve been in my current one for 14 years). My jobs are always fixed-term contracts that last a maximum of two years. My partner and I have adventured together for over 25 years.
We’re in the throes of relocating back to Scotland, having been away since 2004.
It’s a chosen change, but a big one, and one that brings its own stresses and anxieties nonetheless.
I’ve had my fair share of unplanned “life” events, too.
In the last 7 years, I’ve supported my best friend through cancer, had three organs surgically removed (my gallbladder, uterus, and an ovary), received a chronic health condition diagnosis, navigated a global pandemic, and ridden the menopause rollercoaster (without HRT).
My parents are ageing, have their own health challenges, and all live at least a 4-hour drive away in different parts of the UK. (I effectively have six parents: my mum and stepdad, my dad and stepmum, and my mother- and father-in-law.)
When I look at my life through this lens of change, I’m not at all surprised that my relationship with intimacy and sexuality has changed over that period, too.
Could anyone truly expect their libido and desire to remain consistent with “life” happening all around?
(Would you?)
I’ve read a lot of perspectives about sex and midlife – everything from increased horniness (no more periods or pregnancy scares getting in the way of a good time, hurray!), to giving up on sex completely (to which some people add, if you’re not having sex ‘worth wanting’, why would you try to keep this part of you alive?).
I have my own perspective (and this is pretty much what I explore on this Substack account):
What if, instead of clinging to a past version of our sexual selves and fearing change, or trying to meet some aspirational version of sexuality that we see in the media, we get curious and treat our lives as a “living experiment”?
For me, this “living experiment of desire in queer midlife” means observing the ebbs and flows of my sexual self with a certain degree of non-attachment.
Because, if I attach too strongly to one state, I find myself either getting sad (is this it then, is this part of me gone forever?) or feeling panicked (does that mean I have to maintain this level of horniness from now on?).
It’s not always easy.
I’ve previously written about my fears of losing my decades-long role as an erotic writer (a role I love).
And about my fears of losing my libido when I lost my uterus.
In the last few weeks, I’ve experienced the heady rush of unexpected sexual excitement when responding to erotic writing invitations (like this story I co-wrote with Orlando Silver).
I’ve also had rotten headaches and migraines that have led to my wanting to escape a body in which pain dominates and pleasure is nowhere to be found.
But still, I refuse to buy into the narrative that says my changing and fluctuating relationship with pleasure and intimacy means that something about me is “broken.”
I refuse, and instead, I stay curious.
Thank you for joining me in this living experiment. Ultimately, my hope is that it will help you have more compassion for and curiosity about your unique sexual self.
If you’d like to read more perspectives on navigating intimacy and desire through times of change, I think you’ll love this book: Sex Meets Life.
Sex Meets Life features personal essays and life-inspired fiction from a wonderfully diverse group of authors, writing about times in their lives such as becoming a caregiver, ageing, menopause, sexual awakenings, exploring gender, and more.
These authors don’t shy away from the challenges of “life” and also find ways to celebrate change and transformation.
You can find out more and get your copy of Sex Meets Life here.
If you’re going through menopause, I have an extra special book for you: Wake Up Your Dragon (and reclaim your power in midlife). This one’s not about sex, but it is about remembering your fundamental nature and feeling supported as you transition through life stages.
Wake Up Your Dragon is currently only available in the UK.
If you live elsewhere and would like a copy, please email me: anna@annasansom.com
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