Danielle Nelson is a practicing therapist and Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW) who focuses on sexual health and wellness, trauma and recovery, self-esteem and resilience building, and general mental health concerns. Though Danielle is a trained professional, this column is not a substitute for advice or care provided by your licensed medical or healthcare professional.
It’s officially hurricane season again, which means it’s time for one of New Orleans’ favorite hobbies: obsessively monitoring things that may or may not become a problem. ‘Tis the season for refreshing the weather apps, staring endlessly at spaghetti models, and sending texts that range from “probably not more than a Cat 2” to “this might be the big one” within the span of 30 minutes.
I have a core childhood hurricane memory of my family solemnly gathered around the television, hanging on every word meteorologist Nash Roberts was saying. The mood was grave. The adults were in the Nash-zone: quiet, focused. The future felt uncertain. Then he uttered the phrase “spaghetti model,” and I became completely inconsolable with laughter. To this day, I can’t hear it with a straight face.
A lot of us go through life greeting every unexpected feeling, preference, or thought as though it’s the first ominous swirl on a weather radar. We don’t simply notice things—we investigate them. We assign meaning to them. We look for evidence that they’re indicators that we’re broken, selfish, immature, damaged, or just doing life wrong. This month’s writer found themselves staring at one such psychological spaghetti model. Fortunately for us all, not every unusual pattern turns out to be a hurricane.
I’ve started realizing something about myself that I don’t know what to do with. I like being wanted more than I like sex. I love flirting, the anticipation, and knowing someone finds me attractive. But when things actually become physical, I often lose interest. I’m worried this makes me shallow, narcissistic, or somehow bad at relationships. Is it normal to enjoy being desired more than sex itself, or is this a sign that something deeper is going on?
I’m going to start off by confiscating the word “narcissistic” from this conversation. Even though internet culture loves to encourage it, I reject pathologizing the enjoyment of attention. If you enjoy being desired and find it validating to be wanted, I’m happy to diagnose you as “human.” We needn’t worry about main character syndrome at the moment. Let’s tune into what makes you feel good and why that’s important.
Sexual tension doesn’t necessitate sex. Attraction, flirtation, fantasy, and anticipation can be fulfilling experiences in their own right. For some people, the build-up is the best part. For others, being desired scratches an itch that sex itself can’t quite reach.
What interests me most isn’t your preference. It’s your judgment of it. You noticed a pattern and deemed it problematic, asking, “Does this make me shallow?” Your rush to self-judgement makes me wonder if there isn’t a deeper question hiding under your inquiry.
Desire is potent and powerful. Not just because it’s exciting, but because it (temporarily) answers some of the questions most of us are constantly carrying around: Am I attractive? Am I loveable? Am I enough? When someone wants us and we can feel it, those worrisome questions tend to quiet down. In the moment, we feel chosen, seen, significant. That’s an intoxicating experience.
Sex, on the other hand, often asks something very different of us. It asks us to show up as ourselves rather than an idea. It can require vulnerability, uncertainty, and paying attention to our own wants and needs rather than someone else’s. Which makes me wonder if you’ve spent more time learning what it means to be desirable rather than learning what it is you actually desire.
There’s an important difference between the two. Being desired tends to rely a bit on performance. There are elements of presentation, chemistry, reading the room, and understanding or intuiting what another person finds appealing. Desiring, on the other hand, requires turning your attention inward. It asks questions that are harder to answer. What feels good to me? What excites me? What kind of touch, connection, fantasy, or relationship actually sparks my interest?
It may seem easy on the surface, but both those questions can be surprisingly difficult to answer—especially if you’ve spent years receiving messages that your value lies in being wanted rather than wanting. Many of us were socialized to experience ourselves through the eyes of others. Sadly, we become experts at asking, “Do they want me?” long before we even consider “Do I want this?”
The thing I appreciate most about your inquiry is that you’re not asking how to become more interested in sex. You’re asking what your experience means. That’s a much more valuable question, because it’s one of self-knowledge. Maybe you’ll discover that flirtation and fantasy are central to your sexuality. Maybe you’ll find that sex becomes more interesting to you when it’s rooted in emotional safety, novelty, or a particular kind of connection. Or maybe you’ll discover that desire has been standing in for an entirely different need all along.
Excellent news: None of these possibilities require self-judgement. You don’t sound narcissistic to me. You sound curious, and curiosity is a much more reliable guide than shame.
One of the more liberating things about adulthood is realizing that you don’t owe anyone conventional sexuality. You don’t need to enjoy dating in the same way your friends do. You don’t need to enjoy or experience sex the way movies or pornography tell you to. You don’t need to force yourself toward experiences that leave you feeling disconnected just because they’re considered “normal.”
Your job is not to become a person who wants what everyone else wants. Your job is to become a person who knows what they want and trusts themselves enough to listen.
If you need to speak to someone right away, call 504-269-COPE (2673). The COPE crisis line provides free, confidential crisis counseling, suicide prevention and information, and mental health referral services 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Submit your questions to goodcounsel@antigravitymagazine.com (email and sender info will remain confidential), or use our anonymous Google form.
illustrations by Romey Petite
