Content note: This article discusses sexual assault, compulsive sexual behaviour, sex, pornography and addiction terminology.
First published by Everyday Feminism in 2018, this first-person essay by MC Cross uses “sex addict” and “sex addiction” as terms for the author’s own experience. URevolution has updated the article with current clinical context while preserving the contributor’s lived experience.
Before we talk about sex addiction myths, the terminology needs context
“Sex addiction” is familiar language, but it is not a universally accepted clinical diagnosis. The World Health Organization’s ICD-11 includes compulsive sexual behaviour disorder (CSBD) as an impulse-control disorder. The clinical focus is persistent difficulty controlling intense, repetitive sexual urges or behaviours that causes significant distress or impairment. A high sex drive by itself is not CSBD, and distress based entirely on moral judgement or disapproval is not enough for the diagnosis.
The World Health Organization’s ICD-11 clinical guidance is the relevant diagnostic reference. The American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors and Therapists (AASECT) takes a different position on the language: it says there is not sufficient empirical evidence to classify “sex addiction” or “porn addiction” as mental health disorders and recommends approaches that do not unnecessarily pathologise consensual sexual behaviour.
That distinction matters here. MC Cross is describing their own experience and the language they use for it. Their story should not be read as a diagnostic checklist, and the fact that someone enjoys sex, porn, masturbation, kink or non-monogamy does not by itself indicate a disorder.
For the history behind older labels and how they differ from today’s clinical terminology, read nymphomania vs hypersexuality.
Why this belongs in a disability-led magazine
Sexual health is a disability issue too. Disabled people have the same sexual and reproductive health needs as anyone else, but the World Health Organization and UNFPA have documented barriers to sexual-health information and services. Those barriers sit alongside persistent assumptions about disabled people’s sexuality: that we have no sexual agency, or that sexual behaviour outside a narrow social norm is automatically a problem.
URevolution’s approach is to centre agency, consent and access—not to treat sexuality as evidence that somebody is either “too disabled” or “not disabled enough.” That is also why accurate sex education matters. Our article on sex education for students with disabilities looks at what happens when accessible information is missing, while a disabled sex worker’s first-person account pushes back on the idea that disability and sexual agency are incompatible.
MC Cross’s lived experience
I have always had a negative relationship with sex. I discovered masturbating early, around six or seven years old. I would use masturbating, combined with my active imagination and constant daydreaming, as a way to escape the loneliness and isolation I felt at home and at school.
TV, movies and books would feed my daydreams and expand my mind. Being a child of divorce, I never really had an example of a healthy romantic or sexual relationship growing up.
My parents never gave me the sex talk, so I had no idea which way was up when it came to sex, aside from what I learned from TV and movies. Combined with numerous instances of sexual assault over several years and what I understood as my predisposition to addiction, I was left feeling completely incapable of forming any solid and meaningful relationship, sexual or not.
I found myself completely lost. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted because I was so used to putting on a facade for everyone. I used sex to feel powerful, to self-medicate and to feel in control.
I wanted to be loved but was not willing to love anyone. I wanted to be adored. I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that I could get whoever I wanted to adore me—which in turn caused me to act like something I am not.
I stopped taking care of myself and my mental health was at an all-time low. I finally hit my rock bottom and accepted that I had a problem.
I didn’t “just like having sex a lot” because I wasn’t even enjoying the sex I was having. I would immediately become detached during sexual situations and, most of the time, wish it would be over. And that brings me to my first point.
Five myths about sex addiction
1. It is more than just wanting sex all the time
I have interacted with other people who use the sex-addiction label. While we may have some similarities, we are not all the same. Compulsive patterns can show up in different ways.
For me, the issue was never simply kink, how much sex somebody wanted or the kind of consensual sex they had. The problem was feeling out of control and continuing with behaviour that was harming me. Just because someone enjoys sex a lot does not mean they have a disorder.
Sex addiction should also never be used to excuse assault. A diagnosis, self-description or struggle with compulsive behaviour does not cancel responsibility for respecting another person’s consent.
2. Recovery does not have one universal definition
People’s experiences differ, so “sobriety” can mean different things in peer-recovery communities. Some people decide they need a period without sex, masturbation or porn. Others focus on identifying the patterns they want to change and the boundaries they need.
For me, recovery became a process of figuring out who I was, what I liked and how I wanted to be treated sexually and intimately.
Clinical note: “sobriety” is language used in some recovery models; it is not part of the ICD-11 diagnostic requirements for CSBD. Treatment or support should be individualised rather than based on the assumption that all consensual sexual activity must stop.
3. Compulsive sexual behaviour never cancels the need for consent
This goes back to the misconception that people who describe themselves as sex addicts must want sex all the time. That may be true of someone’s desire at a particular moment, but it does not invalidate the need for consent.
Wanting sex frequently does not make someone permanently available for sex. Being sexually active, kinky, polyamorous or in recovery does not make sexual assault or harassment less serious.
4. Telling you about a problem is not a sexual invitation
When I tell someone about my sex addiction, I am not hitting on them or being “cute.” I am sharing something personal and, often, establishing a boundary.
When someone treats that disclosure as a pick-up line or flirting, it can be deeply uncomfortable. I have told you something about what I am trying to manage in my life; turning that into a sexual invitation ignores the boundary I was trying to communicate.
5. Sex-positive and kink-positive recovery is possible
I believe recovery can include a positive relationship with sex, whatever that looks like for the person involved.
Before my recovery, I was having sex I didn’t particularly enjoy. When I took a break from sex, I realised I didn’t know what I was into. I was so used to doing whatever the other person wanted that I didn’t even know what I wanted. I didn’t know whether I wanted sex at all.
I identify as aromantic and polyamorous, and it took a while for me to realise that. I also realised I am naturally more dominant or a switch. Meeting other polyamorous people helped me understand that I did not have to follow heteronormative relationship expectations in order to recover.
For me, recovery did not require shame about consensual kink or non-monogamy. It meant building a relationship with sex in which my choices felt like my own and consent remained non-negotiable.
When is it worth getting professional help?
If sexual urges or behaviours feel persistently out of control, repeatedly continue despite harmful consequences, or are interfering with relationships, work, health or other important parts of life, it can be worth speaking with a qualified mental-health or sexual-health professional. A clinician can look at the full context rather than assuming that frequency, sexual orientation, kink, masturbation, pornography use or non-monogamy automatically equals pathology.
It is equally important not to diagnose yourself solely because you feel shame about consensual sexual behaviour. Current ICD-11 guidance specifically distinguishes clinically significant impairment from distress that comes entirely from moral judgement or disapproval.
Some people also find peer-support or 12-step groups useful. They are one support option, not a substitute for an individual clinical assessment when you need one.
Further reading: a critical perspective on the “sex addiction” model
David J. Ley’s The Myth of Sex Addiction argues against framing a wide range of sexual behaviour through an addiction model. It represents one side of an ongoing debate and is not a diagnostic manual or clinical guideline. If you want to read that critique alongside the clinical sources above, the book is available through Amazon.
Affiliate disclosure: This paragraph contains an Amazon affiliate link. If you buy through it, URevolution may earn a commission at no extra cost to you. As an Amazon Associate, URevolution earns from qualifying purchases.
View The Myth of Sex Addiction on Amazon.
Sources and publication note
- World Health Organization: ICD-11 Clinical Descriptions and Diagnostic Requirements for Mental, Behavioural and Neurodevelopmental Disorders (2024).
- AASECT Position on Sex Addiction.
- WHO/UNFPA: Promoting sexual and reproductive health for persons with disabilities.
- Original essay by MC Cross at Everyday Feminism, published 8 October 2018.
URevolution originally published this syndicated essay on 28 April 2019. It was substantively reviewed and updated on 16 September 2026 to add current clinical terminology, disability context, source links, clearer affiliate disclosure and accessibility improvements. The lived-experience sections remain MC Cross’s perspective.
