Is Sex Bad for Spirituality?

A trauma-aware yoga view on kundalini, the nervous system, brahmacharya, ahimsa, asteya and self-study

Questions about sex and spirituality have been asked for thousands of years, and they’re still alive today — not just in monasteries or scriptures, but in yoga studios, on retreats, in therapy rooms, and in the quieter moments when someone realises: something about my relationship with stimulation is affecting my mind.

Is sex a distraction from spiritual growth? Do we need to restrain sexual energy, redirect it, “transmute” it? Can masturbation or orgasm interfere with meditation, yoga, or healing? And why do some people feel completely wiped out after sex during certain phases of recovery?

I’m not interested in answering those questions with rigid rules or spiritual ideology. Yoga offers a different way of knowing: a phenomenological approach — meaning we pay attention to what’s actually happening in lived experience. Not just in the body as an object, but in the body as a field of sensations, impulses, thoughts, emotions, chemistry, and choice.

The thread I keep coming back to is: clarity, capacity, and non-harming — including the impact on others. If a choice supports those, it tends to support practice and liberation for all involved. If it repeatedly undermines those, it’s worth looking at — not with shame, but with acceptance and honesty of the current situation, an openness to understanding the conditions that bought you here and curiosity to make adjustments that will bring you back into harmony with yourself and others. .

Yoga as an “inner science” of body–mind interaction

At its heart, yoga isn’t a belief system. The great yogis were, in a way, careful observers: practising, noticing outcomes, refining methods, and passing on what helped reduce suffering. In modern language, yoga is a method for understanding how biological, neurological, emotional, and behavioural systems interact — and how those interactions either create agitation or support liberation.

Long before neuroscience, yoga was already mapping the felt reality of things like arousal and collapse, attention and distraction, regulation and overwhelm, energy and fatigue. It noticed what happens to the mind when stimulation increases — and what becomes possible when the system settles.

From this view, sexuality isn’t “good” or “bad.” It’s a powerful nervous system event. It affects hormones, attention, emotional memory, attachment circuitry, and the quality of mind that follows.

So the yogic question isn’t: “Is sex spiritual or unspiritual?”

It’s closer to: “What does this do to my system right now — and what does it set in motion in me and in others?”

Kundalini today: what it means, and the common trappings

In today’s yoga world, kundalini is often spoken about as a powerful spiritual energy that “awakens” and rises through the body. People describe intense sensations, emotional upheaval, altered states, spontaneous movements, shifts in identity, heightened sensitivity, or a feeling that reality has rearranged itself. I’m not here to condemn any of that. I’ve met plenty of people who describe these experiences with sincerity — and I’ve lived through my own seasons of profound change.

The difficulty is that “kundalini” can become a label that’s slightly too shiny. It’s often wrapped in mysticism, sometimes with an unspoken “chosen few” vibe that boosts the ego rather than right-sizes it. Online, it can also get flattened into dramatic activation narratives, promises of rapid enlightenment, and prescriptive rules about sex or “energy conservation.” The trap is universalising what are actually very individual processes — and then interpreting ordinary stress responses, trauma release, or psychological reorganisation as proof of spiritual success or failure.

A grounded approach treats kundalini language as symbolic — a poetic way of describing shifts in attention, vitality, sensitivity, and integration — rather than a rigid mechanism that must unfold in one particular way.

A trauma-aware reframe: kundalini as nervous system reorganisation

Many people notice that during periods described as “kundalini rising,” their relationship with sex changes. Libido fluctuates. Intimacy feels emotionally intense. Sleep becomes disrupted. Sensitivity ramps up. And yes — some people find they’re exhausted after sex or masturbation.

Rather than reading that as mystical failure, it can be helpful to interpret it through a trauma-informed, neurobiological lens: the autonomic nervous system is reorganising; the system’s tolerance for stimulation may be lower; and the body may be moving through discharge and integration cycles.

And then there’s a very plain bit of physiology: orgasm involves real neurohormonal changes that can produce satiety and sleepiness — prolactin rises after orgasm and plays a role in reducing arousal afterwards.  Oxytocin is also associated with bonding and closeness and is linked with sexual arousal and orgasm.

For a well-resourced system, this shift can feel nourishing. For a system that’s already depleted — through burnout, chronic stress, post-viral recovery, trauma processing, or just a long season of “too much” — the same shift can feel like a crash.

So if someone says, “sex leaves me completely wiped out,” I don’t hear superstition. I hear capacity and a curiosity about what is happening around healing at the moment in that person.

Ahimsa: non-harming as self-honesty (not self-control)

Ahimsa, non-harming, is the ethical ground of yoga. It’s not only about how we treat others — it includes how we treat our own nervous system.

Applied to sexuality, ahimsa becomes tender and practical: does this restore me or deplete me? Does it help my system regulate, or does it tip me into agitation or shutdown? Is this coming from presence, or from compulsion? How might I make small adjustments to see different results to move toward presence, restoration, regulation (which doesn't mean calm, more can my system switch quickly from active to restoration or does it get stuck)

And ahimsa also asks something relational: not only “does this harm me?”, but “what does this invite in the field between us?” Sexuality can be tender, connecting, and deeply wholesome also kinky and fun. It can also become a place where we accidentally offload our dysregulation onto someone else — seeking reassurance, regulation, validation, avoidance of mind or responsibility or belonging through closeness, without naming it. This isn't about moralising or saying they are "bad" rather to say that this can cause dissatisfaction to arise in myself; as the causes of needing reasureance, regulation, validation, avoidance of the mind, responsibility or belonging through closeness will return after some time. Our actions may also cause this cycle to arise in others - even if not myself. Why should I enjoy all the pleasures when it costs such misery cycles in others even if they consent? The same act can look identical on the outside and feel completely different on the inside depending on intention.

Part of non-harming is learning to sense when intimacy is coming from presence and care, and when it’s quietly being used to manage discomfort. That’s not about blame. It’s about honesty — and the humility to pause when our nervous system is asking us to slow down or when we sense it is so in others.

If sexual release repeatedly leads to fatigue, anxiety, dysregulation, or a kind of emotional “drop” during a fragile phase, continuing anyway isn’t liberation — it’s a form of self-harm, even if it’s subtle, more importantly rather than judging that, see it as a signal or invitiation to pause and study deeper. You and your sexual partners will benefit greatly from even a 2% shift in intention and action.

At the same time, forcing abstinence out of fear, guilt, spiritual ambition, or shame is also harm. Ahimsa isn’t about being “good.” It’s creating the conditions for honesty, kindness, and wisdom to arise - they can be sexy too.

Asteya: not taking what isn’t freely offered

This is also where asteya quietly matters. People often translate it as “non-stealing,” but in lived terms it can include not taking what isn’t freely offered — not taking attention, not taking reassurance, not taking someone’s nervous system as a place to soothe ourselves.

Sometimes the theft is obvious. More often it’s subtle: using flirtation to regulate insecurity, although flitation can be very kind; using intimacy to avoid loneliness, or lingering in ambiguous dynamics that keep someone slightly hooked (and then ghosting them). Asteya, here, is not prudish — it’s respectful. It’s the practice of not pestering, not disturbing another’s peace (or our own) for the sake of a momentary hit of comfort - which as discussed earlier, then fades. At its core its about remembering this is another human, who is also trying to navigate life with no instruction manual like you. So lets not treat each other as commodities to be transacted (or stolen)

Let's also turn to trust, safety, clarity, and consent. This is where yogic ethics becomes very practical. 'Cheating' is sexual misconduct not because the universe is judging desire, but because it involves deception and breach of agreement: it takes stability and informed choice away from another person, and it usually leaves confusion, hypervigilance, or grief in its wake. In Dhamma terms, it predictably conditions suffering — for everyone involved — because it is rooted in craving and aversion, and it multiplies concealment and fear. The same clarity applies with multiple partners: the ethical “parameter” isn’t the number, it’s whether there is explicit consent, honest disclosure, and clean agreements so nobody is being used as a regulator, a secret, or a placeholder. these markers helps us stop shaming and treating same sex, or non heterosexual sex, LGBT love and desire as inherently suspect or wrong - which is illogical in a natural-law view, given the wide range of same-sex behaviour observed across many species.

So the field of what is practicing asteya is probably wider than many think, and requires a bit more skill than first glanced with a few obious exceptions on the fringe: sex between adults and minors and those without mental capacity to choose is sexual misconduct, because meaningful consent requires sufficient maturity, freedom from coercion and power imbalance — conditions that aren’t reliably present for children, young people or those being cared for. 

Another area around capacity is that Alcohol and intoxicants matter here too, because they change the conditions of consent and clarity. In a yogic and dhammic frame, the issue isn’t “being naughty” — it’s that substances can blur perception, lower inhibition, and make it harder to sense what is safe or read what is ok for someone else. That increases the risk of taking what isn’t freely offered (asteya), causing harm (ahimsa), or acting from craving and avoidance rather than presence (brahmacharya). If you’re in a phase of healing, it can also intensify nervous system volatility — which means decisions made under the influence may feel messy or costly afterwards. A simple suggestion for a good life is: if clarity and clean consent can’t be reliably present, it’s wiser to pause.

Naming these areas isn’t about condemnation; it’s about safeguarding and non-harming. de-shaming: and instead place the ethical emphasis where yoga and Dhamma actually put it — on non-harming, non-taking, and truthfulness in relationship.

Brahmacharya: restraint without repression

Brahmacharya is often translated as celibacy, and for some people, celibacy genuinely brings clarity, energy, steadiness and peace. For others, especially those shaped by sexual shame, coercion, or trauma, an imposed “sexual purity” frame can create more suffering, not less. (This can be particularly charged for LGBT people who have had their desire treated as immoral — but the point here isn’t identity; it’s harm, healing, and freedom.)

A broader, more useful way to hold brahmacharya is: wise relationship with life energy. We can’t give what we haven’t got. If our reserves are low, the practice is not to perform a rule — it’s to preserve vitality so the mind can become clear.

And brahmacharya isn’t only about our internal life. It’s also about how we handle this energy around other people. Sexual energy is powerful. When it’s held unconsciously it can create confusion, pressure, mixed signals, or attachment stories that disturb someone’s peace (Steya) — even if nobody did anything “wrong.” Wise restraint can be an act of love when it prevents that kind of ripple.

Sometimes brahmacharya looks like joyful, embodied sex. Sometimes it looks like gentle restraint. Sometimes it looks like sleep and soup. The key is that it remains contextual, responsive, and non-moralistic — not a badge, not a repression strategy, not an identity.

Restraint vs suppression

This is where the great meditative teacher S.N Goenka’s teaching style, can be clarifying. The emphasis isn’t on becoming pure; it’s on not strengthening craving and aversion — the very movements that keep the mind agitated.

In simple terms: restraint is not suppression. Suppression creates inner tension and often rebounds into craving. Restraint is a wise pause that comes from seeing cause and effect and knowing that a craving will soon pass away if not fed.

Applied to sexuality, restraint sounds like: “Right now this unsettles my system, so I’m going to be kind and simplify.” or "Right now, I am aware that loniness is here and this person appears very capitvating; I'll observe the sensations that are here and watch them change and see whether the desire to connect with this person is still here after some time"

Suppression sounds like: “This is bad, dangerous, or spiritually wrong.”

Only the first one actually supports freedom.

When spiritual teachings go too far

Some modern teachings moralise physiology: orgasm “robs vitality,” sexual release strengthens the ego, anxiety afterwards is failure, “saving energy” is required for awakening. Often these claims universalise personal experience, confuse correlation with causation, and smuggle shame in through spiritual language.

The hidden harm is hypervigilance. When people become afraid of their own body, healing slows down. Integration is supported by safety, steadiness, and kindness — not pressure.

Svādhyāya: the self-study that makes this workable

If there’s one practice that makes this whole topic workable, it’s svādhyāya — self-study. Not self-criticism. Not self-surveillance. Just the steady willingness to look.

What story am I telling right now? What am I hoping sex will give me? What feeling am I trying not to feel? What happens afterwards — in my body, my mind, my heart? Over time, svādhyāya turns “this or that” moral arguments into something simpler and truer: this leads to steadiness; that leads to agitation.

This is how yoga becomes liberating in everyday life — not through rules, but through seeing clearly. Pleasure is pleasure, connection is connection - not because I say so but if you experience it as this you will naturally find clarity from moment to moment. Skilled sex becomes clearer and clearer when the conditions for the capacity for sex, clarity of mind and non-harm are noticed and cultivated.

A practical way to find what’s skilful for a spiritual life

In the Buddha’s language, Dhamma is the lawfulness of nature — universal and impersonal. Cause and effect. Conditioning. Impermanence. These apply to all of us. What varies person to person isn’t the law, but the conditions the law is moving through: your history, your health, your stress load, your trauma, your attachment patterns, your day-to-day resourcing.

So the question isn’t “what’s the right rule?” so much as: what’s the most skilful application of what’s true, given what’s here right now?

A very simple way to hold this is through the three trainings; ethics, steadiness of mind, and wisdom. You don’t need to make sexuality into a spiritual project. You just need a few honest checks.

Wisdom: Pay attention to the after.

Not the peak, not the story — the after. How do you feel a few hours later, and the next morning? Clearer or foggier? More resourced or more depleted? More settled or more brittle? The nervous system is usually honest, even when the mind can argue for anything. This is wisdom as cause-and-effect: what does this lead to?

Ethics: notice the quality of intention — and the impact on others.

Is this arising from presence, care, and genuine consent — or from restlessness, avoidance, numbness, or a need to regulate discomfort? And does it leave anyone confused, pressured, or quietly hooked? This is where ahimsa and asteya come alive: not pestering, not taking reassurance or regulation from someone, not disturbing another’s peace (or your own) for the sake of a hit.

Steadiness: keep any restraint gentle and reversible.

If you experiment with less stimulation for a while, let it be kind, temporary, and free of identity. If it becomes tight, fearful, superior, or punishing, you’ve likely slipped from wise restraint into suppression — and suppression agitates the mind. Steadiness is the feel of the practice: does it produce more steadiness, more simplicity, more capacity to be with things as they are?

Over time, your life teaches you the Dhamma in a very plain way: what supports clarity, kindness, steadiness, and respect — and what creates more knots. And the aim isn’t to be “pure.” It’s to be free.

If you’d like support with this in a grounded way, this is exactly the kind of inquiry I hold in 1:1 work — whether through yoga mentoring, coaching, or an integrated body–mind session. (And if you’re here because you found my writing through searches like Gay Yoga Manchester, you’re welcome too — this isn’t “LGBT-only” wisdom; it’s human nervous-system wisdom.)

A Closing Reminder

Yoga and spirituality more broadly should not be asking us to control desire.

It asks us to understand how desire interacts with the body and mind and others; not to irradicate desire, but to bring us to a place of freedom.

Through careful attention, compassion, and non-harming, sexuality can become not a problem to solve — but another place where wisdom is learned and integrated in to a life well lived.

Further Reading

• Patañjali, Yoga Sūtras (Yamas & Niyamas)

• S.N. Goenka, Vipassanā Discourse Summaries

• Peter Levine, Waking the Tiger

• Stephen Porges, The Polyvagal Theory

• Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score

Frequently Asked Questions

Is sex bad for spirituality?

No. Sex is not inherently opposed to spiritual practice. What matters is context, capacity, and consequence — not moral judgement.

What about brahmacharya — doesn’t yoga say we should restrain sex?

Brahmacharya is not a command to suppress sexuality. It points to wise relationship with energy — knowing when stimulation supports vitality and when it depletes it.

Sometimes that includes sex. Sometimes it includes rest.

Is masturbation spiritually harmful?

Not inherently. Like any stimulation, its impact depends on:

• Why it’s happening

• How often

• What follows afterwards

If it supports regulation and clarity, it may be fine.

If it consistently leaves exhaustion, fog, or agitation, it’s worth exploring gently.

I’ve heard orgasm drains energy — is that true?

Orgasm involves a real physiological shift in the nervous system and hormones. During periods of healing or depletion, that shift can feel exhausting. This doesn’t mean orgasm is “bad” — it means capacity varies.

How does this relate to kundalini experiences?

Many experiences described as kundalini can be understood as periods of heightened nervous system sensitivity and reorganisation. During these times, tolerance for stimulation — including sexual stimulation — is often reduced.

Listening to that doesn’t block awakening; it supports integration.

Is choosing restraint the same as repression?

No.

Restraint is responsive and kind.

Repression is rigid, fearful, and identity-based.

If restraint feels like punishment, it’s probably repression.

What if my experience keeps changing?

That’s normal. Bodies and nervous systems are not static.

What supports practice at one stage may not at another. Yoga invites us to stay curious, honest, and flexible.

Is being gay spiritually wrong?

No. Being gay isn’t spiritually wrong. From a yogic and dhammic view, ethics isn’t about condemning an orientation — it’s about whether our actions reduce harm and increase clarity and freedom. The real questions are the same for everyone: am I acting with consent, truthfulness, and care? Does this bring more steadiness, kindness, and honesty into my life and relationships — or more concealment, agitation, and suffering?

Is having multiple partners wrong?

Not inherently. The ethical line isn’t the number of partners — it’s the conditions: clear consent, honest disclosure, and agreements that are actually understood and honoured. Multiple partners becomes problematic when it involves deception, pressure, power imbalance, or when people are held in ambiguity (or treated as a way to regulate loneliness, anxiety, or self-worth). If it’s transparent, consensual, and non-harming, it can be compatible with practice.

Are hook up apps bad?

Not inherently. They’re tools — and like any tool, they can be used in ways that support or undermine your wellbeing. Hookup apps tend to amplify speed, novelty, and comparison, which can stir craving, dissociation, or self-objectification (and can leave some people feeling foggy or depleted). For others, they can be a straightforward way to find connection with clear expectations. A simple test is: what happens to you after? Do you feel clearer, more grounded, and more respectful of yourself and others — or more agitated, hollow, compulsive, or tangled? If it reliably pulls you away from clarity and kindness, it’s not “bad,” it’s just not skilful for you right now.

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