What is a sex journal (and why do you need one)?

So you don’t kiss and tell, but do you shag and journal? Daniella Parete Clarke consults relationships expert Sofie Roos to discover the benefits of writing down the juicy details

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A co-worker recently told me she forgot to get her boyfriend a Valentine’s card the first year they were together, because “Christmas had literally just happened”. Unfortunately, she’s right. Once January has released us from its icy grip, 14 February seems to come round quicker every year, with many of us left scrambling for gift ideas, or disappointed, when it’s over, that we didn’t make the most of the holiday.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love (when am I not?) – the ways we express it and feel it, how it looks different for everyone, and the often misunderstood, overlooked importance of eroticism. There’s something sweet, of course, about an annual reminder to cook a delicious meal, don a ravishing outfit and buy fancy chocolates (if you’re not routinely doing these things for your partner/friends, here is your sign to start). 

But, predictably, this celebration of romance feels hollow. I’m left wondering: how, amid a loneliness epidemic, can we transform a day of consumption and novelty goods into something more considered, sustainable, holistic?

Right on cue, a message from the licensed sexologist and relationship therapist Sofie Roos landed in my inbox. At the time, I was writing a guide to journalling – for the wellness section of this very site – and Roos wanted to know if I had ever heard of sex journalling. I hadn’t. 

The name, of course, is pretty self-explanatory, so I had some idea of what Roos meant, but I discovered there was far more beneath the surface that she could provide expertise on, including the mental-health and libido-boosting benefits of the practice. This is not, friends, the Notes app list you kept as a teenager to remember the names of the people you’d hooked up with. 

Below is my conversation with Roos, who is also a writer for Swedish sex magazine Passionerad. 

What is a sex journal?

A sex journal is where you write about sex you’ve had, ideally as close to the act as you can. That way, you get it down on paper while the memory is still fresh and you’re in the emotions.

Is keeping a sex journal something you recommend to clients?

I very much recommend it! It will help you keep track of your sex life, both for fun – to go back and read about your previous sexual experiences and how you’ve been having sex throughout the years – but also for evolving and getting to know yourself.

Everyone will gain something from keeping a sex journal – singles and people in relationships, teens and seniors, queer and hetero folks. It might not sound like something that will help you, but applying words to your sex life will start making you reflect on it more. Which, in the long term, will make you connect better to yourself and your partner(s) during sex. 

It will also make you start realising what you’re curious about, what you really like and what you only do for the sake of others.

In other words: it’s an investment in your sex life, both to yourself and your partner, and it will help bring more joy.

What is the intention or goal behind the activity?

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The intention is to be in control of your sex life and to keep track of experiences and emotions during sex, as well as the impact of your partner(s) and environment.

You write about what you feel are essential [takeaways] from the experience. These can be new things you tried out and how they made you feel; what you liked and disliked about the sex; what you learned from it; how the connection with your partner felt; how you felt; if you orgasmed and why; how long you had sex for; and how the feeling between you and the partner was before, during and after the act.

There’s no need to write things down that you don’t think are of interest. If you want, you can just write: sex position(s), time, orgasm/no orgasm, with this person at that place… 

Do what feels best for you, and get down all the things you find interesting.

What are the benefits?

By sex journalling, one can keep track of their emotions during sex and have a better ability to reflect since they get a clearer perspective, and can read about how they actually felt. This makes it easier to feel safe when exploring new things in bed, find the line of what they are comfortable with and not, and make better decisions.

“You start to see your sex life from a different perspective, and that can make you notice patterns and realise things you haven’t thought about before, such as how you most easily reach orgasms”

If you’re discovering sex with different genders, it becomes extra handy to keep track of your emotions and experiences, which can make you feel more in control. For example, a bisexual person keeping a sex journal may find it easier to separate their experiences, which makes discovery easier and more fun. For polyamorous people, there’s a tendency to mix memories of sexual experiences with different partners, which can lead to forgetting what someone likes in bed.

How can it help people improve their sex lives?

You start to see your sex life from a different perspective, and that can make you notice patterns and realise things you haven’t thought about before, such as how you most easily reach orgasms. Maybe you always reach orgasm if you start out by sexting during the day to really tease yourself, for example.

We rarely talk about our sex life in detail with others, or even with ourselves. Keeping a diary will get you more in touch with the sex you’re having – something you can only gain from.

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Well, there you have it! I must say, I very much enjoy the image of rolling over post-coitus, not to light a cigarette, but to write in a journal. Very 2025.

My conversation with Roos reminded me of an excellent review of Babygirl I’d recently read by Amanda Montei. She discusses how Nicole Kidman’s character, Romy, has been having unsatisfying, routine sex with her husband for so long that the concept of consent is baffling to her – entirely absent from her bedroom. 

It is only through exploring kink that Romy can start to build her own definition of consent. Vice versa, through discovering consent she also discovers her turn ons and, more broadly, sexual pleasure. 

Roos hints at a similar idea; through journalling about our intimate experiences, we can start to recognise the aspects of sex we like and the aspects we think we like because they’re what we consider to be safe, or “normal”, or pleasing to others. Only through that reflection can we come to understand ourselves – mind and body – more holistically. 

The advice is straightforward enough, as is the concept itself, but the impact the practice can have is momentous. Having to acknowledge and stare down your own sexuality is, to most people, terrifying – especially if you’re someone who has never questioned theirs before. 

Even queer people, who have likely had to do some form of inner work and truth-confronting to arrive at the conclusion they are not cis or heterosexual may find it uncomfortable at first to subject themselves to this level of scrutiny. The voice inside asks: what if I question what I like and everything falls apart? Roos, I’m guessing, would say: “Good!”

“Reading about the sex you had 10 years ago will also make you realise how much you’ve grown, as well as how much you’ve forgotten”

Blowing up your life usually has good outcomes, according to Miranda July, who has written about doing just that on Substack. And when you compare it to leaving a decades-long marriage or moving to a new country, journalling about sex doesn’t feel so daunting. Find out what you actually love, what you detest, and slowly start to voice your findings. Change the way your brain works when it comes to sex. Blow up your sex life!

Keeping a sex journal could make you realise you love orgies or help you learn how to orgasm faster. But, at its core, the practice is really asking you to confront shame. That discomfort you feel when you questioningly turn the attention on yourself – that is shame in action, attempting to bury the feeling down a dark passageway where it cannot be identified. 

Roos’ technique, therefore, exposes and confronts those dark, difficult feelings. In writing them down, they can be perceived by our harshest critic: ourselves. But we have to be able to identify what makes us feel ashamed in order to start feeling peace. And, ultimately, pleasure.

“I can assure you that reading about the sex you had one, five or 10 years ago will be fun and interesting,” concludes Roos. “But it will also make you realise how much you’ve grown, as well as how much you’ve forgotten.”

It’s not just an exercise that improves future encounters, but one that helps us look back at our former selves with compassion. We begin to remember who we were at different points on our sexual journey.

“It can help you find a way back to that,” Roos says.