Science- Penetrative sex became painful for me after I opened up about my experiences with sexual abuse.
- It's a condition called vaginismus, and I'm now in physical therapy as well as EMDR for treatment.
Many of us dream of our wedding night and how romantic it will be. After the vows, well-wishes, and the party, it's just you and your spouse at the end of the night. Finally, it's all punctuated by the grand finale — the first time you have sex as a married couple.
During this intimate moment — if it happens at all, given that a nonscientific survey from the lingerie brand Bluebella found that 52% of couples don't have sex the night of their wedding because of factors like being too tired, drunk, or stressed — you're excited about the promises you've made to each other. It can be a magical, sensual moment.
This moment did not happen for my husband and me; not for the reasons many other couples forgo wedding-night intercourse, but because I can't have penetrative sex regardless of the occasion. OK, that's not entirely true. I technically can, but it's extremely painful for me.
I have vaginismus, a condition that can affect anyone with a vagina, in which "the vaginal muscles involuntarily or persistently contract," the medical website Healthline says. Because of this, penetration can be extremely painful.
It all started when I opened up about sexual abuse, and my body had a physical reaction
When the #MeToo movement gained widespread attention in 2017, I joined many others who opened up about their experiences with sexual abuse. This wasn't something I had talked about in therapy yet, but when the topic was on every major news and social-media site, it was impossible to run away from. That childhood trauma had been buried deep in my brain to the point where I cannot remember details other than a few vague flashes of memory. However, my body remembers.
After I began talking about my experience in therapy, my body started reacting, and I could no longer have pain-free sex. It started when I realized I couldn't put in a tampon without pain, but I didn't frequently use tampons anyway, so I didn't think much of it. Around the same time, I noticed similar pain while having sex, but pushed through it at first because I thought it was just another "normal" hiccup and would disappear.
The next time my partner and I had sex and I experienced the same sensation of pain, it became something I couldn't ignore. Through my facial expressions, he noticed that I wasn't enjoying myself and stopped immediately. "Why are we having sex if you're in pain?" he asked. I realized I had internalized a lot of ideas about sex and thought that pain — and not the pleasurable kind — was a normal thing I might sometimes have to push through, and I talked to him about these thoughts.
I decided to go to a gynecologist and learned I had some vaginal cysts I needed removed. I hoped that would solve things and make sex a pain-free experience again. In the meantime, my partner and I were still intimate with each other; I thought the problem would resolve itself in time.
My partner was always gentle, asked for consent, and always asked me what felt good. Truthfully, I still often pushed myself further than I likely should have because I was — and still am — slowly unlearning these narratives I have internalized over my life that tell me sex only looks like penetration and pleasure can only exist during orgasm.
The cysts were removed, but the pain persisted. My gynecologist suggested pelvic-floor physical therapy, but when the pandemic hit, it was hard to go. After months and months of trying to have sex and still experiencing pain, it got to a point where we stopped altogether. It's been almost four years since I was told to go to pelvic-floor physical therapy, and I'm on my fourth appointment since starting in October 2022. I've also started EMDR, or eye movement desensitization and reprocessing, for deeper trauma work.
I've learned there's more to sex and intimacy than penetration
After all this, I've learned a few things. First, if you're having painful sex, you don't have to keep going just because you think you "should." Second, your body holds so much wisdom, and it's important to listen to the signs it's communicating to you. Finally, penetrative sex isn't the only way to be intimate, and reaching orgasm isn't the only way to derive pleasure from sex.
My husband and I have been married since April 2022 and still haven't had penetrative sex since our wedding, but it doesn't make our vows any less meaningful. Sometimes I shy away from intimacy altogether because of the pain I still associate with physical intimacy. At first, neither of us would initiate any sort of intimacy out of fear, which left us both feeling undesirable. But it's getting better — we're learning other ways to be physically close with each other that don't cause me pain.
My partner and I have started to schedule sex so that I can first put myself in a mental space to be really present and we can both be intentional during the experience. We are sexually intimate in ways that don't require penetration, try different sex toys, and communicate consistently about how we want to feel loved and desired. I've also discovered that self-pleasure is one of the most healing tools along this journey. With time and more physical therapy, I'm hopeful I'll be able to experience painless penetration again, but we're not rushing it.
I look forward to the day when I can finally have painless penetrative sex again because it's fun, pleasurable, and would be another way for us to connect intimately. And while it may bring us closer, in some ways, working through ways to connect that don't involve penetration has already created more understanding and emotional intimacy than we had before. Until then, I'm grateful for a partner willing to explore alternatives. That, in and of itself, is healing.