Should I keep my sex problems to myself?

In case you missed it, I started talking about sex (and women’s sexual health) here, on the internet, two weeks ago. I have had A LOT of positive responses. 

But one response I received was: “Why in the world would you share something so intimate about your life on the internet?” 

So today I’m answering that question. But, to begin, I have a few questions for you….

First, How many viagra commercials do you think you’ve seen in your lifetime?

If you watch sports on a regular basis or if you’re like me and grew up in the south where ESPN was a gentle hum in the background of your everyday life, you probably saw quite a few.

Recently, I, a musical theater girly, started watching collegiate and professional Women’s Basketball. Yeesh, it feels strange to say it. Like many, my husband and I  were sucked into March Madness because it was amazing this year. Not five seconds ago my husband asked me if I would want to purchase tickets to see some WNBA games this summer. Yes, I said, not recognizing the sound of my own voice. Yes, I do want to spend my income on attending women’s sports. We have committed to the cause, I’m confessing it here and now. Will the musical theater community even talk to me anymore, I wonder.

All that to say, my second question for you, is: Do you know what kind of commercials you get when you’re on the sports channel? Maybe a gatorade situation. Or a meat restaurant situation. 

But mostly, marketers are trying to appeal to those with ED. Yup, Erectile Dysfunction.

Since we’ve been watching sports, I’ve been slam dunked in the face by the amount of erectile dysfunction commercials out there. I keep thinking— this must be a real common thing if Hims and Viagra keep popping up on our screen every few minutes, telling men their sex lives can be normal and they don’t have to worry, have fear, or feel ashamed of their ED. 

And everytime I see one of those commercials, I’m like— where are my Vaginismus commercials at?! 

Quick Refresher: Vaginismus is when women experience both a physical and mental block that leads to very painful sex or does not allow them to have vaginal penetration at all. I have struggled with Vaginismus for 12 years and am sharing my journey here.

We’ve got a lot of commercials for women around Period Products and Birth Control, but if painful sex or Vaginismus is so common in women, I wonder why there aren’t more treatments for it getting marketed to us? Why can’t we also have commercials assuring us our lives can be normal, our sex lives can be great, and we don’t have to have fear or shame surrounding Vaginismus?

Probably because vaginismus is overwhelmingly a secret. And the idea of having painful sex is often ignored (or women are told to just endure it).

Probably because so many women who have Vaginismus don’t know that their pain in sex or inability to “get it in” is even a thing. A real diagnosis they could have. I have a whole tangent I could go on about how angry I get that women are told “your first time might be painful” and how much I hate that our culture has just embraced that sex comes with pain— Why is this normative? But today, we’re just acknowledging that most women (and men) are  unfamiliar with Vaginismus and it’s treatments. 

Here’s my third question for you….

Have you ever felt so alone during a specific season of your life, you just felt so hopeless, smothered in heaviness, brokeness, etc? And you might have had a few people in your life you could talk with about it all (or not), but you still felt like you were journeying alone, carrying a heavy burden no one else could really imagine carrying? 

That’s how I felt with Vaginismus. I felt devastated and alone when I found myself so excited for sex and then so completely in pain trying to have it.

While some might judge me for sharing in a way that they consider to be too open, I’m fairly certain that my bringing Vaginismus as a health concern (and unexpected mountain to climb) to my small internet world, could potentially change the lives of women who are alone and terrified to speak about having painful sex. And if one woman can feel less alone about her painful sex because of me, I think it’s worth it to discuss this.

I hope speaking about it changes the whole damn world, actually.

Far beyond my internet bubble.

I hope speaking about Vaginismus makes women from every religious background and culture feel safe to bring it up to those they trust so they can seek treatment, not receive judgment or shame. I hope 10 or 20 years from now, women won’t have to explain what it is to their friends and family and they most certainly will learn about helpful treatments from their gynecologists.

My overall response to you today is this: It’s not too intimate to talk about Vaginismus because, well, we’ve been comfy on our couches watching commercials about Viagra for most of our lives.

Our culture has been prioritizing men’s sexual health for a long time. In the Christian culture I grew up in (and am still partially in), men have been given the wedding night as their prize. And women… we are told it’s something he’s been waiting for his whole life and we are not given much information about how sex works or that it’s an equal give and take. It’s a celebration of love for two people, not just one. I think it’s time we prioritize both men and women’s sexual health equally, especially in the Christian Church.

If this was a homework assignment, your reflection question would be: Is it okay to talk about men’s sexual health but not women’s sexual health?

My last question for you is this: After I shared the not so private details about my private parts last week, do you know how many people reached out to me to let me know they’ve secretly struggled with Vaginismus too? 

So. Many. 

People who are in really happy, amazing marriages. People who are in really hard marriages. People who are post partum moms not only struggling to adjust to their new role as moms but also to their new body. People who are chasing their vocational dreams. People whose social media I look at and often think: I’m so happy they are living an awesome happy life. 

Those people reached out to me and told me Vaginismus is part of their lives. A sort of heavy cloud at times. A gnawing in the back of their mind. A physical expectation they constantly have to discuss or manage with their spouse. A thing they grieve at times and care less about other times. A thing they are still getting educated about and researching because there’s just not a ton of great information out there about it yet. Those people are all in the middle of their vaginismus journey— They are seeking treatments or physical therapy or embracing doing sex in a way that isn’t vaginal. 

I celebrate all those things with them. I sit with them in their heaviness. I extend a hand of comfort, not shame or judgment. I let them know they are not alone. And I’ll do that by sharing my own story, whether you feel comfortable hearing it or not.