when sex hurts

Beginning to Date

NOTE FROM ME: Please pardon my absence these past three months. It’s true that life got busy, but the actual reason for the long lapse is due to these being difficult to write, and even harder to post for all the internet. This is not an excuse by any means, merely an explanation. I will attempt to be better moving forward. When last we spoke, it was about my beginning to date and the aftermath of that. Let’s continue that discussion shall we? As always, feel free to contact me ❤

I spent years after breaking up with my first boyfriend celibate and single. At first it was the normal occurrence of picking up the scattered pieces of a broken heart, but long after I’d gotten over him I still didn’t date. I’ve had many people ask why I spent so many years single and, to be frank, I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think of that time as a particularly lonely one, or that I was lacking anything by not pursuing something romantic, sexual, or otherwise. I had a few light crushes when I was in college, but nothing truly substantial. I think my choice was a combination of focusing on other things in life, as well as not wanting to deal with the ramifications that would come from talking about my condition with someone else. If I didn’t date, I could sweep this issue under the rug and forget about it almost entirely. This may not have been healthy, but it was certainly easier. When I finally did start dating again, and started to date more often and see a variety of more people, I slowly started to become more comfortable with talking about my condition and realizing that it didn’t make up all of who I was. And that is in large part to that first person I was with post breakup.

I was 23 years old when I started dating again. I was at a party and I saw a guy who I thought was cute. We got a little tipsy, we couldn’t drive home, we ended up cuddling together. Anyone who has ever been drunk at a party and tried to flirt with someone they were interested in knows and understands the precarious position I’d found myself in that night with *Tyler. I was excited when he first kissed me, and had those butterflies in my stomach that I hadn’t felt in a long long time. Those nervous, excited, feelings where you’re not quite sure what’s going to happen next but you’re excited to be there with that person. For me however, underneath that excitement was fear. In today’s dating age the type of situation Tyler and I were in often leads to one night stands. Even if I’d wanted to have a one night stand at the time, I wouldn’t have been able to. It had only been one evening, but I really liked Tyler and I wanted to see him again. I was worried about what would happen if I told him I couldn’t have sex with him. Not just that night, but ever. Would he even want to see me again after I told him? I assumed he probably wouldn’t. It is one thing to tell someone you’ve just met that you’re not ready to sleep with them. It’s a much different thing to tell them you can’t sleep with them ever.

Now, I can imagine what you’re thinking. Why tell him that night at all? Why even nurse that thought? You never have to have sex if you don’t want to. And you certainly don’t have to have sex with someone you’ve just met. Why can’t it just be a fun night, see where things go, and then tell him should you so choose? Yes, I fully agree, and want to constantly and consistently stress that you do not EVER have to sex with someone you don’t want to. And you don’t have to have sex with someone if you don’t feel like it. It’s YOUR body and it’s YOUR decision. However, I understand how easy it is to say that in a blog, and how much harder it can be to put that into practice. It is incredibly difficult to be that honest when you’re “in the moment” so to speak. You don’t want to tell someone “no” when you like them. You don’t want them to suddenly change their mind. You don’t want to offend anyone, or seem like you’re not interested, or seem like a “prude,” or like you’re inexperienced…the list goes on and on.

Plus, for me it felt (and to this day still does sometimes) like I’m lying if I say no. Because while no does always mean no, it doesn’t always mean no forever. I felt like a liar if I gave the impression that we could have sex someday. Because while I wanted to, I couldn’t. My saying “stop” was never a result of not being ready, but knowing that the pain would happen should we continue. So I had to say stop before it ever came to that. I wanted the burden to be mine alone. I didn’t want to drag some guy into my problems as it made me feel like a burden. So, while one second I would be very into the moment, the next second I would have to stop. Which, to many, seems like a not now. “Not now” gives the illusion that it could potentially happen later. Later for me was never. Besides, I shouldn’t get these men’s hopes up for something that was never gonna happen right? It also must be stressed that even though I was 23 years old, I was wildly inexperienced both with dating, and with sex. For many, learning is by doing, and I hadn’t been doing much of anything. Most of what I knew about sex I’d learned from ether listening to friends, or what I’d seen through the media.

I suppose there was a part of me that also saw it as a test of some sort. Not a test I was purposely giving, or a test I’d just decided to give one day…more a test that came about from my own insecurities and wishful thinking. If I find myself in this scenario-this one night stand scenario-and I tell a guy I can’t sleep with him, and he stays anyway then that has to mean something right? Then maybe, just maybe, I’m worth more than what is in between my legs. And maybe guys do care about more than just sex. And maybe, just maybe, I can have a meaningful, powerful, real relationship even without penetrative sex. Maybe.

These are all the thoughts I had when I was lying in bed (fully clothed) with Tyler after he kissed me. As you can imagine, it’s a lot to process and go through when you’re distracted by someone else in the room with you. In the end, I decided to “come clean” and tell Tyler about my condition. It’s always better to be honest, and it’s always better to be honest upfront.

Tyler was the first guy I dated who told me he was fine with it and at the time actually meant it. Tyler was the first one who, though I still felt consistently guilty about not being able to have sex, made me-at times-able to move past my guilt. It was an amazing milestone for me. Tyler and I didn’t date for very long. We realized pretty quickly that we worked much better as friends, and are still friends to this day. But I think of my 3 month stint with Tyler as the beginning of becoming ok with who I was, and that it was possible to have a relationship without penetrative sex. And I thank him for that.

It’s ok to feel afraid and insecure and nervous about having sex with someone. Whether it’s due to having health and pain issues like mine, or whether you’re inexperienced, or whether you just don’t feel like it that day with your partner of 30 years. It doesn’t make you weird, and it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. You’re perfectly normal just as you are, and there’s no right way to have sex or be in a sexual relationship. Even now, in a loving and trusting relationship, I will remind myself of that at times. Because the person you’re having sex with should respect you enough to respect your boundaries. And if they don’t, then do you really want to be having sex with them in the first place?  Just know that regardless of what is going on in your life, so long as you’re healthy, and safe, and consensual, there is no wrong way to have sex.

 

*Name changed

Love, Shame, Guilt, when sex hurts

My First Love, Shame, And Guilt

Due to the complexities that came with having vaginal and pelvic pain, I didn’t pursue relationships until I was older. I didn’t get my first kiss until I was 18, and then later that same year- also at 18- my first boyfriend. I knew, even with my boyfriend, I wasn’t ever going to have a sexual relationship with those guys. I never wanted to explain my issues to them, and I didn’t even know how I would begin to try.

Then at 20, I met Jack*. Jack was the first boy I ever fell in love with, and I fell hard. Our relationship was short, intense, and full of the drama that often accompanies a young relationship. We spent pretty much every day together, and he was the first one of my romantic partners I ever told about my pain. So of course, Jack became my everything.

I fell in love with Jack when he and I went on a road trip to Arizona together. It was a magical trip full of long talks, amazing views, ridiculous shenanigans, and even resulted in me smoking weed for the first time. (Trust me when I say, that alone should tell you how hard I fell for this guy.) We were 20 years old and free of any responsibilities; spending much of the day outside, or in the back of the van my parents had let us borrow. I remember being concerned we’d be sleeping together away from all responsibility and parental ears. Certain things come to mind when you think of 2 kids spending their nights together-how could it not? And indeed, the first night out, Jack reached into his backpack and pulled out a pack of condoms. “Just in case” He said.

I was a virgin in every sense of the word, whereas he’d had a relationship before and wasn’t. I tried to explain what the pain felt like, and how I didn’t think I’d be able to have sex with him much as I wanted to, and I understood if he didn’t want to have anything to do with me because of it. Jack said it wasn’t a problem and he was fine with it. To his credit, he did try. He tried not to let it affect him, and in many ways our relationship was strong. We were never really able to get over this hurdle though, and certain things like pulling out those condoms proved that.

There is an incredible amount of guilt that is associated with pelvic pain. We, as women, are often only defined by our sexuality and our ability to attract a mate. This is proven over and over again by the media, magazines, and in our daily lives. It’s a perfectly cultivated maze of unrealistic expectations and fears meant to make women feel inferior- whilst simultaneously being told we have all the power since our value is our sex appeal and men are powerless to it.

To be unable to do the most basic of human instincts, the thing that we all fetish and idealize on a daily basis, is a form of emotional torture that is difficult to articulate. It is made all the more dificult when you have a partner who you love, who loves you, and who you can’t share that part of yourself with. There is a constant and consistent need for validation and approval, whilst also ignoring any validation that your loved one gives you. I would cry into Jacks arms after I’d tried,and failed, again to have penetrative sex; saying how I couldn’t understand how he was with me. I was obviously broken, and damaged, and why bother being with me at all? It’s a very deep seated, constant, and real insecurity. Throughout puberty, I was told my  entire being is based on how I can successfully attract a male. Simultaneously the media cultivates the idea that men are unable to control their urges, and only want one thing: sex. All the time, any time, anywhere, with anyone. This is just as dangerous and foolish as the societal pressures for women and just as damaging for both sexes. Based on all these outside influences, it’s easy to see how I concluded that I’m only worthy based on my sex appeal, and the only thing Jack wants is sex. Therefore I’m unworthy of love and affection as I’m unable to give the only thing I’m worth giving up. I tried though. Lord, did I try.

The first time Jack and I tried to have penetrative sex was sort of an accident. I know we both certainly didn’t intend to, and to be honest I’m hazy on the particulars. I remember where we were, and I remember it just kinda happened. I know when he first started to enter me the pain was there but I decided to push through it and try anyway. I loved him, and if I could just relax enough it would be ok. What happened next is a blur of white behind my eyes and pain. I screamed and told him to get out, which he immediately did. I curled up into a fetal position on the floor and started uncontrollably shaking. This would later become familiar, but this was the first time those tremors happened. Violent tremors that erupted throughout my body, causing everything to hurt even more, and causing me to curl into an even tighter ball. Jack kept asking me if I was ok, but I didn’t answer him. I just stared at a spot on the floor and didn’t move except for the tremors. I don’t know how long I lay like that, but eventually Jack tried to move me out of my fetal position by gently putting his hand on my knee and attempting to get me to lie down fully. I finally made a sound then-not sure what sound that was- and stayed where I was causing Jack to rock back on his legs in shock. I still didn’t move. Finally, he lay down beside me and tried to look me in the eye. “Annika. If you don’t answer me, I’m going to call 911. You’re scaring me.” That finally brought me back. I told him he didn’t need to do that. He pulled me into his arms then and the violent tremors ceased ever so slightly. They’d last for another 30 minutes or so, but they were smaller and less frequent. When I finally started talking the only thing I could really say was “I’m sorry.” Over and over and over again, “I’m sorry.”

I have said “I’m sorry” to partners more times than I have ever said “I love you.” “I’m sorry” is as familiar a saying to me in the bedroom as breathing. “I’m sorry” came with me wherever I went, always on the tip of the tongue, ready to be said at a moments notice. Jack told me it was ok, that I had nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t believe him. I never did. I didn’t believe it was ok. I didn’t believe him when he told me it didn’t matter. It DID matter.

“If you weren’t with me, you wouldn’t be dealing with these issues.” I’d say after another failed attempt. “You’d be having sex right now.” He couldn’t find an argument that met up to that sentence. I knew deep down, that if he didn’t want to be with me he wouldn’t be, but I also knew that if he was with someone else he’d be able to have the full relationship experience. Or what I thought the full relationship experience was at that time. And I couldn’t let that go.

The day Jack and I broke up started off well. I’d been continuing to see Dr. Kathleen West off and on over the past 2 years and I finally asked Jack if he wanted to come with me to one of my appointments. He enthusiastically agreed. I was really nervous about Jack meeting her, but that ended up working out beautifully. He asked her a lot of questions about what he could do to help, and what my condition was like, and the recovery plan I was on. Dr. West answered all his questions and told him it was amazing he was there to support me. It was that day that finally led me to buy the dilators, and the lidocane, and the lubricant, and restarting my Nortriptyline (I’d stopped taking it about 2 months after that initial dosage when I was 18). We left the hospital, got dinner, came home, took a shower…all in all a rather normal day. We broke up about 3 hours later, in bed, from a question that started off innocent and mundane. I left his apartment at around 1:00 in the morning and spent the next year of my life attempting to mend a broken heart.

I threw the dilators, and the Nortriptyline, and everything else in a corner of my room and left it to rot. They were reminders of my relationship and I wanted nothing to do with them. Jack didn’t break up with me because of my vaginismius or my inability to have sex, but that was irrelevant to me. I stopped seeing Dr. West completely as I saw her the last day I saw him; yet another reminder. I didn’t date again for 3 years after that relationship. Even after I’d long gotten over my heartbreak and Jack and I became friendly again, I still didn’t pursue anything. It’d been years since I’d seen Dr. West by that point and years since I’d considered going on a date, or dating, let alone beginning a new sexual relationship. That meant telling someone else about the pain…again. Disappointing someone new. Again. And living with the guilt, the shame, and the pain. Again. No. Best to not. I was clueless to any and all attempts at flirting, and focused instead on school and work. The thought of starting over with treatments, and diagnosis, and doctors, seemed too big an issue to deal with, and I decided, once again, that this was just the way I was, and it would forever be that way.

 

*Name changed

Uncategorized, when sex hurts

The First Diagnosis

Note: As I mentioned last week, I’m chronicling my adventures into the land of sexual pain mainly to help educate, and help other women who may experience or will experience these types of issues. I do not claim to know everything and everyones body is different. I will however, do my best to define terms when they come up so as to educate the best I can. Know some details from my personal experiences may be fuzzy, and my knowledge on all of this is still growing. If I ever say something in error, please feel free to correct me. Onwards! 

I was 18 the first time I really decided to see what was wrong with me. Back then the only people who knew I suffered from any sort of vaginal pain were my mom and my sister, neither of whom had any knowledge on what could be wrong.

At 18, this was one of my first-if not the first-soiree into the land of gynecologists. I remember being incredibly nervous going to the “adult” floor in Kaiser for the first time. My mom had offered to come with me, but I remember stubbornly  refusing and believing I could handle it on my own.  I remember the waiting room, and being called in, and being asked to put on one of those flattering and comfortable hospital gown… :-p

I don’t remember the doctor. I remember haltingly trying to explain what was wrong in awkward, unhelpful words, and faltering vocal hiccups. The doctor was not impressed. They (I can’t for the life of me remember if they were male or female) said it was probably nothing, but they’d take a look anyway. I remember being SO EMBARASSED that someone was going “down there” even if it was a doctor. I recall barely being touched, and the pain roared back just as intensely as ever. The doctor told me they couldn’t help me, and I needed to speak to a specialist. She (he? Gender non conforming? who knows) gave me a name, and then left me alone.

I left the hospital feeling shame, embarrassment and also a resigned resignation. I’d hoped this random gynecologist would somehow find a miracle drug for me. No such luck. An additional doctor was needed.

When the time came to meet Dr. Kathleen West, I felt incredibly hopeful. It was about a month or so later and I’d finally been able to get in to see her. I took her busy work schedule as a good sign and while still nervous, was much more hopeful than I’d been at the regular gynecologists office. Dr. West is a physical therapist out of Kaiser and while I didn’t understand how physical therapy could help me, I knew that she worked in women’s health and had helped many women prior to me.

Dr. West is an incredibly kind and knowledgable doctor. She took me into her office and asked me a series of questions about what my pelvic pain was like. She, unlike the doctor who’d referred me, said she could probably help me. Dr. West took her time and took immense care when she examined me. I remember the pain being horrific as always, but Dr. West guided me through it and helped me as best she could. I know I cried on her table, and her telling me it’s ok and that was quite common. I vaguely remember a machine as well, though I couldn’t tell you what it was for; only that she used it at some point. At the end of exam, Dr. West diagnosed me with vaginismus.

  • Vaginismus is a condition that is is the result of an involuntary vaginal muscle spasm, which makes vaginal penetration of any kind impossible whether it be sexual, tampons, or medical needs such as a pap smear. So, in other words, the muscles of my vagina would randomly decide to clamp down tightly and nothing could get in regardless of what it was.

This definitely sounded like what I had. I asked how I could possibly have vaginismus. This was the first-but far from the last-time I was asked if I was ever sexually assaulted by a family member. I was very adament that I was not. I was pressed further, and again declared very sincerely that this had never happened. Make no mistake, I understand why these questions are asked. Vaginismus is OFTEN a byproduct of sexual assault and if this has happened to you, there are steps to help. I will try to go into more details later, but for me specifically sexual assault was not an issue at the time.

Since assault was ruled out, Dr. West couldn’t tell me what caused my vaginismus, only that I had it. I asked her why it hurt so much when nothing could even get in there. She told me that vaginismus was a cyclical pain issue. When you think something is going to hurt you, your body automatically tenses up to help ward off that pain. This is the case with most anywhere on your body. Imagine someone working too hard on a knot while getting a massage. You tense up right? Well..the vagina is full of muscles. Why would the muscles of your vagina be any different than the ones in your back? They’re (k)not. (I’m sorry. It was a muscle pun. I had to) 

Dr. West expalined that because I was worried about the pain-and indeed had been worried about the pain for so long at this point-that is what caused my body to tense up whenever anything approached that area. This fear then caused the pain, which then reinforced the idea that this pain was there, and so the cycle continued. To break this cycle I would need to do a series of exercises at home and learn to retrain my brain. I was told I should buy a series of dilators (which I did, but not until 2 years later) as well as lubricant to use with the dilators to make things easier and get my muscles accustomed to “foreign objects.” I was also told to do a series of kegel type exercises to train my muscles to relax. Counter intuitive I know. If nothing helped, botox was an option, or in extreme cases, surgery. I was very overwhelmed by all this information, but I believed Dr. West when she said these things would help me. There’s only one problem…they didn’t.

I want to make myself very clear when I say that Dr. West is an incredibly knowledgable, helpful, and warm doctor who did her best to help me. However, due either to the lack of knowledge on the subject at the time (2006), or due to my case specifically, Doctor West couldn’t help me past diagnosing me with vagnisimus. Which, I’d like to state, I DID have. The reason she couldn’t help me is because she couldn’t diagnose the CAUSE of the vaginismius. As I’ve already stated, we’d ruled out sexual assault. That accounts for over half the cases of vaginismus. We’d ruled out sex entirely, childhood trauma, and shame over sex. I didn’t feel shame about having sex. I felt shame about my inability to have it. So while I understood what Dr. West was telling me and believed her, I knew that wasn’t the only thing wrong with me. Something had to be the CAUSE of the vaginismus. You don’t just develop it from nothing. Nerve pain doesn’t happen from nothing. But as to what that something was, or how to treat it, I was pretty much on my own.

The other thing Doctor West did was perscribe me with Nortriptyline for the nerve pain.

  • Nortriptyline is a tricyclic antidepressant. It affects chemicals in the brain that may be unbalanced in people with depression.

Nortriptyline isn’t always used as an antidepressant though. Nortriptyline also helps with nerve pain and is often perscribed for it. Dr. West emphasized that she didn’t think I had depression, but that this would help with some of the mental fears I had towards the pain. I mention this wording specifically because it’s important. I don’t think it was intentional, but I took her wording to mean there was something wrong with how I was thinking and that’s why I was in so much pain. If I could somehow fix whatever was wrong with my brain, I could fix the issue. Dr. West was right, the drugs DO help with the mentality of the pain, but it’s much more complicated than that and I took her meaning very literally. This one sentence held me back for years.

Finally Dr. West told me how I walked also probably affected my issues and she told me I had an incorrect stance. She proceeded to have me stand for about 5 minutes and make micro adjustments until I was ‘standing correctly.’ I had no idea what standing incorrectly meant, and I certainly didn’t know how to emulate the correct posture at home.

I was printed out a detailed list of instructions and home care that I should do nightly, as well as a trial basis for the Nortriptlyine and sent on my way. The trail basis meant I was to start with 10mg nightly and gradually work my way up to 50mg daily. If-or when-I noticed a difference in pain, I would stay on that number of mg.

Such the long road to recovery began. I cannot emphasis enough that I think Doctor West was, and is, incredibly knowledgable. I’ve not seen her for many years, but I’ve no doubt she has learned a lot more about all of these issues since I saw her as a patient 10 years ago. As a later physical therapist told me when I related my wishes I’d seen her sooner; “honey. We didn’t even EXIST 10 years ago.” But again. I’m getting ahead of myself. There is a LOT of information to go through here and I want to try to inform, discuss, and explain as best I can in bite sized bits. I know a lot of this may be confusing especially in terms of nerve pain, and how drugs can help with that. I will do my best to explain everything. But for now, marinate on all of this.

As always, feel free to ask, question, engage, and share. ❤