SPASTIC Pelvic Floor

“Pain, and don’t be surprised if you bleed.”

This, or some variation of this, is the message everyone with a vulva and vagina is told when the topic of what to expect during your first-time arises.

For me, sex never stopped being painful. For months after my first time, I bled. Every time I had penetrative sex felt like I was inserting a penis-sized tampon made of sandpaper (excuse my vulgarity, I don’t know how else to put it). It took forever to insert anything, and it hurt the entire time. I was frustrated, confused, and scared. This wasn’t the version of sex I had been promised. Sex was supposed to be this amazing thing where only the first time hurt and everything else after was smooth sailing, right? Wrong. be a huge part of what makes the act of sex so seductive. Finding ways to work around this has been an ongoing (and honestly fun) process.

My sexual desire tanked. It strained my romantic relationships. I grew to resent sex and how much everyone else loved it. After months of painful sex with no improvement, I booked an appointment with my family doctor who had nothing to say. She referred me to my gynecologist who shrugged and slapped a prescription for birth control on my forehead. For years it felt like everyone I knew was in on a joke I missed the punchline for. I convinced myself that I just couldn’t have penetrative sex. Wanting something that my body would physically not allow felt like the ultimate rejection, and I accepted it. There I was, heartbroken and hopeless and stuck suffocating my ache to be in on the joke. In a world where sex can feel like such a fundamental pillar of relationships (so we’re told), I felt incredibly alone. My own body wasn’t even on my side.

It wasn’t until the beginning of the third year of my undergrad that I learned through my ow research what I have is called vaginismus. Basically, my body has learned to expect pain with penetrative sex. This causes my pelvic muscles to involuntarily tighten, causing more pain. After this diagnosis, I became determined to repair my relationship with sex. I invested in dilators (think Russian nesting dolls but… phallic), purchased a vibrator and started seeing a pelvic floor physiotherapist. I tried every kind of lube under the sun, even ones that contained CBD (life changing by the way). I taught myself that penetrative sex could, and should, feel good.

Learning to navigate hook-up culture was scary at first. I used to worry that the little rituals I needed to execute to have pain-free sex wouldn’t be palatable. I feared that sex with me would feel too robotic. I worried how someone would react if I busted out my bag of sex gadgets during a one-night stand. Above all else, I worried that I would never be able to have casual sex, which was something I wanted to explore. These concerns plagued me during my first hookup after the end of my long-term relationship. It was then, in the middle of gettin’ it on, that I had a revelation. I realized I was fed up with feeling inadequate because I couldn’t perform like (seemingly) everyone else in a place where hookup culture is so prevalent. I was fed up with the narrative surrounding sex with cis men. I wanted to have casual sex and I wanted it to feel good. I knew my body now, I knew what worked for me. So, I looked at him and simply asked, “Is it ok if we use lube and my vibrator?” He grinned, reached into my drawer, and got them for me.

Consider this my love letter to anyone going through something similar. You and I aren’t unlovable, undesirable, or damaged. Most importantly, we aren’t doomed to a life of painful penetrative sex (if that’s your jam). This goes for everyone - vaginismus or not. Spoiler: we’re allowed to feel good too. We don’t have to accept a passenger seat on the sex roadtrip. Take control of the narrative. Invest in dilators. Buy a vibrator. Sit on a pool jet. If you want to use your gadgets with your boo, ask away!

I still struggle to have spontaneous sex. It’s less painful but it’s still a process. My engine requires a lot of warming up, which isn’t ideal for setting the mood. After all, spontaneity can

Get to know your body. It wants to know you too.