Yes, I’m going there this morning. With all of us. Because I was scared to talk about it for so long and I don’t want that for any other woman on the planet.
I spent years compromising my own sexual pleasure because of my fears.
You see, when I was married, I never spoke of sex to anyone.
Except one time with my gynecologist. I sat in her exam room one year as tears pooled around my eyes and cheeks. The cold metal feel of the room did not invite the questions I was about to ask her. Nor did I feel empowered or understood by our conversation.
You see, I quietly confessed that I no longer had any sexual desire coursing through my veins.
I felt empty inside. Lifeless. I stalled, made up excuses, and pretty much just got through it when it happened.
I blamed myself as I stammered through this confession.
What is wrong with me I wondered out loud? And in that moment, she did nothing to help me see that it may not be me.
Maybe she too was scared to ask me an honest question– to ask me to feel into what was really going on. It appeared that she felt more comfortable in trying to assess a clinical diagnosis, rather than listen to all the parts of me that were speaking.
I don’t know. But I left her office believing that I was to blame and that I didn’t have the right to unapologetically own this part of me. That I should compromise. That this was normal. That mediocre sex was just a part of life.
That was a lie.
Our pleasure — all of it— is a powerful source of life. When it’s not working, we more than have the right to figure out why. And for some reason, this scares most of the planet. (My hunch is that there’s power in suppression).
In the end, I discovered that it wasn’t a physical defect (as possibly suggested). It was my relationship. Not only my marriage, but my relationship with life.
Trust, vulnerability and space to be honest were all missing. I was so afraid that I’d be rejected — that someone would not love me– that I did not give myself permission to live my truth—
So afraid that truth may break us. Or me. Or him.
And yet there was one part of me that was the greatest truth teller in those years.
My body. She didn’t lie.
My mind rationalized all sorts of reasons why I felt nothing. Part of me wanted to protect me — not from the nothing— but from the feeling everything. From the truth that I no longer wanted to be in this relationship.
So instead, I pretended. This went on for years. Until my body couldn’t be convinced to be a part to this charade any longer.
Nothing felt better than the truth when I finally gave myself permission to say it, to feel it, to live mine.
I invite you always– if nothing else— be brave enough to say your truths. To yourself. To a trusted friend. To a coach that can hold space for you.
The truth did not break me. In fact, all that vulnerability fed my strength. And no coincidence, my passion . . .