Overcoming Trauma: My Journey with Vaginismus
Devi
TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT
I was nineteen years old when I had my first sexual experience. I remember it clearly -- I was in bed with my then-partner. He wanted to explore dominance. So he forced me down, slid his fingers across my vaginal opening, and stared me straight in the eyes. The details get murky afterward, but most importantly, the experience was not consensual.
I grew up in a conservative household where sex or anything related was strictly forbidden until after marriage. I was told more times than I could count that if I did anything that was remotely sexual, my body would not be pure anymore. I was encouraged to abstain from sex entirely which meant there was no need to learn about birth control until years later. Despite this, I did what any growing teenager would do -- I explored masturbation and eventually dabbled with sexual partners. While I logically knew sex was natural, I couldn’t let go of the all-consuming messages that were previously ingrained in me. To be totally honest, there were moments where I thought I was a horrible person for having sexual desires. I often felt guilty, ashamed of my urges, and confused overall. It didn’t help that my first romantic relationship was emotionally and sexually abusive.
Some years passed, and my relationship with my body grew to a bewildering height. I started therapy to work through my trauma with my previous sexually abusive partner and I ultimately found myself in another romantic relationship, but with a gentle, kind man, who was most importantly not abusive. Yet, something didn’t quite feel right. I couldn’t cognitively piece it together, but anytime we would try and have sex, I would feel this unimaginable genito-pelvic pain. Sure, having sex for the first time might hurt for some people, but he couldn’t even insert a finger into my vagina. I couldn’t even fit a tampon in because I’d immediately close up and spasm, and not in a good way. I stayed in that relationship for two years and we constantly tried to have sex, but anytime a finger would so much as go near me, I felt like I hit a metaphorical wall. The conundrum I faced was perplexing: I desired to explore my sexuality and gain a deeper understanding of my body but despite my earnest efforts, I encountered significant obstacles.
Seeking guidance from my primary care physician only added to my distress as she attributed my struggles to my psychological state, placing blame on me for my perceived shortcomings, and suggested I either unwind or use lubrication. I was overcome with a sense of loneliness and detachment that I had not felt in quite some time. It was only later that I discovered the term for my experience: vaginismus, a condition characterized by involuntary spasms of the vaginal canal that result in pain. Astonishingly, up to 17% of women encounter this condition, yet it remains largely misunderstood and overlooked by many healthcare providers.
Vaginismus is something that I still struggle with but overtime, I have made progress in tolerating penetrative sex with a partner who made me feel safe. Through the years, my partner and I cultivated a deep sense of emotional intimacy, which helped me let go of the embodied trauma and shame brought on by my upbringing and my past experiences that were holding me back. While building emotional intimacy with a trusted partner can be a helpful approach to overcoming the shame, it is essential that healthcare providers improve their understanding and awareness of vaginismus to support those affected, like I wish mine did.
Devi is a graduate student at Harvard Medical School.
