My Journey with Cushing’s disease
At 30 years old, I was fit, healthy and naturally a size 8–10. I knew my body well, which is why, when it started to
Vaginismus. The word that sounds like Christmas, but stripped me of pleasure-filled gifts for more than six years. It was the confusing part of my life that I was trying to sweep under the rug ever since I was 18. That’s when I tried penetrative sex with my first boyfriend, but it was like hitting a brick wall!
During another couple of attempts, I did my best to relax my muscles and some penetration was possible, but just a little bit of him being inside me felt like a constant stabbing sensation.
It felt like a physically painful panic attack in my vagina. A searing hot knife, which I desperately wanted out, yet I also wanted to satisfy my partner. So, for longer than I should have, I gritted my teeth and bore the pain with silent tears streaming down my face, hoping it would be better next time.
Vaginismus is the involuntary contraction of the pelvic floor muscles, thus making penetration either impossible or excruciatingly painful for vulva-owners. This means that someone experiencing vaginismus may also have trouble using tampons, having pelvic exams, and enjoying any form of penetrative sex (like penis in vagina sex).
There are two types of vaginismus: primary and secondary. Primary vaginismus means that this over-active state of the pelvic floor has been this way for as long as you can remember. Secondary vaginismus means you’ve had pain-free penetration before, but the tightening response began after a certain event or series of events. These might include a sexual trauma, painful medical experience involving the pelvis (e.g. a painful pelvic exam), or even pregnancy and giving birth.
There are many potential reasons for vaginismus. This protective body response could have been activated by both physical and psychological reasons. If you identify no obvious trauma in your life, your body may have subconsciously taken on the body response of vaginismus for reasons that may not even be centered around sex. Frustrating, right?
As for overcoming vaginismus, a holistic approach is crucial—one that approaches healing not only physically, but emotionally.
At my first appointment with my family doctor on the topic, I couldn’t get through a pelvic exam. I was simply told I was too young for penetrative sex, and that my body must not be ready yet. I was told I should just wait!
Unsatisfied with this conclusion, I decided to do some research online and came across the term vaginismus. After my doctor told me to have a glass of wine and just relax (even though I was under legal drinking age), I made my way to a gynecologist who did a brief physical exam, but didn’t mention vaginismus either.
Only later did I get to see a sex therapist for a couple of sessions. Although these did not help me overcome my pain, she was the first to mention vaginismus and recommend dilator therapy. I felt relieved that at least someone else agreed that my pain was not in my head.
The sex therapist gave me a two-pager of dilating instructions and, oddly enough, my parents were the ones to set me up with a set of dilators! They came home one day, shortly after I reluctantly told them about my challenge, with a box of plastic dilators in a gray bag with a pink heart on it—and so my journey officially began.
Unfortunately, the dilators lay hidden away in my closet for many months at a time, since I lacked the support in how to use them effectively. To this day, I’m baffled by the limited instructions and guidance I received from the medical professionals I encountered.
I guess I could have seen vaginismus coming with a particular red flag earlier in my life: using tampons. Or trying to use tampons. Many perfectly good tampons went straight into the garbage after I felt the same sense of hitting a wall, or sharp pain, if I tried to force them in.
Though with each disappointment I did my best to stay positive, I felt incredibly alone. Even though I had a supportive family, friends, and partners, no one seemed to understand, because they hadn’t experienced the pain, both physical and emotional.
To avoid my loneliness, I convinced myself that “meeting expectations” in the sex department was never going to be something I could do. So I stuck to what I knew, which may have been part of the root cause in the first place; I focused on school and work and kept reaching for that next achievement.
You see, I lived my life in a very logical, structured way. I was a trained perfectionist, which went hand in hand with becoming a high performer, a “go-getter”, an “alpha woman” etc. Following the well-trodden path my sister took, I became a designated Chartered Professional Accountant, which was wonderful in many ways but equally soul sucking.
As I climbed the corporate ladder and hid my sexual secret, I avoided making self-care a priority. If I indulged in sexual pleasure for a little while, I experienced a deep sense of what I now know was shame, and was just reminded that my body was betraying me.
On top of that, my inner voice said, “You should be doing something productive right now”. Taking a break meant I was falling behind.
Today, I’m relieved to say that vaginismus is in my past. Here are some takeaways:
So much of my experience improved my quality of life, and you too deserve to enjoy all forms of sex, without limitations. You deserve to experience a love life that YOU deeply desire! If you’re experiencing vaginismus, you deserve to put it in your past, for good.
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