Sex

{Content Warning: contains descriptions of sexual assault}

I am here

on the precipice of something new, something big. And I am both terrified and exhilarated by the wind whipping against my face at the edge of this cliff.

I am afraid of sex. 

I am afraid of sex.

I have been taught to be afraid of sex.

I have learned to be afraid of sex.

I don’t know how to have sex as my authentic self, in my body, totally sober and present, without feeling like I’m performing for someone else.

I do not see myself as sexy. A lifetime of settling for the paltry crumbs of others’ affection, as if I were an unlovable afterthought, has etched into my soul and flesh the conviction that I am broken beyond repair. This belief lives in me, uninvited but permanent.

…Until today.

A black cat crossed my path as the realization that I am afraid of sex dawned on me. Languid and serene, she turned to fix her scorching gaze upon my car, as if daring me to come closer. I stayed back not out of fear, but out of reverence for her power. The mere appearance of this glistening, beautiful creature, for whom superstition has instilled in me a lifetime of fear, forced me confront my beliefs and ask: “Where did this fear come from?”

I don’t remember the first time I was taught the myth that black cats are “unlucky,” just as I don’t remember the first time I was taught to fear sex.

Perhaps it was on the Catholic school bus in kindergarten when my friend’s older brother made me feel “icky” for sitting next to him, as if our friendship were somehow shameful because he was a boy and I was a girl, and “that could only mean one thing.”

Perhaps it was when an adult man put his penis in my six-year-old hands in the bathroom of his studio, shattering the safety I felt in an environment where I was free to express the innermost longings of my soul. The reason he did this to me, I now understand, was precisely because he intuited that I would never do anything to jeopardize my ability to make art – a need I’m rediscovering is as profound and integral to my existence as breathing.

Or perhaps it was when I decided to “lose my virginity” to my first “real boyfriend” at age 20, and he did not stop thrusting when I repeatedly told him to stop, to wait, to SLOW DOWN because the burning pain of his penetration felt like glass shattering inside me. He must not have heard me cry or felt me trying to push him off, because his eyes remained locked on the wall above my head, as if I were not even there.

These memories

live inside me, along with too many more similar ones to count. They are not remarkable: almost every woman has one (if not several). Many men have them, too. And don’t get me started on trans, gender nonconforming, and LGBTQIA2S+ folkx like myself…

Recently, I was advised not to bring up my history of molestation alongside discussion of my identity as a queer, trans, non-binary person. ALL these things, however, are essential to my story, and I refuse to separate the pieces of who I am to spare others discomfort, or to attempt to prevent their judgement and (irrelevant) speculation about why I am who I am.

I have no control over how others see me, and I’ve learned that their views are merely a reflection of their own uninterrogated beliefs and fears, which we are all subject to. In this way, I might have more in common with that magical black cat than I originally thought.

So, there it is.

I am afraid of sex.

But… maybe I don’t have to be, anymore?

Maybe my power lies in my ability to write a new story for myself, where I get to decide exactly who I am, what I want, and with whom I share my time, body, energy, and attention.

Maybe my strength comes not from my ability to forgive those who have harmed me*, but from my ability to forgive myself for believing that I did not deserve to have my boundaries respected. After all, wasn’t that the message I was taught over and over and over again?

Maybe my resilience, courage, and MAGIC come from my ability to alchemize the lessons of my past with the terrifying and exhilarating possibilities of the future. Maybe confronting my fear of sex is simply another step in this beautiful, endless journey toward love and liberation for myself and for others.

And maybe I can start today.

Photo by Marcus Lange on Unsplash

*If there is a hell, may they burn in it for all eternity.