My name is Melanie. I'm 32, and I have vaginismus. Until very recently, and finding this network, this was something I could not say. The shame that is attached to having vaginismus is big and powerful. But the best way to face down shame is to connect with others, and that it was I hope to do with this blog post. It is my goal that, in sharing my own vaginismus journey, it helps others to come to terms with their own and no longer feel embarrassed or afraid.
I had a weird start to relationships, first dating someone I actively did not find attractive, in order to feel like I was 'keeping up' with my peers and making sure I hit the right milestones of kissing as everyone else. My first proper boyfriend was a guy I fancied a lot. We did lots of kissing, but despite him being keen, we did not do more due to my fear about going further. This wasn't enough for him, and I got my first experience of shame at not being very sexually interested in others. About a year later, I was 16 and the topic of losing our virginities was on everyone's mind. Knowing I had no active interest in it, yet desperate not to be left behind (peer pressure is powerful!), at a party I picked a man at random and dragged him into a tent in the mindset of 'let's just get it over with'. Scared, un-lubed and definitely not aroused, I was surprised to discover that a) it bloody hurt and b) it wouldn't go in. It was like there was a wall there. Through tears I kept saying 'just push it in!' - desperate to be 'normal’, but it wouldn't go.
I tried again, a couple of weeks later, in similar circumstances, and had the same response. Searing, tearing pain, tears and absolutely no pleasure - I buried all my shame and embarrassment and with it, any hope of this being anything other than sad and painful for me. Of course, at that age it's something everyone is talking about, so I just buried all of it, and never spoke again about sex. It was clear to me that this was something my body didn't want and couldn't do. I still had one or two boyfriends, but I had no desire to go below the belt and instead we mostly kissed and hung out.
At 17, just starting sixth form, I met a guy. He was funny, and kind, and liked to spend time with me. I didn't find
him attractive, but I adored him for the way he took care of me, and over time we moved from friendship into partnership. With a lot of time and patience (3 years, to be exact) we eventually figured out that with me on top to control insertion and thrusting, we could have sex. For the next 4 years we slipped into a comfortable routine of me pleasuring him and having sex once a week - both of us conveniently ignoring the elephant in the room that I was doing it out of duty and not pleasure. Over time, the conversations turned to marriage.
We'd been together 7 years and were an extremely loving and stable couple - always holding hands and hugging. However, I was becoming aware that our relationship was very different to other people's relationships, and the gnawing voice of 'you aren't attracted to him' got louder and louder until, eventually, I knew within me that I had to call it off.
He was the biggest most significant person in my life, and the break up was hard, confusing and sad. It was easy in this time to swear off dating as I was healing, but 4 years post-break up I had to admit to myself that I wasn't not dating because I was sad, I wasn’t dating because I didn't want to have sex with a man. I was now 27, Tinder was a thing, and I had emerged from an 8-year long relationship which started at school into a world of digital hook-ups. Sex was everywhere, and I couldn't avoid it. The secret shame of vaginismus was more prominent than ever.
I don’t know why I didn't want sex and why my vagina didn't work, so I drank. I drank to block out my disinterest, I drank to give me libido and I drank so that, on the very rare occasion I ended up with a guy, I wouldn't feel the pain as much as I told them to 'just shove it in'. I knew it wasn't healthy, but it felt closer to ‘normal’ to be drunk and trying, than it did to be sober and not dating.
Eventually, something had to give. I was sad, tired, ashamed, in pain and no closer to fixing the vaginismus. I saw my vagina as the enemy, and was at war with my own body. My brain couldn't understand why my body wasn't working, and my body was not talking to my brain. Drinking to try and ignore the problem was instead leading me into bigger and bigger problems. I was trying to find men to date who would be kind to me
without wanting sex, and then eventually I'd try and 'pay' them with sex which felt shitty for both of us.
After a few rounds of meeting nice guys I didn't want sex with, I decided to find a therapist. With time, I began to see that I couldn't keep trying to get random men to take care of me - I had to take care of myself, and that meant not drinking. And not drinking meant acknowledging I had vaginismus. I got an appointment for therapy on the NHS, bought dilators, a vibrator and also began, thanks to advice on the Vaginismus Network
website, to try cupping my vulva and building a relationship with her. Despite this, progress felt slow, and frustrating. One particularly bad day, after getting out of the bath, I decided to talk to my vulva. Cupping her in my hands, I started by apologising for what I'd put her through so far, and to my surprise she started responding! I held her while the tears flowed, and I decided that from now on we were going to work as a team. If it meant never being with anyone else sexually ever again, so be it. It was incredibly healing, and
something I'd encourage anyone who feels like they are fighting their vulva to do.
So - where am I now? Well, this last paragraph is pretty unexpected, but one of the things my vulva told me after that cupping session is that she likes women! I love men, and always have, but I've never truly wanted to engage in sexual activity with one. Instead I've wanted their love, their acceptance, their validation.
I haven't acted on this yet - and for now I'm still processing what this means for my life, love and future relationships - but I don't think this would have happened if I hadn't begun the process of healing my vaginismus, and reconnecting with my vulva. And none of those things would have happened without the Vaginismus Network.
From my vulva and I, thank you.