Category: True Experiences

Header image for a post on how to get over a broken heart

7 Things That Helped Me to Get Over a Broken Heart

Published on by Amy

Heads up: this is not a generic “how to get over a broken heart” listicle. This is tremendously personal and I hope I can trust my readers to be kind.

Yup. It’s been an entire year, and we’re finally talking about this! I have tried to write something cohesive about this experience so many times over the last year, but it didn’t feel like the right time until now. I had to wait until I was sure I was really okay, really truly over it and out the other side, before I could write about it with the benefit of knowing for sure that the pain really does end.

One year ago today, I experienced the most brutal, absolute, and devastating betrayal of my life from someone I thought I would be with forever.

“Blindsided” is not even the word.

It physically hurt. I felt like I was dying.

I still don’t think I have the words to explain the depths of the grief I sunk into. The anger and the confusion, that time I screamed in my car down a deserted road just to let out some of the pressure that felt like it was crushing me from the inside. The nights I spent alternately crying until I felt numb and drinking myself into oblivion just so that, for a few blissful minutes, I wouldn’t have to feel anything.

But this post isn’t actually about that pain, or about the person who broke my heart. It’s about how I got through it. Because that’s the reality of even the worst heartbreak of your life: you do get through it.

One day, you wake up and find you don’t actively want to fucking die. One day, you wake up and you’re not crying before you’re even fully awake, they’re not the first thing on your mind, you don’t see their eyes every time you close yours. Eventually, you smile again. Laugh again. Dance in your kitchen while you make dinner again. Have sex again. Eventually, you even love again.

So this post is for everyone whose heart has ever been broken. It’s for everyone who’s going through it right now, who needs a reminder that there is joy out there and that this too shall pass. But most of all it’s for the Amy of a year ago who felt like she had lost a piece of her soul and thought she might never be happy again. Hold on, sweetheart. Joy is coming back. More joy than you can imagine right now.

This is just my little love letter to seven of the things that pulled me through.

Mr C&K: a masterclass in how to support your partner through a broken heart

I have to start with this one because fucking hell, this man showed up for me when I needed him. Supporting your partner through a breakup with someone else is a uniquely polyamorous experience, and my nesting partner could teach the masterclass. He picked me up off the floor (literally, once or twice.) He fed me and took care of the house and the cat and our life in the immediate aftermath, when I could barely get off the sofa. When I woke up in the early hours of the morning already crying, he pulled me close and reminded me I was still worthy of love.

Pretty words and promises are nice, but they mean nothing if they’re not backed up with actions. Real love? Sometimes it looks like someone who’s been by your side for a decade sitting with you while you cry and rage and work through the confusion, and then filling the fridge with all your favourite foods in the hope that you’ll eat something even though your body is so full with the sheer weight and volume of your grief that you can’t imagine having room for anything as trivial as food.

Sapphic music

A couple of months after my breakup, I started making a giant playlist of all the sapphic, lesbian and queer girl music I could find.

It was partly an attempt to reconnect with my own queerness. To remind myself that no longer having a girlfriend didn’t invalidate my identity. I found the angsty breakup songs cathartic. The love songs gave me hope that I might find something like that again someday.

Most of all, it was a feeling of being held by these women. Women I’ll never meet but with whom I feel a kinship because of our shared experience as sapphics in a world that simultaneously invisibilises and hyper-sexualises us.

Fletcher, MUNA, Hayley Kiyoko, Girli, Chappell Roan, Xana, Girl in Red, Renee Rapp and more wrapped their words around my heart and, on the nights I felt most profoundly alone, their songs reached out a hand and said “we got you.”

Crafting

You know the cool thing about having yarn, fabric, a set of knitting needles or a crochet hook in your hands? You can’t text the person who broke your heart (or pound that ill-advised fourth shot of gin of the night) while you’re doing it.

Sometimes, making things—counting stitches and rows, figuring out pattern instructions, occasionally ripping it all out and starting again—was the only thing that could stop me from thinking about her, calm my racing mind from ruminating on how stupidly happy I had been and how it had all gone to hell so quickly.

I crafted so much in the few months following my breakup that I ended up taking a stall of my yarn-based creations to sell at a Pride event. Every time I saw someone smile and pick out a piece I’d made in their pride flag’s colours, a little bit of my heart healed. I’d turned my pain into beautiful things, and those things brought other people joy.

Slow, careful and mindful attempts at dating

I got back on the dating apps around August. If I’m entirely honest it was probably a little too soon but I decided, fuck it, it’s been six months, maybe I’m allowed to have a little fun now? (Or maybe I just needed the emotional masochism of confirming, once again, my utter certainty that I would never meet anyone who was right for me ever again.)

Only… I did.

I had a nice date with a woman. Things didn’t go anywhere, but going on a date—laughing and eating sushi and getting to know someone new—felt like gently flexing a muscle I hadn’t used in far too long, like taking the cast off a broken bone. Then I dated someone lovely for about three months. We had fun. Then we realised we weren’t romantically compatible and parted on good terms as friends.

And then…

Well. The next bit of the story comes later in this post.

Queer community: a beautiful antidote to a broken queer heart

There’s an invisibility that often comes with sapphic love. This is doubled (tripled, really) if you’re polyamorous and your relationship isn’t a socially-sanctioned, legally-sanctioned, highly visible, hetero-read one.

So many people in my life didn’t understand that the relationship might have ultimately been short-lived and non-escalator, but that didn’t make it any less real. It fucking mattered. My love mattered. My heart mattered.

It was my queer community, particularly my queer polyamorous community, that understood. Those people witnessed and held the reality of just how much this fucking sucked. They allowed me to be sad then angry then hopeful then hopeless and then sad all over again. They let me go from laughter to sobbing and back to laughter, sometimes in the space of minutes.

And they never told me it didn’t matter because it didn’t last. That I should have known better, or that polyamory is always a recipe for disaster. They didn’t say at least you still have a partner as if that makes a broken heart hurt any less, or any of the other shit that clueless straight people hit me with.

Friends who understand

Sometime around May, three months after my breakup, I went for coffee with a well-meaning friend. When I got home, I said to Mr C&K, “I feel like an alien in my own life.” I felt completely detatched and cut off from just about everyone else on the planet.

There were a very small number of people who made me feel understood and seen. One of them was someone I didn’t even know all that well at the time, who had gone through a breakup around the same time. Over the course of a few months, our two person #BrokenHeartClub (or #BoozyBrokenHeartClub on the more difficult days) evolved into a friendship I’m profoundly grateful for.

My best friend and his boyfriend let me crash with them for a few days in the immediate aftermath while I got my head back on straight. My bestie alternately took me out and got me drunk in healing queer spaces (Eastenders-themed drag? Surprisingly good medicine for a broken heart!) and let me rage-sob on his sofa.

Finding love again: the hardest and most crucial step in getting over a broken heart

I had to save this one for last. It’s ultimately one of the most significant pieces of this story and the most difficult to find adequate words for.

There’s something a little paradoxical here. After a breakup, we’re not supposed to start looking for a new relationship until we’re fully healed. We’re supposed to get over a broken heart before we try to find love again. Yet, at a certain point, there is a form of healing that happens within a new relationship. If you want to learn to trust again, at some point you need to practice trusting someone. If you want to fall in love again, at some point you need to let yourself fall.

I met my now-girlfriend Em on a dating app in late October. Our connection was fast. We both read the other’s profile and had a moment of “were you made for me!?”. But it was also slow, in that it was over two months before we could spend time together in person. In those two months, we clocked up over 40 hours of phone and video calls.

On January 7th at 8pm, she walked into the bar and she smiled at me and I knew. On January 7th at 10pm, she asked me to be her girlfriend. Then, on January 26th, I told her I love her. Was I terrified to try again? Of course. But at some point, you have to feel the fear and try again anyway.

She was the final and most crucial piece. She profoundly sees me, understands me, holds me in the messiness and vulnerability of all that I am and have been and all that I might be in the future. With her, I felt able to take that risk. To trust someone. To stare down the fear of opening myself up to that kind of pain again and decide she was worth the risk.

She was—is—everything I needed in a new love. And she found me at the perfect moment.

If you’re trying to get over a broken heart, I hope this gave you a little comfort. I know you’ll get through it. Listen I love you joy is coming.

Header image for guest post on OCPD, sex and intimate relationships by Destiny Marshall

[Guest Post] Navigating Sex When You Have OCPD by Destiny Marshall

Published on by Amy

I’m sure you all know by now that I am passionate about mental health, destigmatising mental health challenges, and integrating our sex lives with our mental health in positive and sustainable ways. That’s why I was delighted to accept this guest post from writer Destiny Marshall (she/her) all about navigating sex and intimate relationships with Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder, or OCPD.

Navigating Sex When You Have OCPD by Destiny Marshall

Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD) is a mental health disorder that causes a chronic preoccupation with orderliness, perfectionism, and control. A person with OCPD is rigid in the way they see life and carry out everyday tasks. Flexibility and compromise are dangerous and hated words. And they often don’t realise that their behaviour and thought patterns are problematic. As far as they’re concerned, their way is THE way, and you lot are just wrong.

OCPD is different from the more familiar Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). With OCD, unwanted and intrusive thoughts (obsessions) cause one to engage in repetitive behaviours (compulsions) to relieve the distress. People with OCD are usually aware that they have a problem and need professional help. Not so with OCPD folks.

When I got my OCPD diagnosis, my obsession with perfectionism and order and absolute control suddenly made a lot of sense. But I never considered that the disorder might be affecting my sex life. 

That was until one night, a partner texted to say they were in my neighbourhood and what about a quickie in the car? That sounded far from great to me. I’m not a spontaneous person who will just dash out their door to go grab an orgasm, even if they were in the mood and the world was ending in ten. If it’s not in my to-do list, it will have to wait to get pencilled in.

I tried to wiggle out of the proposition from my partner. But in the end, I acknowledged to myself that living a little would not kill me, even if it messed with my precious daily schedule.

The sex wasn’t bad. It could’ve been much more, but I couldn’t shake off the fact that this was deviating from how I thought sex should be. And that’s before we get into how tricky cleanup can be in a space as constricted as a car. I was thoroughly uncomfortable.

That experience made me introspect and realise all the tiny little ways that OCPD was sabotaging sex and intimate relationships for me.

A person with OCPD may find themselves having rigid expectations of how sex should play out—which is perfectly. Any deviation from this “ideal” is nothing short of a failure. And because life is life and we can’t guarantee perfection in every situation, OCPD folks find themselves in a pattern of avoidance, dissatisfaction, or both.

In trying to keep up to standard, people with OCPD may turn sex into a performance. You know what I’m talking about – hitting those moan-notes you think you ought to be hitting even when you’re not feeling like it; keeping it going even when your mind is no longer in it, because it’s supposed to be enjoyable and admitting it isn’t is a catastrophe of great magnitude.

Strategies for Navigating Sex, Intimate Relationships, and OCPD

Sex usually calls for some level of spontaneity and surrender. But are we really our OCPD selves if we relinquish control? The universe forbid we should let go and enjoy ourselves without inhibition!

It’s stifling. You want to live a little, but you feel like you’re wired not to. What to do?

Having OCPD and having a fun sex life don’t have to be mutually exclusive. In my experience, patience and communication and self-compassion can Make Love Great Again. Below are some strategies that have helped me. Feel free to pick what works for you and trash the rest:

Acknowledge Your Feelings

It’s essential to recognise and accept how you feel about sex. Whether you’re anxious, frustrated, or even ashamed of your struggles, these feelings are valid, and acknowledging them is the first step toward addressing them. Sit with yourself and have that solo TED Talk.

Communicate with Your Partner

One time, right before meeting up with a partner, I got into a depressive bout. I didn’t want to bail out because that would ruin my schedule and all the expectations, which would be unforgivable. At some point, prodded by my partner, I finally opened up about how I was feeling. They were super supportive, and we walked through our feelings to a place that felt good. It ended in the tenderest lovemaking.

Communicating with your partner is key. Let them know about your challenges and how OCPD affects your experience of sex. This builds understanding and a supportive environment where you both feel comfortable. Be honest, and set clear boundaries that make you feel safe. 

Focus on Connection, Not Perfection

Sex, like life, doesn’t have to be perfect to be enjoyable. We all know this, but we usually need to be reminded. 

Mindfully ground yourself in the present. Attune all your senses to the moment. When you find your mind wandering, gently draw yourself back to your body, where it is in space, and what’s happening to it.

Give yourself grace to let yourself go, then let yourself go. If it helps, take away attention from yourself: focus on the person(s) you’re with, and how they’re experiencing the moment with you.  

Develop a Pre-Sex Ritual…

Creating a pre-sex ritual can help you transition from your daily routine to a more relaxed state. Maybe you take a warm bath; practice mindful breathing; say a mantra (you can borrow mine: Right now, in this moment, pleasure, not perfection); or spend time cuddling with your partner. A ritual helps signal to your brain that it’s time to shift gears, which can help reduce anxiety.

…And a Post-Sex Ritual

It’s a lot easier for me to let myself go and get as messy as the situation calls for, when I know I can take all the time I need to clean and organise and get back into routine afterwards.

Personality disorders take time to work on. You’re not going to wave a wand and suddenly banish your desire for order and control. Making provisions for returning to whatever normalcy feels like for you after sex can help you enjoy the moment a lot more.

Seek Help

If OCPD is significantly affecting your sex life, consider seeking help from a mental health professional. Therapy can provide you with tools to manage your symptoms and navigate sexual experiences more effectively.

If trustworthy professional help is something out of your reach (and even if it isn’t), prioritise self care. A therapy skills workbook, which you can work through at your own pace, can also help greatly.

Practise Self-Compassion

Living with OCPD can be challenging and it can make intimate relationships complicated. We tend to beat ourselves up for every little failure, real or imagined. Self-compassion, then, is a must. 

Remember to be kind to yourself when things don’t go as planned, and remember that it’s okay to struggle. You’re doing your best, and that’s enough. Paste that everywhere so you don’t forget for a second.

Celebrate small wins when you make progress, and forgive yourself when you fail a little. Everyone falls off sometimes. Even your favourite influencer.

So, yeah, sex can get messy and disorderly. But that’s not going to stop us from channelling our inner Inanna and lusting ourselves out, OCPD be damned. Amen.

About the Writer

Destiny Marshall is obsessed with the interconnectedness of mental health and sexuality. When she’s not writing about that, she works on her meme scientist ambitions and gets to know her bed better.

Woman clutching the sheets as though cumming. Header image for a post on faking orgasms.

On Faking Orgasms: Why I’ll Never Fake an Orgasm Again

Published on by Amy

Sometimes it’s hard for me to orgasm. Other times I can get there, but it takes a long time. On those occasions when my orgasms feel a long way away, faking it still sometimes feels incredibly tempting.

According to the International Society for Sexual Medicine, one study showed that the average person with a vulva (they said “woman” but let’s use inclusive language here) takes around 14 minutes to climax during partnered sex. It is a little unclear whether the researchers were using “partnered sex” synonymously with “intercourse”. However, I’m assuming they are referring to any kind of partnered sexual activity since anything from 50% to 80% (depending on which study you believe) of people with vulvas don’t orgasm solely from penetration at all.

Why Fake An Orgasm?

I’ve definitely pretended to orgasm in the past, at various times and for a few different reasons. At the absolute worst, when I was in an abusive relationship, faking orgasms was sometimes the best way to get things I didn’t like to end. In those relationships, even if the sex itself was consensual, it wasn’t necessarily safe to ask for what actually felt good and would help me to get off. Abusive men don’t take well to any threat to their egos, and turns out “I didn’t come” is a pretty big ego threat.

On a less sinister note, I’ve had a lot of consensual-but-bad sex in my life. Whether it was partners who couldn’t be bothered to learn how to please me, or just my own insecurities and unwillingness to speak up for my pleasure, lots of factors played into this. Half way through sex I might realise that I wasn’t going to get there no matter how hard we tried. At those times, faking orgasms sometimes felt easier than saying “can we stop?”

I’ve also done the fake orgasm thing in group sex situations before. Those spaces are typically less about the actual orgasm for me. I often won’t come in a group situation, though there are of course exceptions to this. They’re more about the overall sensuality, shared sexual energy, and just the feeling of being in that erotic space with other sexy people. Even so, it can feel like the goal in those situations is “everyone has an orgasm” and like I’m letting the group down if I don’t. In those circumstances, it has sometimes felt easier to fake an orgasm than to draw attention to it.

Why I Decided to Stop Faking It

Quite a few years ago now, I swore off faking orgasms. So what changed? A few things.

First, I realised that I deserve pleasure as much as my partners. I was primarily sleeping with men and masc-of-centre people at the time, and the orgasm gap is a real phenomenon to which I have no desire to contribute with my sex life.

Ironically, discovering that I have an orgasm denial/orgasm control kink helped, too. This means that if I’m having fun but not getting off, I can eroticise the build-up and the unreleased sexual tension in and of itself. Enjoying the process freed me up to enjoy sex more fully without needing to chase a destination that can be highly variable in its reachability. (And yes, I also appreciate the irony that someone growling “don’t you dare fucking come” in my ear will often get me close faster than almost anything else.)

I also realised that faking it just begets more frustration and unsatisfying sex. If a partner believes that what they’re doing is getting me off, they will (reasonably) continue doing those things when we have sex again in the future. By faking orgasms, I was literally teaching partners to continue touching me in ways that didn’t work for me. What’s the point of that?

I recently saw this article about why faking orgasms “may not be as bad for your relationship as we thought,” and… it made me kinda ragey. This part, in particular:

If your partner feels insecure about their sexual ability and you don’t have an orgasm during sex, sometimes telling them you did is an easy out from having to console them. As much as you love your partner, having to reassure them their sex skills are top-notch can be taxing. That’s why, in these situations, it’s fine to spare their feelings to avoid having to comfort them for hours on end.

– Amanda Chatel

What? WHAT!? No! I’m sorry but if someone’s ego is so fragile that they’re going to make my body’s quirks about them, or that they’d rather I lie to them rather than learn about what actually gets me off (and accept that sometimes it might not happen through no fault of theirs or mine), we shouldn’t be having sex.

Another change was discovering the wonderful world of sex toys. Over a decade ago, I went through a period where I was unable to orgasm due to starting new antidepressants. It was a mains-powered “back massager” vibrator that helped me eventually power through that block. I didn’t really start exploring the full joys of the sex toy world, though, until I launched this blog.

Discovering toys gave me new options and avenues for pleasure and orgasm. New ways to experience intense sensations when my body needs more powerful stimulation to break through an orgasm block. And sometimes new ways to just have fun without the destination needing to be the focus.

The absolute number one change, though? The single biggest thing that turned all of this around? Safe relationships.

When You’re With Safe Partners, Faking Orgasms Becomes Unnecessary

With both Mr C&K and my girlfriend, I feel able to say either “please could we do this different thing that might help me get there?” or “I don’t think it’s going to happen tonight but I’m still having tonnes of fun” and I know that that will be heard and accepted with love. Feeling safe and loved totally removes the need or desire to fake anything with them, including my orgasms.

So sometimes I still struggle to get there. That might always be true. And sometimes I might worry that I’m taking too long. That my partner(s) will feel bad if I don’t get off. That they’ll get bored with the process. In those situations, faking orgasms does still occasionally seem like a tempting solution. But I promised myself and my partners that I’ll never do that again, and I intend to stick to it.

I deserve more than fake pleasure and so do my partners. Because if we can’t be authentic with each other, what’s the point?

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Header image for a guest post about being a submissive with ADHD by Redridingbrat

[Guest Post] Being a Submissive with ADHD by Redridingbrat

Published on by Amy1 Comment

While I don’t have an actual diagnosis of ADHD, I’ve long know that it’s something I probably have. Whenever I see any ADHD content, from medical information to memes, I find myself going “yep, it me”. It impacts virtually every aspect of my life. So I wasn’t altogether surprised when I also found this piece from my friend Redridingbrat (she/her) about ADHD and its impact on BDSM and kink deeply relatable.

I feel very strongly that kink is for all consenting adults who want to engage in it. Many of the images we see online and in the media are reductive, exclusionary, and harmful. That’s why it’s so important to me to represent a diversity of experiences on this blog. To that end, I’m thrilled to host RRB’s thoughts on ADHD in a BDSM relationship.

As always, you can help me to pay more lovely guest writers by chipping in via the tip jar.

Amy x

ADHD and Kink: Being a Submissive with ADHD by Redridingbrat

What comes to mind when you think of the perfect submissive?

Perhaps it is someone who is entirely focused on their Dominant? Someone who finds it easy to follow the rules and pre-emptively do whatever their Dominant might desire?

How does this approach to kink change when you have ADHD?

ADHD, or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, is a medical condition that affects the way a person thinks and acts. This often presents as someone being inattentive, hyperactive, and impulsive—three things that can often clash with the pop culture view of submission. As a submissive with ADHD, I have had to work with my Dominant to make sure that my submission and BDSM relationship isn’t adversely affected by my ADHD.

ADHD, Kink and Forgetfulness

One of the ways inattention in ADHD can affect a D/s or kink dynamic is forgetfulness. Forgetting rules, forgetting tasks, forgetting where things have been placed… not something that is in the picture-perfect view of a sub! Thankfully, this is something this can be easily accommodated. Having the rules written up and displayed somewhere is a straightforward alternative to relying on the memory. Having things placed in see-through or open containers lets you quickly see where they are. A long-term solution is to have your Dominant help you create habits, so you do not need to remember a thing.

Another annoying symptom of ADHD is being prone to distraction. Sitting in a corner with no stimulation is my personal idea of hell. It isn’t just me who can suffer as a result of this, though; losing interest in an activity halfway through a scene can very quickly make a Dominant feel like they failed at a scene, and make the submissive then feel guilty for not being able to concentrate. This does not have an easy fix but there are things that help.

Doing shorter activities can do wonders, as this gives less chances for the brain to wander off. Sensory deprivation can also help as it can force the submissive to focus on their other senses. The biggest things that can help are open communication and being self-aware. By letting your Dominant know when you are having a bad day focusing, you can reassure each other that neither is at fault when focus issues arise.

Hyperfocus, Kink and ADHD

On the opposite end of the spectrum, another symptom of ADHD is hyperfocus; getting so consumed by a task that everything else is ignored. When a task is interrupted by something else, it can be extremely hard to bring yourself out of the task and into the new thing, regardless of how urgent it may be. In extreme cases, this can lead to ignoring the need to drink or use the toilet for hours on end.

One thing my Dominant has found to help with managing this aspect of my ADHD in our kink relationship is simply asking “when will this be done?”. This helps me to verbalise what “done” looks like as well as giving me a cue to start bringing myself out of the task. Having a set routine and structure also helps with this as it ensures that my body becomes accustomed to performing certain activities at certain time, with an external check (my Dominant) making sure it is adhered to.

Managing Motivation as a Submissive with ADHD

Another symptom of ADHD that is often overlooked is internal motivation. I can often sit in “standby mode”, endlessly scrolling social media whilst given tasks go unfulfilled. Part of this is that a larger task can be overwhelming if not broken down into smaller steps. This overwhelm can make it physically uncomfortable to get started. Something that can really help prevent situations like this is breaking a large task down into multiple smaller parts, while also being clear about what signifies completion of each part.

One example of this ADHD hack in a kink context: “make yourself presentable for me” can be broken down into “take a shower, style your hair into a high ponytail, put on a full face of makeup with red lipstick, and wear the red underwear. I want these tasks to be complete by 5pm.” Rewards-based dynamics are also excellent for those who require the internal motivation to be turned external. Extra orgasms for doing a large task? Yes please!

ADHD and BDSM: The Positives

I have spoken at length about the challenges of having ADHD in a BDSM relationship. But it does come with a number of positives too. Those of us with ADHD often excel when in “crisis mode”, meaning we can be very good if something goes wrong in a kink scene. ADHD folks are also creative in our problem solving, making us the perfect people to do puzzle-based tasks or mend broken toys. And ADHD people can also be more adventurous, making us the ideal partner for trying new activities in the bedroom.

ADHD can make submission hard. It breaks many of the pre-conceived notions of what a “good submissive” looks like. Someone who is forgetful, distractable, and hard to self-motivate is not the “ideal” that is written about in popular BDSM literature. However, there are things that can help overcome the barriers that ADHD puts up in a kink dynamic.

The main thing to remember is that D/s is not one size fits all. You can customise and change how your relationship looks. You are not a failure if it does not look like the glamorised novels. Anyone can be a submissive. All you need to do is identify as one and find someone who adores you and your style.

Redridingbrat is a switchy brat who loves nothing more than to engage her submissive side. Her main experiences involve rope, D/s and discussions surrounding disability within the kink community.

Header for a post about wand vibrators and anorgasmia from antidepressants

How Wand Vibrators Helped Me Find My Sexual Desire Again When Antidepressants Killed It

Published on by Amy

I’ve been on antidepressants for the majority of my adult life, trying three different medications before I found the one that works for me. I’ve had some shame about this over the years, but these days I am very pro-medication for those who need it. I’m not exaggerating when I say that my mental health meds saved my life on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, antidepressants are known to decrease sexual desire for many people, and my first two antidepressants also killed my libido.

Wand vibrators - Honey Wand from Honey Play Box
Honey Wand by Honey Play Box

Like any medications, antidepressants often have side effects. These can range in severity from mildly annoying to seriously debilitating. Sexual side effects are common and can include erectile dysfunction, loss of desire, anorgasmia, and more.

How Antidepressants Killed My Libido and Ability to Orgasm

My first antidepressant was Fluoxetine (Prozac), which killed my libido for the entire nine months I was taking it. Anything that had been pleasurable before just felt like… nothing. This wasn’t limited to sex, either. I also lost my appetite and all ability to derive pleasure from food.

On Citalopram, I lost my ability to orgasm while my body adjusted to the meds. Needless to say, this was incredibly upsetting and frustrating. Feeling like I had no control over my body and like I’d lost one of my greatest sources of pleasure was so damaging that I seriously considered coming off the meds that were otherwise helping with my depression.

The first time antidepressants killed my libido, was so thoroughly miserable (both from the depression and from the side effects of the meds) that I wasn’t even interested in reclaiming it. I’m pretty sure I didn’t have sex or masturbate for about nine months at one stage. In hindsight, this probably made things even worse, because my sexuality has always been one of the key ways that I access pleasure and joy. At that time, I didn’t own any sex toys, and any touch from either myself or my partner left me cold.

The second time antidepressants didn’t kill my libido entirely, but they did decrease it. They took the edge off the worst of the sadness and hopelessness, and I found myself wanting sex occasionally. But I couldn’t orgasm, either with my partner or by myself. Though orgasm is not necessarily the goal of sex, this quickly became frustrating and then maddening. I felt like my body was betraying me. Like I had to choose between having a properly functioning brain and a satisfying sex life.

Overcoming Anorgasmia with Sex Toys and Advocating For My Pleasure

The turning point in reclaiming by libido and orgasms came when my then-partner suggested trying a wand vibrator. It finally broke through the orgasm block and, once that dam broke, it became easier and easier to get there again. I invested in a wand for myself pretty quickly after that, and it became my go-to toy.

My third and current antidepressant, Sertraline, mercifully hasn’t decreased my libido or decreased my ability to orgasm. When I decided to go back on medication, I made it very clear to my doctor that losing my desire for sex (or my ability to orgasm) again wasn’t an option.

Wand Vibrators As a Tool Against Depression

Despite having finally found an antidepressant that doesn’t kill my libido, my mental health still has an impact on my sexuality. Contrary to popular belief, it’s still possible to feel horny at the same time as being depressed. Sad people need pleasure and orgasms, too! There have also been many times in my life when I haven’t felt horny, but I knew intellectually that an orgasm would make me feel better.

Sometimes, when I’m very very depressed, I feel as though there’s a kind of fog around me. The fog keeps me at least partly disconnected from everything and everyone around me. At its worst, it creates a sense of being somewhat outside and detached from my own body.

In this state, many types of touch that would normally be pleasurable struggle to penetrate the fog. When that happens, I need intense stimulation and lots of it. It’s times like this that I might crave certain BDSM activities even more than usual. It’s also times like this when knock-your-socks-off powerful wand vibes are a godsend. It might be possible to power through to orgasm with a lacklustre, buzzy vibrator but… why bother?

Whether my libido is being killed my antidepressants or decreased by depression itself, a good wand vibrator can wrench an orgasm from my body with very little active input from me. With a powerful enough wand, I basically just put it in the right spot and wait for the orgasm to happen. In this way, I can access pleasure and the positive physical and mental health benefits of orgasm even when I feel so low I don’t want to leave my bed.

What I Learned When Antidepressants Killed My Libido: Sexual Pleasure Matters

When someone is dealing with severe health issues, either physical or mental, it’s often tempting to see sexual pleasure as trivial. Certainly when I spoke to my doctor about antidepressants killing my libido and decreasing my ability to orgasm, they dismissed my concerns. Did I want sex or did I want to not be sad? Because I couldn’t have both.

Except I actually could. I needed and deserved to have both.

If you’re struggling with pleasure or orgasm due to health issues and medication, I want you to hear this: sexual pleasure matters. It’s not trivial and it’s not unimportant. If it’s important to you, then it matters. And you deserve to have what you need to feel sexually satisfied, whether that’s a change of medication, a super powerful vibrator, or just to change up what you’re doing.

Thanks to Honey Play Box for sponsoring this post. All views and experiences are my own!

Header image for post on CBD lube and how Dani Pepper O improved her sex life by Hattie Gladwell

[Guest Post] How CBD Lube Changed My Sex Life When My Body Forgot How to Orgasm by Hattie Gladwell

Published on by Amy

Today’s guest post comes from Hattie Gladwell (she/her,) a freelance journalist whose work I have been reading and enjoying for a while. This piece on how Dani Pepper O CBD lube was a game-changer for her is her first post for C&K.

I loved this story because struggles with orgasm are so, so common, especially for cis women and other people with vulvas. The limited cultural narratives around sex can make us feel that we should all be having the most amazing sex, all the time and without ever talking about it.

Those same narratives push the idea that if we’re with the right partner, sex and orgasm will be easy and effortless, and that any use of additional tools (such as toys or lube) indicate failure. But as we can see from Hattie’s story, those things can be game changers in the best possible way.

Enjoy!

Amy x

Dani Pepper O: How This CBD Lube Changed My Sex Life When My Body Forgot How to Orgasm

I was in a sexless relationship for almost six years. It was difficult not just physically, but mentally, too. I wanted an intimate relationship, but sadly he wasn’t interested. Of course, I thought it was me. That something was wrong with me. I changed how I looked constantly to see if maybe he’d start loving me again, but the relationship had been dead for years. 

When we first got together, I was able to orgasm easily and quickly. Multiple times. Having an orgasm wasn’t something I’d ever struggled with. I’d always had a good sex life before the relationship, and during the first year. But everything changed, and I don’t know why. 

When we finally broke up and I walked away from the stale relationship, I met somebody new quickly. My family and friends warned me that it was too early, that I needed to heal. But I had already done my healing over the last six months of the relationship—because I knew it was coming to an end. 

It was incredible to have sex with someone new. I mean, it was incredible just to have sex again. But, I couldn’t orgasm. It made me feel bad because I didn’t want my new partner to think it was him. My body just forgot what an orgasm felt like, and I couldn’t do it anymore. 

When I tried to get there, it was even more impossible, because I was putting myself under too much pressure. It wasn’t until I decided to “re-discover myself” alone, learning what I liked and didn’t like, and what made me tick, that finally (with a little help from Dani Pepper O CBD lube) I came to climax again. 

I decided to show my partner what I liked, and it worked—but it still took me up to an hour to get there, and sometimes I couldn’t at all. It was frustrating and I felt resentment towards my ex because I felt like I had no control over my body.

I could only come during mutual masturbation. Never during sex. Which is annoying, because I want to reach orgasm when my partner does. It feels more intimate. It makes me feel closer. 

That’s where the Dani Pepper CBD lube comes in. 

There are lots of CBD lubes out there, even though not that many people know about them. Of course, most people have heard about CBD and the common belief that it helps with chronic pain. But it can also help with sensitivity of the vulva, as it is absorbed through the tissues.

I was sceptical, but decided to try Dani Pepper’s “O” orgasm enhancer.

It comes in a bottle that looks just like regular, non-CBD lube, and is transparent. It’s made using organic and natural ingredients, and is water-based, meaning it’s okay to use with latex. 

I sat down with my partner and talked about using the lube, and he agreed. He was just as adamant about getting my orgasms back on track as I was. 

That night, we had sex. But before we did, we did what we usually do, and he tried to get me off. I decided to do it during mutual masturbation because I wanted my body to get used to the CBD lube in a way that I knew might just make me come. 

He put the lube on me, and within 15 minutes I started to feel more relaxed. I wasn’t worried about climaxing. I decided that it didn’t matter if I didn’t orgasm this time—I could always try again. 

But I did come. Quickly. Intensely. The most extraordinary orgasm I have ever had. 

It lasted for at least 10 seconds, and afterwards, my legs were shaking and I couldn’t speak through breathlessness. 

What I also loved is how calm I felt afterwards. I continued to feel this really relaxing sensation. Sex afterwards was amazing because, even though I can’t come through penetration still, it made us both feel accomplished. Knowing I’d “got there” meant there were no frustrated vibes after having sex—or masturbating for an hour. 

I always use the Dani Pepper O lube every time we have sex now. It’s my go-to, and I of course have more than one bottle at a time so that I can keep myself stocked up. 

CBD lube has been a game-changer for me. Not just because of the incredibly intense orgasms, but because it has brought me closer to my partner sexually. I feel like our sex life is way more intimate now, and I never feel like I’m missing out. And I won’t ever again.

About the Author

Hattie Gladwell is a journalist and editor from Sussex. She is passionate about raising awareness of mental health issues, and mainly writes about sex, relationships, parenting and mental illness.

Product recommendation is the writer’s own and is not sponsored.

Header image for a post on reclaiming pleasure after sexual assault and other sexual traumas

Five Lessons I’ve Learned About Reclaiming Pleasure After Sexual Assault

Published on by Amy

Pleasure can be far from simple for all kinds of reasons, and after sexual assault or other kinds of sexual trauma, finding joy in intimacy and in your sexuality again can feel like an insurmountable task.

Disclaimer: I’m a survivor and a trauma-informed sexuality writer and educator. I am not a psychotherapist, psychologist, or any form of medical or mental health professional. Nothing here can or should replace competent, professional advice and support.

The first and most important thing I want you to take away from this post is this: your journey is your own and wherever you are now is okay. There is no correct way to recover from sexual trauma and there is no set path. Everyone’s experience is different and numerous factors impact healing.

This is not a how-to guide. It’s just a set of lessons I’ve learned that have helped me in my ongoing journey towards healing. Maybe they’ll help you too. Or maybe you’ll find something completely different that works for you! Either way is wonderful.

Pleasure and Intimacy After Sexual Trauma is Not a Linear Journey

Recovery is not a straight line. You won’t just get better and better each day until suddenly you wake up and find that you’re fully healed. At least, I don’t know any survivors whose experience has been this way.

You’ll have good days and bad days. Sometimes you might feel like you take two steps forward and one back. All of this is normal. Intimacy after sexual trauma is complicated, multi-faceted, and messy. You don’t need to berate yourself if it’s harder today than it was yesterday.

Be where you are today. Wherever that is, it’s okay.

A Healthy Sexual Relationship With Yourself Can Be Immensely Healing

Sex doesn’t have to involve another person unless you want it to. In fact, masturbation and other forms of self-touch, both sexual and non-sexual, can be a valuable part of healing from sexual violence and reclaiming pleasure as a radical act of self-love after trauma. Reclaiming intimacy after trauma includes intimacy with yourself.

Masturbation and solo sex is something you do entirely for yourself. You don’t have to perform or worry about pleasing someone else. You don’t even need to involve your genitals at all, if you don’t want to. The only agenda is to touch yourself in the ways that feel good, and stop when you want to stop.

Self-touch is a wonderful way to get to know ourselves, to be kind and loving and gentle with ourselves. Pay attention to your body and what feels good. Do you just want to run your hands over your skin for now? Perfect, do that. Does using a wand vibrator through your clothes help you access pleasure in a way that feels safe? Amazing.

Healing From Trauma is For You and You Don’t Owe Your Sexuality to Anyone

Many survivors feel anxious to recover from or “get over” their trauma because they want to be able to give their partner sex (or certain kind of sex.) Sometimes this pressure comes from the partner. Other times, the partner is completely supportive and this pressure is internal.

Either way: your healing is for you. Your trauma is yours and your sexuality is yours. You don’t owe it to anyone.

Yes, it’s wonderful to be able to share awesome sex with your partner(s) if you want to. But reclaiming intimacy after trauma has to be for yourself first. No-one has the right to access to your body. Not even if you’ve been married for fifty years.

You can heal with other people. In fact, love and support are essential for recovering from trauma. But you can’t heal for somebody else, and you don’t owe your partner(s) a certain kind of recovery.

There is No “Correct” Version of Healthy Sexuality After Trauma

Pleasure is personal and it can look countless different ways. A healthy relationship with your sexuality means something different to everyone.

Sadly, a lot of people still believe that the only correct sex is penetrative, heterosexual, monogamous, vanilla, and within the context of a serious relationship. Survivors of trauma who identify as queer, non-monogamous, kinky, asexual, demisexual, or highly sexual may find themselves pathologised, with professionals and loved ones alike attributing their identities and experiences to their trauma. This is tremendously damaging to survivors and is another form of taking away our agency.

Reclaiming pleasure after trauma means that you get to decide how your sexuality looks. If it’s happy, risk-aware, and consensual, you’re doing it right.

The Hardest Lesson About Intimacy and Pleasure After Sexual Trauma: Some Things Might Never Go Back to the Way They Were

I still grieve for the Amy who never met her abuser. I still grieve for the version of me who didn’t get pressured into sex in her teens, who didn’t lose half her twenties to psychological abuse, who didn’t get raped at a party in her thirties. Honestly? I will probably always carry that grief.

When it comes to reclaiming pleasure and intimacy after trauma, the hardest thing for me to learn was that some things will never be the way they might have been in that alternate timeline.

Because abuse, assault, violence? It changes us. It has a deep, profound, and lasting impact. I know that the things I’ve experienced will, in some ways, be with me forever. I’ll never go back to the way I was before.

But I am starting, in some small ways, to be okay with that. Nothing stays the same forever, and every experience we have shapes and molds us. So no, I’ll never be the person I might have been without those experiences. But I can grow into someone else. She might even be someone great.

If you need crisis support after sexual violence, please contact RAINN in the USA and Rape Crisis in the UK.

A man with his head in his hands. For a guest post by Ruby Bell on anxiety and panic attacks during sex

[Guest Post] Anxiety and Sex: How Panic Attacks During Sex Led to Me Getting the Help I Needed by Ruby Bell

Published on by Amy

I knew I wanted Ruby Bell (she/her) to guest blog for me the moment I read one of her several brilliant guest posts for Girl on the Net. Thankfully, she agreed and pitched me this fabulous piece all about anxiety and panic attacks during sex.

Amy x

Anxiety and Sex: How Panic Attacks During Sex Led to Me Getting the Help I Needed by Ruby Bell

My partner has me against the wall. He has me blindfolded and he’s using a very powerful vibrator on my clitoris. These are some of my absolute favourite things… so why am I moments away from having a full-on panic attack? 

Living with anxiety isn’t easy, but it is something we all know a lot more about these days. It’s brilliant that people are talking more about mental health. As a result, many of us are feeling a little less intimidated about sharing our true thoughts and feelings with those we love. Despite all of this progress, it doesn’t make having panic attacks any easier. Having panic attacks during sex is a part of anxiety not many people talk about. It’s certainly not something I ever expected to have to deal with. 

So, let’s talk about some of the science behind the madness of our minds. The release of oxytocin during sex magnifies emotions as well as promoting trust and empathy with your partner. This suggests that it can encourage a release of feelings that may have nothing to do with what is actually going on in that moment. Maybe you’ve had an argument with your mum recently. Maybe you’ve had a fucking awful week at work or maybe your mental health has just generally been suffering lately. Now you’re in this safe place with the person you trust the most, and all of these things are coming out. It’s quite common for some people to cry during sex, and this can easily go from a few tears to a panic attack if you suffer with anxiety or depression as well. 

The first time I had a panic attack during sex was only the second or third panic attack I’d ever had.

This meant I hadn’t yet learnt how to spot the signs of an attack rising or how to calm myself down and prevent it from getting any worse. I barely even knew what a panic attack was! This ended up with me having a pretty out of control, I-can’t-breathe, sobbing-my-heart-out kind of panic attack in front of my (still pretty new at the time) partner… who is standing there enjoying edging me, watching me writhe and squirm with a thick hard cock as he does. 

Fortunately, he dealt with the situation even better than I ever could have asked for. He turned the vibrator off, he removed my blindfold, and when I replaced it with my hands to try and hide my embarrassment he pulled me close to him and held me against his chest. He asked if he had done anything wrong. I sobbed that he hadn’t. I was enjoying it and I didn’t know why this was happening which actually panicked me even more. He told me it was fine. He told me to breathe and he walked me around the house reminding me to keep breathing.

At the time, I thought it was strange and a little comical that two semi-turned-on people were walking around the house together, completely naked for no apparent reason as my face dripped with tears and mascara and my chest heaved with heavy, struggling breaths. I know now that the walking helped to ground me. It helped distract from the panic as well as allowing me to feel close to and loved by my partner. 

I’m lucky. Now that I have worked on my mental health and my panic attacks in particular, if one does start to rise in me I know how to calm myself down. I can reign it in before the main symptoms begin around 90% of the time. But having panic attacks during sex did two wonderful things for me – although I didn’t know there was anything wonderful about it at the time of course.

First of all, it changed the dynamic of my relationship completely.

Up until the point of that first attack, my partner and I were still holding back things during sex. I was being careful not to come across as overly emotional or “crazy.” Looking back, it was probably the reason that first attack happened. I hadn’t been honest with my partner about the feelings I was having in our relationship. And I was hiding who I really was, which is never a good thing.

This panic attack during sex led to me and my partner connecting emotionally on a whole new level. I learned that my partner was not just the tough guy exterior that came across. Showing my own vulnerability and opening up to him allowed him to do the same with me. This led to us having a much stronger relationship in the long run. I now know I can talk to my partner if I’m feeling anxious, depressed, panicked or anything else. I can tell him if I don’t even know what’s causing those feelings and we can deal with it together.

The second thing that first attack during sex did for me was make it clear I did have a problem that needed to be addressed. Up until that point I had struggled with anxiety for years without ever really facing it. I had several extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms which were in fact making things worse. Having my partner walk me around and remind me to breathe led me to learning how to deal with these feelings effectively. From that experience, I learned coping techniques that I still use today. Having that outburst in front of another person meant I had to face what was going on. It meant someone else could see that actually I wasn’t okay, I wasn’t coping. This led to me getting the help and support I so badly needed. It also helped me to work on communication about my mental health overall. 

I hope that anyone else dealing with anxiety or panic attacks during sex – or at any other time – takes it as a sign that they need to deal with the emotions causing these attacks. Listen to the fact that your body has felt comfortable enough to open up fully in front of the person you are making love with. I think we all need to listen more to what our bodies and emotions are telling us. And perhaps if we take the time to stop and listen to ourselves, then there is a good chance things won’t ever need to get as far as a panic attack.

About the Writer

Ruby Bell writes erotica and is passionate about sharing her filthy sexual experiences and fantasies. Her sex-positive writing also includes mental health content, self-care, and educational pieces. She wants to spread both arousal and information! She loves BDSM, chubby women and growing her own herbs and spices.

Header image for a guest post on psychosexual therapy for a sex positive Christian couple by Christine Woolgar. Image features gold wedding bands and a bridal veil on a white background. Text reads: from clueless virgin to enthusiastic wife by Christine Woolgar

[Guest Post] From Clueless Virgin to Enthusiastic Wife (with Psychosexual Therapy Along the Way) by Christine Woolgar

Published on by Amy

Today I’m so excited to be hosting my first guest post. It comes from my friend Christine Woolgar, a sex positive Christian writer and thinker. I have known Christine for a few years and been an admirer of her writing for about as long. I am honoured that she has chosen to share this intense, vulnerable, wonderful story about her relationship, having sex for the first time after marriage and with very little knowledge about her body or sexuality, and ultimately the breakthroughs that came with getting psychosexual therapy.

_________________

TW/CN: This post doesn’t describe abuse, but it is loaded with intra-personal dialogue that enables/allows abuse.

From Clueless Virgin to Enthusiastic Wife (with Psychosexual Therapy Along the Way) by Christine Woolgar, Sex Positive Christian Writer and Thinker

Night 1 minus 5 days: My period is late. Darn, I thought my body had fully adjusted to the pill already. I don’t want to have sex on my period but I don’t want an argument on Night 1. I don’t want disappointment on Night 1. So I tell him now that I won’t want sex on Night 1. He agrees. We both figure it’s for the best as we’ll be tired from the wedding anyway.

Night 1: I see him naked for the first time. Wow. And just a bit scary too. But it’s OK, because I’m not taking off my knickers. Not tonight. It’s not the night I had envisaged but it’s a good night.

Night 2: I consent to taking my knickers off. We caress each other and have fun together. He doesn’t come.

Day 3: I’m kinda aroused, but he doesn’t come. Odd. I thought it’d be easy for him.

Night 3: A bit more intensive tonight, but still taking things slowly and gently.

Day 4: I think my hymen has broken. I muse on the idea that I am no longer a virgin by some definitions. And yet neither of us has come. Not what I had expected. What is wrong with me? Why is this so hard?

Night 4: I’m naked and he’s not getting hard. What is wrong with me? Am I unattractive?

Day 5: He is finally hard enough and I’m relaxed enough, but he doesn’t come. What is wrong with me?

Night 5: This is getting silly now. I feel alone. I talk to him about it and it helps.

Night 6: We caress each other. Variable arousal. He doesn’t come.

Night 7: He still doesn’t come.

Night 8: Finally! I am genuinely happy for him.

As for me, I always knew I’d be the difficult one. Can’t expect to orgasm immediately. No woman can. I knew I was lazy with my kegel exercises. It’s my fault really that I haven’t come yet.

Day 11: Honeymoon is over and we’re back at marriage prep. I learn there are couples out there who’ve taken a year to consummate their marriage. So why am I all upset about taking seven days? I don’t have issues. I must be being picky.

Week 3: By now it’s not too much of a problem for him any more. But it stings when I pee after sex.

Weeks 4-5: It keeps on stinging badly when I pee after sex. I search for causes on the internet. Not helpful.

I feel madly uncomfortable after sex. But I don’t understand why. I know sex is important. I know sex is important for him. But I also know it’s not entirely straightforward for him, so whenever he gets hard I just have to make myself available, otherwise it’ll never happen.

Months 2-6: It takes forever for me to get aroused. I count the days between sex. Then I feel really bad when it’s longer than seven days. I still feel uncomfortable.

He’s always the one who initiates. I say “I don’t mind”. But I don’t want it. Sometimes I say “I don’t know” – that means I really don’t want it. I don’t tell him I don’t want to have sex with him. That would be selfish. It would make me a failure as a wife.

If the marriage fails, it’s my fault.

I try squeezing my pelvic floor muscles during sex. OW! PAIN! BAD! Ow! That hurts! Not good! Do not want! Note to self: do NOT do that again!

I’m picking up my pill and I tell the woman there that I’m in pain after sex. She doesn’t know what to do. She talks to a colleague and comes back saying it’ll go away with more sex. I’m in tears.

He says he doesn’t like seeing me in pain. He says he wants me to enjoy sex. I wonder if that will ever be possible.

I get better at judging my body’s state of arousal so it doesn’t hurt (most times) (much) afterwards. I’m using lube, but I hate the stuff. He asks me what I want, but I don’t know what I want. I am indifferent to his touch.

Months 6-18: Friday evenings: Tired or meeting friends. Saturday mornings: Maybe there’s a chance, but it depends on how much we need to do that day. Saturday evening: Have supper before all desire drains away. Sunday morning: I need to be up to play hymns and all that jazz. Sunday evening: I’m stressing because we haven’t had sex all weekend. Forget arousal. During the week: Forget arousal.

We speak to a friend and he encourages us not to focus too much on coming, but on enjoying our time together. It helps. Marginally.

It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I can bear to give. Sometimes I get away with just offering cuddles. But it’s not the same as sex and we both know it. How long is this going to last?

I tell him what I mean by “I don’t mind” and “I don’t know”. And I tell him that I hardly ever want sex. I realise that I’m actually afraid of his penis and have been since Night 1. Realising this helps. Marginally.

When he’s physically affectionate, I feel nothing in response. I just let him touch me and wait for him to stop.

Month 17: I’m talking to HR about stress and say that my sex life is through the floor. I’m in tears. HR asks how my husband’s handling this; I say he’s being a saint. But there is this aching sadness inside me.

Month 20: I’m talking to someone about it. I try and explain that I have no good memory of sex. Every time I try and have sex it’s like I have to talk myself round that it won’t be a bad thing. I have nothing to look forward to in sex. I’ve learned not to be in pain, but it’s SO HARD to get aroused enough that I’m not in pain.

There are only two things that actively get me aroused: thinking about degrading myself and the thought of being tied up. Problem is, I don’t want to degrade myself and he doesn’t want to tie me up. He’s studied too much history to want to do that to me.

Month 22: I’m talking to my pastor/minister/vicar person about it. He says it’s important that the problem is sorted. He says there’s no shame in getting professional help.

Month 25: I’m picking up my pill again and I’m in tears. The woman there refers me to a sexual health clinic.

I get a letter in the post inviting me to make an assessment appointment for psychosexual therapy. It says that they can’t help couples where there is complete loss of arousal as this comes from relationship issues. We don’t have relationship issues. Letter goes in the bin. They can’t help me. I must be being whiney.

Month 27: He buys me some fantastic clothes to help me feel good about myself. They help. Marginally.

Month 28: I tell him just how bad I feel about not wanting to have sex with him. I tell him how I feel unfaithful. He tells me that I don’t need to feel like I have to save the marriage alone. He made a vow too. That helps. A lot.

Well, it helps me feel better about myself. Doesn’t help me get aroused.

Month 30: It’s pill time again. Tears again. This woman I speak to actually books us an assessment for psychosexual therapy.

Month 31: We have the assessment. She says the clinic can help. She says it’s a six-month waiting list. We can wait. We’ve waited this long.

She says it’s no bad thing to think of degrading oneself to get turned on. But I don’t want to. And I don’t see why degrading myself should be the ONLY way I can get turned on.

Am I asking too much when I want to be turned on by thinking about the one I love? Seriously?

Month 33: He buys me more fantastic clothes to help me feel good about myself. Positive effect is short-lived. I begin to feel bad about the money spent.

Month 34: He says he’s been doing some research and there are these things called “rope dresses”. He says in Japan, tying a rope around something can symbolise ownership. He says there’s a whole art form called “shibari”. It doesn’t have to be degrading, he says. He says he’s willing to give it a try if I am.

We start learning about rope. I begin to not dread sex.

Month 36: I’m getting better at understanding my body so that I don’t consent until I’m ready for him. I realise one day I’ve made a mistake: I’m not ready and he’s inside, but if he carries on he’s going to hurt me. I ask him to stop. He stops and withdraws gently. No hard feelings.

He wants me to tell him if he’s going to hurt me. He always has. I’m no longer afraid to be completely honest with him.

Month 38: I tell HR that we’ve reached the top of the waiting list and I’m going to need regular time off work to go to the sessions. They’re cool with this.

He tells his department head that we’ve reached the top of the waiting list and he’s going to need regular time off work to go to the sessions. Department head is cool with this. Line manager however is gutted she didn’t happen to be in when he asked. Not because he’s taking time off, but because she’ll never know the reason why he asked for it.

Month 39: Psychosexual therapy begins. Therapist is like: “So you’re no longer experiencing pain during or after sex; you already know that you love each other, even when you don’t want sex; you’re getting enjoyment out of this shibari stuff. Kinda makes me wonder what the problem is.”

It’s official. There is no problem. We are wasting therapist’s time. We’re bunking off work. We have massively unrealistic expectations and should just get over ourselves. After all, no therapist can PROMISE orgasms or satisfying sex.

I move department at work and need to tell my new line manager about the time off. There’s a moment when I just don’t know how to say it. But when he hears the words “psychosexual therapy” he nods and I don’t need to say anything more. He doesn’t think I’m making a fuss.

Month 40: We’re not having sex and I don’t have to feel guilty about it because it’s required as part of therapy.

There’s relief. Though I miss doing rope.

Following all the exercises our therapist gives us. Must show we’re serious and co-operative.

Buy helpful book, Becoming Orgasmic, recommended by the therapist. Massively unhelpful shop assistant waves it around and reads out its title loudly. Not impressed.

Therapist suggests I masturbate. I tell her I never have and I don’t want to start now. Besides, what difference would it make? Touch doesn’t turn me on.

Month 41: I switch shower products at the therapist’s suggestion. I can now come out of the shower and feel remotely comfortable about my body. Wasn’t the case before. I also get proper lessons about the human reproductive system. Majorly embarrassed at my previous level of knowledge (read: lack of knowledge).

Therapist is like: “So on Night 1, you were both virgins and neither of you had ever masturbated in your entire lives. I’d say having vaginal sex after seven days is pretty impressive.” Feel-good feeling quickly gets swamped by feeling that I am wasting the therapist’s time.

I begin to enjoy our physical time together. Though I don’t have orgasms. At least, I don’t think so. I’m not sure. He begins to lose the fear of hurting me unintentionally.

Month 42: Therapist says we’re making progress and can cut down sessions to once a fortnight. I confide my long-standing sexual fantasy with the therapist.

Then I come out of therapy and think about my sexual fantasy. I ask myself if there is a way I can think of it (and myself within it) that isn’t degrading. And I realise that there actually is a way. So I picture myself in my fantasy – or rather, within a particular story that resonates with my fantasy. And suddenly I’m wet. I picture myself in another story I love and OH MY GOODNESS I AM SO WET!

I talk and talk and talk with him about power and types of power and all these very sexual thoughts I’m having.

Now when he touches me, I welcome it.

I wake up the next day and I’m wet the whole time. Just as well I’m not playing hymns. I remember nothing of the sermon but cry buckets with a friend after the service. I don’t tell him why, just that it’s a good thing.

Next day, I commute to work and I’m wet. I try to work, but my goodness, every five seconds I get turned on. Are people going to notice me going to the toilet so often? My knickers are soaked all day long.

Next day: Wet all day. Can barely think all day. When is this going to end?

The whole week, even the slightest thing gets me turned on. I gradually cool down, which is actually a good thing.

Next session and therapist says we’re done. We book a follow up session in four months.

Now when he touches me I beg him not to stop.

Month 44: We’re a bit stressed, but go back on the ropes and find it’s a disappointment. We decide to try again when less stressed.

Month 45: Follow up therapy session. We talk over the previous month. I reckon last month was a blip but generally speaking we’re on the up. We book another follow up for three months’ time – we can always cancel if we don’t need it.

Month 46: Back on the ropes and enjoying it.

I’m reading about other people’s experiences of sex and realise I DEFINITELY have not had an orgasm yet. But hey, who cares? I’m having a great time even without them.

I’m relaxed enough now that I let him touch me where I’ve never let him touch me before: directly on my clitoris.

Month 47: He’s stimulating me and it gets proper intense. Oh my goodness, what is this? Don’t stop! I scream. Now THAT was an orgasm! Wow! OK, I need to recover now.

So does he. He wasn’t expecting me to scream and only kept going because I was giving continuous active consent.

Next day: second orgasm (a less dramatic experience for us both, but no less satisfying).

The next day: third orgasm.

And the next day: don’t need to keep count.

Month 49: Last therapy session. I tell therapist that looking back, there was definitely something wrong, but there isn’t now.

I now know I wasn’t a time waster. More relief.

Sex life gets better and easier. We can enjoy rope but we don’t need it to enjoy sex. I squeeze my pelvic floor muscles during sex. No pain this time.

Month 52: We’re talking about consent. We talk about the early days when I didn’t want sex and he got frustrated. We talk about the upset that put on me and the pressure he didn’t even realise was there for me to say yes. We’re realising there were times when I said yes, because I couldn’t allow myself to say no. He is deeply, deeply upset at the thought of violating my consent (his words), even if it was something he only did because I deliberately hid my true feelings from him. We both know better now. We share big hugs.

Month 56: I wake up in the early hours of the morning. I lie still so I won’t disturb my dearly beloved. I start to think about him caressing me. And then, almost before I know what’s happening, my body gives me a gorgeously gentle orgasm. It is the first orgasm I have ever had without being physically touched. Wow.

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About Christine:

For anyone curious to know a bit more about me, I would describe myself first and foremost as a Christian theological thinker. I live in the UK with my husband, and have a passion for shaping the church’s attitudes in areas around consent, sexuality and equality because… well, you can probably guess why from this post. I am unafraid to tackle awkward questions and I’m an unashamed critic of Fifty Shades.

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Footnote for anyone concerned about the non-consent described in this story:

I used to think in terms of male privilege and I didn’t know it. Yes, that terrifies me. No, no one had taught either of us about enthusiastic consent. Yes, I am working on changing this. I have blogged in more depth about how I now frame consent in a long term relationship and you can read about that on a fabulous blog run by Ashley Easter. Yes, she’s a Christian blogger. No, this post doesn’t talk about religion. Or marriage. Despite the title.

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Longer footnote for anyone concerned that my husband and I, as sex positive Christians, are at risk of going to hell and/or besmirching the name of the church:

I thought long and hard about sharing this story in this much detail.

A lot of what is here is already in the public domain. Back in 2011 (around month 26) I made a short video in which I disclosed publicly that we didn’t have sex in the first seven days of our marriage; the narrative of that video that was also published in 2013 on a multi-author Christian blog. In February 2016 (that is, two years after month 56) I blogged for them again about being on the “receiving end” of sex, and disclosed that my husband and I had psychosexual therapy. Shortly after, I blogged on my own site about our learning experiences of going through sex therapy, writing an open letter to a Christian evangelical couple who I knew were considering it.

I know that these posts have really helped people.

Now, I grant you, none of them were as explicit as this writing is. And although anyone who follows my blog knows that I’m not afraid to write about BDSM, this is the first time I’ve disclosed that my husband and I actually practice anything that remotely resembles BDSM.

Yet this is my story and I believe that sharing it has the potential to really help people. For some people, it might open up conversations on Christianity that wouldn’t happen otherwise. Yes, I have asked myself whether it’s right to disclose this much detail. No, I’m not 100% certain that I’ve got it all right. But then, I don’t think I can be certain because whatever I do, I won’t please everyone.

I decided to disclose about the shibari because if that hadn’t been within our story, then I’d never have started to engage with people in the BDSM scene. You see, around month 43, my husband asked whether we should starting trying to make connections with people on social media and engage in discussions about BDSM, given that we had benefited from the idea of shibari. It was just a question, but as soon as he asked it the Holy Spirit was persistently on his case, saying “Yes, this!” And that’s what led to my blog. Gosh, that’s what led to me being even capable of writing the stuff that’s on my blog. And it is bearing good fruit. So if you’re worried about me, judge me by my fruit. My times are in His hands.