Blogaround

Links not related to the antichrist:

1. Social justice and empiricism (June 27) "Social justice could be understood, derogatorily, as a series of rules.  You can’t use this word as a noun, only as an adjective.  You can’t use that word, unless you have a certain ethnic identity.  Here’s a long list of things that must be marked with trigger warnings.  You must include representation of minority groups within any work of fiction, but you’re also not allowed to do that without getting input from the represented group.  I think this must feel constraining to people, like they’re not allowed to think and form their own opinion, they’re only allowed to give in to an inconsistent set of demands."

2. Impossible for Men, Unremarkable for Women (2022) "The assumption that women generally don’t experience sexual attraction (and therefore ace women are unremarkable) coexists with the assumption that women should (selectively) provide sex (to men)."

3. Wingnuts Exactly As Calm As You'd Expect Over Mamdani's NYC Primary Win (June 28) I saw this a few days ago and didn't really pay much attention to it, it's just the typical unhinged hate we always see from extremely-online MAGAs. But then I realized, these people are saying that no Muslim should ever be in a leadership position ever, because that would be the same thing as 9/11. This is absolutely bonkers and inexcusable. If you ever see any of these people's names in the future, in some kind of context where they're being presented as serious people worth listening to, well, don't forget this.

4. Supreme Court's conservatives give "defund" Planned Parenthood efforts a win (June 27) "On Thursday, the U.S. Supreme Court’s conservatives blocked Medicaid recipients from suing South Carolina over its decision to reject Planned Parenthood as a covered Medicaid provider."

Now is a good time to donate to Planned Parenthood.

5. Hard to imagine a worse time to deport Afghan refugees, human rights advocates say (June 28) "But this year, Iran and Pakistan have stepped up the deportations."

6. 200,000 March In Budapest Pride, Refusing To Capitulate To Anti-LGBTQ+ Law (June 29) "In the face of mounting attacks, it’s easy for LGBTQ+ people in the United States to feel crushed beneath the weight of it all. But moments like Budapest remind us that even under the most repressive regimes, our communities still rise."

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Links related to the antichrist:

1. SCOTUS conservatives end "universal injunctions" in birthright citizenship cases (June 28) "The majority, Jackson wrote authorized a 'zone of lawlessness' with its ruling. In one zone, she wrote, 'law reigns' through court rulings protecting 'named plaintiffs.' In the second zone, however, the executive can enforce unconstitutional actions against 'those who lack the wherewithal or ability to go to court' — a reality that 'will disproportionately impact the poor, the uneducated, and the unpopular.'"

The Supreme Court did not actually rule on the question of birthright citizenship. They just ruled that the president can issue a blatantly unconstitutional order, which causes very real problems in people's lives, and federal courts can't block it, they can only say it doesn't apply to whoever brings a case to court about it.

We'll have to see how this goes. It seems untenable.

Also: What is birthright citizenship and what happens after the Supreme Court ruling? (June 27) "The strategic shift required three court filings: one to add class allegations to the initial complaint; a second to move for class certification; and a third asking a district court in Maryland to issue 'a temporary restraining order or preliminary injunction asking for relief for that putative class,' Powell said."

2. The Trump administration is building a national citizenship data system (June 29) The claim is that this can help states check their voter rolls for any non-citizens trying to vote. On the one hand I'm like "yeah there *should* be a way to easily check if someone is a citizen, for voting" but on the other hand I don't trust these clowns.

Also, what happened to the subculture of conservative Christians who always come out in droves to protest any kind of centralized system like this, because it's "the mark of the beast" that the "antichrist" is forcing on everybody?

3. USAID cuts could lead to 14 million deaths over the next five years, researchers say (June 30, via) "'The numbers are striking, but we are not the only group that did this kind of analysis,' said Davide Rasella, a research professor at the Barcelona Institute for Global Health, who coordinated the study. Other research groups, he said, 'came up with similar magnitudes — millions and millions of deaths that will be caused by the defunding of USAID.'"

4. DOJ announces plans to prioritize cases to revoke citizenship (June 30) The example in this article is someone who was convicted of distributing child sexual abuse material. Okay, I agree there is a case to be made for revoking citizenship for someone who committed a serious crime. But I don't trust these MAGAs at all. This plan to "prioritize" revoking citizenship, it's not about law or justice. It comes across like they're trying to come up with any reason they can to deport large numbers of people.

Blogaround

1. Mark Zuckerberg Preps for More Ethnic Cleansing (January 15) "You may be left wondering what the big deal is. After all, YOU are so smart and savvy and cool that you haven’t used a Meta product since Facebook opened its doors to people who didn’t even have an official university email address. Allow me to take you back to 2017, when security forces in Myanmar conducted a genocide, butchering the Rohingya ethnic minority, resulting in thousands raped, tens of thousands dead, and hundreds of thousands forced from their homes to become refugees."

2. Trump to make historic move toward revoking birthright citizenship (January 20) "Trump wants to reinterpret the phrasing 'subject to the jurisdiction thereof' to mean that the federal government would not recognize automatic birthright citizenship for children born in the U.S. to parents without legal status, incoming White House officials told reporters on a call on Monday, speaking on condition of anonymity to discuss upcoming actions."

I've read some other articles which clarify this isn't *only* about children whose parents don't have legal status- it also applies if their parents are legal immigrants on a temporary visa. 

Anyway, NOT COOL to target children like this. WTF? 

I support all immigrants. As I've said before, I was shocked to my core when I found out that some people- many people- most people- just aren't allowed to travel to certain countries, just because of where they were born. The US simply will not give visas to people from certain countries, because those countries are judged to be so poor and desperate that there's a significant chance those people might overstay their visas rather than going back. That's what radicalized me. I always took for granted that I can choose to live in any country I want to- turns out I have that opportunity because I'm an English-speaking American. Everyone should be able to live in whatever country they want to.

(Note, though, that many countries don't have birthright citizenship. China doesn't have birthright citizenship. But the situation in China is completely different than the US. The US is "a nation of immigrants," and birthright citizenship is one of the things that makes America great.)

And another NPR article on immigration: Migrants left in despair at the border as asylum system shuts down (January 20) "A few dozen migrants had already scored appointments. Some of them had waited almost a year in Mexico, applying every day for the chance to cross the border legally. And then, within minutes, their dream of making a new life in the U.S. was undone."

I'm so mad about this. What does the orange antichrist know about trying so hard, traveling so far, going to a completely foreign place, hoping to make a better life for your family? He doesn't know anything.

But anyway, instead of being mad, let's donate to RAICES or the ACLU. Fight the legal battles to protect immigrants.

3. Kent Hovind’s latest ‘wife’ says bye-bye (January 16)

4. A Year of Empty Threats and a “Smokescreen” Policy: How the State Department Let Israel Get Away With Horrors in Gaza (January 15, via)

5. Former head of Planned Parenthood Cecile Richards has died (January 20) 

6. Photos: Families reunite as the Israel-Hamas ceasefire takes effect (January 19)

7. A Line By Line Analysis Of Trump's Big Anti-Trans Executive Order (January 22) I'm really worried about this too.

That happened to me too

Cover page for the "Ace in the UK Report." Image source.

[content note: medical trauma, vaginismus, explicit descriptions of gynecological exams]

The Ace in the UK Report was published recently, about problems that asexual/ ace-spectrum people commonly face. The whole thing is worth reading- it covers a bunch of topics- negative experiences with coming out, discrimination at work, discrimination in healthcare settings, etc. In particular, pages 24-25 are about how it's difficult for aces to access IVF- I had seen that mentioned in lists of examples of legal discrimination against asexuals, but I didn't know any details about it, so I'm glad to see this report talking about it. And page 26, "Smear tests"- that's what I was to talk about here.

"Smear tests"- or, typically I've heard the term "pap smear"- maybe "smear test" is the British term for it, and "pap smear" is what Americans call it. This is a test where the doctor has to stick a tool into the patient's vagina, get a sample of cells from the cervix, and then the sample will be tested for cervical cancer.

Many participants cited confusion and discomfort in regard to smear tests or cervical screenings. There are unclear guidelines surrounding who requires these tests, as well as a lack of support for asexual patients and those who are not sexually active or have not had penetrative sex. While cervical cancer is more common in those over the age of 25, there might also be an assumption that those over that age are sexually active and thus more likely to contract the HPV virus. 

This issue is more likely to impact asexual women and other people with vaginas, and negative experiences – as well as a lack of clarity – in this area could lead to asexual people missing necessary medical checks. 

One ace respondent said that a smear test caused her to experience “excruciating pain” that left her in tears, as she hadn’t had sex before. Beforehand, she had received a leaflet that said that the experience might be “uncomfortable.” She had told her doctors previously that she wasn’t sexually active but felt that she wasn’t believed. She was still made to take pregnancy tests, and one doctor once said, 

“You’re a twenty-five-year-old woman of course you’re sexually active.” 

As she has used birth control since she was 13 years old, she says that “every doctor” assumes it’s because she’s been having sex from a young age. When she experienced pain during her smear test, the practitioner was at a loss of what to do and “didn’t have time for it.” She felt that they were being judgemental, even after she explained why it was painful, and it made her not want to have a smear test again. 

Another respondent was told that if you’re not sexually active, then you don’t need a smear test, but she was made to have one when visiting a hospital for another issue. She says that they made a point of needing “virgin equipment” for her and that she felt judged by a nurse after admitting that she hadn’t had a smear test before because she hadn’t had sex before. Afterwards, her gynaecologist referred to her not having had sex before as her “complex history.” 

At the age of fifty-five, one participant said that she was unsure whether she was supposed to have smear tests because of her asexuality. She has asked doctors and said that even if they don’t know whether it’s needed but she often feels “pressurised” into having one. “It’s a terrible situation to be in.”

She has said that doctors “don’t know how to deal with asexuals […] We might not be getting the support that we should be getting or having the test that we should have, or they should know for sure that we don’t need to have them.”

One participant was hesitant to get a smear test because they hadn’t had sex before. Their nurse was “really concerned that I’d never had sex before,” and reportedly said“Why have you never had sex before? That’s not right,” and referred them to a psychosexual therapist. 

I ... yeah.

Yeah, that's what it's like. Especially the "excruciating pain" part.

I've blogged about how I used to have vaginismus, and how most of my experiences with gynecologists have been bad. (The "Ace in the UK Report" doesn't mention the word "vaginismus"; I kind of wish they did, because that's the keyword you need in order to find more information about what's actually going on with your body.) Vaginismus is a health condition where the vagina muscles involuntarily close it up, so that penetration is extremely painful, difficult, or even impossible. 

For me, vaginismus was connected to my asexuality, but I had never seen this talked about in terms of "this is a problem that AFAB aces may commonly have." (Oh and on top of that, at first I didn't want to blog about vaginismus because I thought it would "invalidate" my asexuality. A lot of "ace 101" resources say things like "Asexuality only means not experiencing sexual attraction- it doesn't mean there's anything physically wrong with your body. Aces can physically experience arousal and all that stuff the same as anyone else- their bodies work the same as everyone else!" And here I was with a medical problem that seemed to be connected to, or caused by, or causing, my asexuality.) I've blogged about my own experiences, and I've seen a few other aces blogging about having similar bad experiences with gynecologists, and I've had aces leave comments on my blog saying "I have vaginismus too." I have suspected there is a connection, and I have suspected that vaginismus is more common among aces than in the general population, but I can't make claims like that with such big generalizations, because I don't know, I only know my own experience. This "Ace in the UK Report" is the first time I've seen this discussed as being connected to asexuality in a generalized way.

(I mean, the "Ace in the UK Report" section about this is just anecdotes rather than overall statistics, so this still doesn't show evidence that having bad times with gynecologists is *more common* for aces. But it makes sense- aces are likely to have little or no experience with vaginal penetration, and gynecologists are approaching pap smears with the assumption that vaginal penetration is totally normal and no big deal to the patient.)

When I read this, in the report, I felt sad, for 2 reasons:

1. This was a really bad thing that happened to me, and I don't want anyone else to experience it because it was bad.
2. If it's really true that this is a more common problem for aces, then we can imagine an alternate universe where this information is more widely known, and I could have known that I was at risk for having painful pap smears/ pelvic exams, and I could have protected myself better.

Yeah... it wasn't just that "a bad thing happened", but that I had no framework to even understand what had happened. Because of purity culture, I thought "I've never had sex [or, later, 'I've only had sex with 1 person'] and therefore there can't possibly be anything wrong with my body. Everyone starts out inexperienced and this is the best-case scenario, their body is pure and perfect, and then having sex with lots of people is what causes problems." And I thought that even though there's no reason *I* would need to know anything about my own genitals (because I'm a "good girl"), the doctor would surely understand all of that, they would know how pelvic exams are supposed to go, because they're a doctor.

Approaching it with those assumptions, I couldn't imagine there was anything wrong with me, or anything wrong with what the doctors were doing, and therefore my conclusion was that pelvic exams and pap smears are just supposed to hurt like hell. That's the way it is.

(I know I've mentioned this on my blog before- one day I happened to be reading Planned Parenthood's web page about pelvic exams, and it said it's not supposed to hurt, and I was just COMPLETELY SHOCKED. That was trauma- finding this out after I had suffered through it multiple times, and thought it was normal, and it turns out it's not, and I deserved better.)

But even though I didn't have a framework to actually understand what was happening back then, part of me still knew that it was right for me to respond by taking steps to protect myself, rather than just naively wandering into a doctor's office and letting them do whatever they wanted. I started to set boundaries. First, I decided that if a doctor hurt me or did not respect my consent (though I wasn't able to put it into those words), then I wouldn't go to see that same doctor ever again. Later, I decided to always bring my husband with me. And so on, gradually building up a methodology where I prioritize my ability to give informed consent- and revoke consent if necessary.

It wasn't until after I gave birth vaginally and then discovered that sex wasn't difficult any more, that I was able to see the whole picture. That's how I figured out that I used to have vaginismus- I was only able to figure it out once I no longer had it, because the difference was so huge, it made it so obvious that something had been very wrong before. Suddenly, my experience of sex started to be similar to the ways I had heard people talking about sex... they talk about vaginal sex like it's something that women desire, something that feels good for women, and I had always been so completely boggled by that. I had always wondered, "why doesn't anyone talk about how you need to very very carefully insert the penis at a very exact specific angle because if you get it wrong, it will hurt so bad you have to just give up on sex and try again a different day?" and other things along those lines. I guess for most people who have a vagina, that hasn't happened to them. The things that defined my entire experience of what sex was- apparently for most people, those things just do not happen.

(I say "see the whole picture" but actually there are still some parts where I'm missing information. I really would like to know how patients normally respond to pelvic exams, and what the doctor is expecting to happen. [And why they always act so completely confused when I initiate a conversation about consent before allowing them to do anything. I don't actually use the word "consent" because that would come across too confrontational; I say stuff along the lines of "if it hurts, will you stop?" and they act like they never in a million years expected anything like that to happen. WHICH COMPLETELY PROVES HOW NECESSARY IT IS TO HAVE THAT CONVERSATION.] I want to know what is taught in gynecologist school about consent, pain, and vaginismus.)

Anyway, here's what I want to say. My advice. What you need to know before your first gynecologist visit. If you have no experience with vaginal penetration, then maybe it will all be fine, or maybe it will be painful. Since you have no experience, you don't have the information to know which way it will go. Definitely do some investigating on your own, so you can find that out. [Explicit description follows] Put lube on your fingers and try to put 2 fingers in your vagina. (If you don't know what lube is- it's also called "personal lubricant" and it's in the same section of the grocery store where condoms are. Probably called the "family planning" section or something like that, near the pharmacy. Here's a link to one such product. Oh and also, if you end up using A LOT of lube, then you should wipe it off when you're done and also go to the bathroom and pee, so you won't get a urinary tract infection.) If you're able to do it without an issue, then probably the doctor's appointment will be fine. If you can't do it at all, you're going to have problems with the doctor. If you can do it after spending a lot of time very very carefully trying it- well, this is okay, at least you know it's possible, but this is still going to be an issue at the doctor's because the doctor isn't going to be that careful, they just charge in as if vaginal penetration is no problem for you at all. So you will have to have a serious talk with the doctor first, and not let them do that. Make them do it in a careful way.

I wish I didn't have to write this kind of explicit stuff on the internet- but if I don't tell people this, then who will? And I feel like maybe I'm being too negative about doctors- hey, maybe your experience will be totally different from mine, maybe you'll have a doctor who prioritizes consent and knows vaginismus is a real thing. But... yeah I hope it doesn't come to this, but my advice is to be prepared to have to protect yourself. Even to the point of leaving without doing the exam at all, if the doctor doesn't take these concerns seriously.

And maybe someone is reading this and saying "I'm just a sweet innocent girl, and here's Perfect Number telling me to *gasp* put my fingers in my vagina, that's so rebellious, so sinful, there's no way I could do that." First of all, it's not rebellious or sinful- it's your own body, why would you not be allowed to do that? And second, okay, if you don't want to, then you don't have to do it- I very much understand that. If you don't want to, then there's no reason you would ever *need* to put something in your vagina. But here's the important bit: If you've never done it to yourself, definitely don't let someone else do it to you. If you're not willing to put fingers in your vagina (you can wear disposable gloves if that makes you feel better) then that's fine- but cancel your gynecologist appointment too. Don't go in there not knowing if vaginal penetration is painful for you or not. Don't do that.

Okay let's run through a couple other misconceptions that someone (me) might have. Maybe you're like "well of course there's no reason that *I* would have to know anything about my own genitals, because I am pure, I am a good girl, and of course the doctor is an expert in this so they will totally understand what's up with my body." No, this is not how it works. The doctor is an expert in vaginas *in general* but if your situation is very different from the average person, the doctor might not handle it right at all. And, by the way, not having any experience with vaginal penetration IS VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE AVERAGE PERSON.

And... I was "pure"... I thought "so what if my experience is different from the average person? It's because I'm morally superior. We're not SUPPOSED to have sex before marriage." And that meant it was impossible for me to consider the idea that being "pure" could be a problem.

Continuing on with the misconceptions that someone (me) might have: Maybe you're like "well, when my partner and I attempt to have penis-in-vagina sex, it's really confusing and difficult and I feel like there must be something I'm not understanding about it- but of course for the doctor it won't be like that, of course the doctor will totally understand how to put something in the vagina in a way that's not painful." You're like "well it's just because I didn't have good sex ed, I am having trouble figuring out how to have sex, but the doctor went to school for this so it will be fine." You're like "I don't even let me partner put his penis in, *I* put it in, because my partner doesn't know how to do it in a way that's not painful, but for the doctor that won't be an issue, surely the doctor will know how it works." Uh, no, this is all completely backwards. If you have a partner, and you're in a long-term sexual relationship with them, and they've taken the time to really care about you and understand you, AND they can't even figure out how vaginal penetration can work for you in a non-painful way, then a doctor (who is a stranger to you and who assumes this is not an issue at all) DEFINITELY will not be able to do it either- and they'll do a much worse job than your partner.

(Or, in other words, earlier in this post I said if you have no experience with vaginal penetration, then you don't know if it's painful for you or not- well if you DO have experience with vaginal penetration, and your experience is that it's always painful, well yeah then you can be certain you will have problems with gynecologists. Sorry I have to tell you that, but that's the truth.)

Wish I didn't have to write about this on the internet!

Anyway. I don't know if I'm really capable of giving good advice about this, because I only know my own experience. I have no idea if other girls and/or people with vaginas will face these same problems and traumas... I have no idea if my advice applies to other people besides me. But I just... I can't not talk about this, because these are the things *I* needed to know back then, and there was no one to tell me.

For me, this is related to my asexuality. And the "Ace in the UK Report" suggests that it could be a common issue for other aces too. That's... that makes me feel bad, because I don't want anyone else to experience the trauma that I did. So... so that's why I have to talk about it. Even if you have vaginismus, that shouldn't mean that doctors need to physically hurt you. Know your body and protect yourself.

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Related:

On Gynecologists and Angry Turtles

Sea Monsters on Land, and My Life With Vaginismus

Vaginismus Is Not A Problem, In And Of Itself

Separating Vaginismus From Asexuality 

How Pregnancy and Childbirth Changed My Asexuality (or, actually, A Post About Vaginismus) 

And a post from blogger thethreepennyguignol: TMI: Vaginismus, Me, and Why We Need to Talk Abut Female Sexual Dysfunction

On Gynecologists and Angry Turtles

Speculum. Image source.

Background info for this post: I had vaginismus, but giving birth vaginally cured it. I wrote about it here: 

How Pregnancy and Childbirth Changed My Asexuality (or, actually, A Post About Vaginismus)

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[content note: doctor-related trauma]

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So. I recently went to the gynecologist, for the first time in a few years. The previous time was my 6-week-postpartum check (ie, 6 weeks after I gave birth). I was really dreading this because I've basically always had a bad time with gynecologists.

Like, specifically, geez I can't believe I'm writing this on the internet, the part where the doctor has to stick things in one's vagina. Always hurt like hell, oh my god. And I assumed that was normal, that it was supposed to hurt like hell, because no doctor ever said to me "wow your reaction is different from normal, seems like it's much more painful for you than normal, let's care about this problem and try to find the reason why." And also, because I was "pure"- ie, I had followed the "sexual purity" rules and stayed a "virgin" for a long time, and then only had sex with one (1) partner, in total, my whole life- see, I had followed the rules, and that meant there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with my genitals. I was taught that having sex with multiple people over the course of one's life is what causes problems. That everyone starts out with their body perfect and if you keep it that way for your "future husband" only, then you will have no problems.

So one day I happen to be reading about pelvic exams on Planned Parenthood's website, and it says- get this- it says it's NOT SUPPOSED TO HURT. And OH MY GOD, I was just completely bowled over, completely... just shocked, just completely shocked. It's not supposed to hurt? No one had ever... never, nothing that any doctor had ever done had given me the impression that a pelvic exam is not supposed to hurt.

Just like, unbelievable.

So anyway, in recent years, starting around the time I got pregnant, I have adopted a different approach to gynecologist appointments. Basically, discuss with the doctor beforehand that sticking stuff in the vagina is painful for me, and so I need to be the one to put whatever it is in, and then after I myself have confirmed that it can go in there successfully, then the doctor can move it around or whatever. Like, I CANNOT BELIEVE that I really used to let doctors just go ahead and try to stick stuff in my vagina. I don't even let my husband do that. I have to be the one to put things in, I have to control the movement, and then once I've confirmed that everything is okay, then I can let someone else.

This strategy of handling gynecologist appointments has met with varying degrees of success. I'm always extremely nervous about talking to the doctor about it, and it always seems that they're not expecting that sort of discussion. (My experience is mainly with Chinese doctors at an international hospital in Shanghai- maybe other places have a different culture around this.) And one time, I tried and tried and just could not fit the doctor's tool into my vagina, so I let the doctor try a little little bit, and I made him stop because it was clear to me that he wasn't going to be able to get it without hurting me, so then we just didn't do a pap smear. ... Why do I feel bad about that? Why am I saying this is "varying degrees of success"? Ever since I adopted this strategy, no gynecologist has physically hurt me. Isn't that a success, then? If I can't have a pap smear without the whole "it hurts like hell", then the right thing to do is not have a pap smear.

That's a success, isn't it? Being in control and aware enough to know that it would hurt me, and then saying no and protecting myself.

But I still feel so nervous and scared and helpless.

Okay so anyway. I am writing this blog post about my most recent gynecologist appointment. After giving birth and then not having any gynecologist visits for a few years- not counting the 6-week-postpartum one, which I felt like didn't go well, which is par for the course for me.

So. So the doctor tells me to lay on the table or whatever, and I start telling her I am nervous about it because it has been very painful for me in the past. Okay, readers, I guess here I will give you my tips about how to have the "boundaries and consent" discussion with the gynecologist. Ideally, frame it as "I am nervous" and "let's work together and solve this problem"- rather than acting like the doctor is attacking me and I am fighting back- even though that was how I felt. And don't literally call it a "boundaries and consent discussion" because yeah that also sounds like "I am protecting myself from you."

And also, very important: Don't take your pants off until the "boundaries and consent" discussion has come to an acceptable conclusion. In my experience, the doctor is not expecting a "boundaries and consent" discussion, so they are trying to rush you along to the next thing you're supposed to be doing, and something about social cues and politeness just makes me like... allow myself to be pushed along bit by bit by bit- and if you've already taken off your pants and underwear, you might end up in a position where the doctor can already hurt you, when you haven't even concluded the "boundaries and consent" discussion. So draw a line for yourself there, don't take your pants off until you're satisfied with the "boundaries and consent" discussion. And if you don't get a good enough answer, then I guess you don't have a pelvic exam, and... I know I would feel like a failure, but I'd like to tell you not to feel that way. You protected yourself. You did the right thing. Saying no makes you stronger.

Ugh, thanks non-existent Christian sex-ed, now you got me writing about vaginas on the internet. Do you think I want to be writing about vaginas on the internet? But I have to, because there could be someone who needs to hear this.

Okay. So. I tell the doctor I'm nervous because it was always really painful in the past. And she says, well now it will be different because you've had a baby. I felt like she wasn't really taking me seriously, and didn't believe me that it was painful in the past.

Also I asked her, "if it hurts and I tell you to stop, will you stop?" 

Uh I don't remember the details of how she responded, but she agreed to have a nurse come in (which made me feel better, not being alone with the doctor) and to use the smallest speculum, and I can put it in my own vagina first. So I was okay with that outcome of the "boundaries and consent discussion."

Oh another thing. I don't use the stirrups. Nope, not gonna put my feet in those dumb stirrups, no one can make me. Because what if you got your legs open and your feet hovering in the air, no support for your legs, and you want to withdraw consent, oh god you're like a turtle on your back. You're not able to move your body physically to attempt to withdraw consent, the only option is verbally. And oh god, just the sheer obstacles that you have to overcome, from that position, in order to successfully get the doctor to stop, using only words. You have to first realize that you would like to withdraw consent. Sometimes your body might know it but your mind doesn't- so that's the first obstacle. And then you have to say words, have to think of words you can say, to an authority figure, who is totally not expecting it... one factor is your own courage and the second factor is the doctor being able to realize what you mean, that you really want them to stop immediately. 

Imagine laying there like a turtle on its back... it's just, it's just unimaginable to me that in that situation I could possibly come up with words so that a doctor would really understand that they need to stop immediately.

At least without the stirrups, you can physically back away, which should help indicate to everyone that something is wrong.

So I don't use the stirrups. Not gonna happen, nope, nope. 

Ugh remember when I was so young and naive and "pure" and just did whatever the doctor said? Now I am here on the internet warning my readers about those cursed stirrups.

And okay, maybe I'm going too far, maybe I'm scaring teenage girls unnecessarily. All of this happened because I had vaginismus, and now I'm making all the people who don't have vaginismus scared of gynecologists for no reason. Some girl is terrified that all these problems I had are going to happen to her. Okay, here's my advice then: Try to put 2 fingers- your own fingers- into your vagina. I 100% recommend putting lube on your fingers for this, but maybe some high school girl reading this doesn't have access to lube- I certainly did not, when I was that age. Really should use lube for this though. Okay, if you can put 2 fingers in no problem, then you should be fine I would say. You won't have the problems I had. You don't have to worry that all this will happen to you.

And if you can't get 2 fingers in, and also you don't have access to lube, and you're about to go to your first gynecologist appointment and I've made you super-nervous about it, well... sorry I guess? Sorry we live in a world where girls who don't even have access to lube are expected to just let other people stick things in their vagina. Like you don't even own your body, but someone else does.

Really try to get some lube though. "Personal lubricant." Look for it in the "family planning" aisle.

Or, using tampons when you have your period can also be a good way to vaguely get a sense of whether you have vaginismus or related problems. Tampons are small compared to like, a doctor's tool or a penis, though, so it doesn't give you that much information. But if you can't even get a tampon in, you know you ABSOLUTELY need to figure out what is going on before you let anyone else try to put anything in your vagina. 

By "figure out what is going on" I don't mean you need to solve the problem or understand the reasons for it- but at least you need to be able to describe the problem. (I thought doctors would understand what the problem was and I wouldn't have to do any of that, but NOPE. It's all on you.) Use your fingers (and maybe a mirror) and feel around and figure out exactly where you are trying to insert something, at what angle, and so on. Know your body, own your body, be confident. It's your right. Your body belongs to you. Don't timidly kind of touch a little bit and then stop (like I did back then) because it's too weird or embarrassing or you think that a "good girl" wouldn't do that or because someone in a Christian magazine said you might become "addicted to masturbation". And if you can't even put anything in your own vagina, definitely do not let anyone else- doctor or sexual partner or whoever- try to put something in.

Wow, how am *I* giving advice about this? Maybe this is all wrong, not applicable to anyone else, only little-pure-Perfect-Number. I am not the right person to be giving advice on this. But here we are, somehow.

(Again, I am not trying to scare you- I encourage you to try to put 2 fingers in your vagina and if they go in no problem, then you don't have vaginismus and you can ignore all my scary warnings.)

Okay, so, where were we. At my recent gynecologist appointment. The doctor and nurse assured me several times that since I'd already had a baby, this would totally not be painful. I felt like the doctor didn't really believe me about the pain. But anyway. The doctor gave me the tool- the smallest size of speculum- and put lube on it, and let me try to put it in by myself. And wow I was able to put it in so easy.

Like holy crap so easy. Wow. 

So then I told the doctor she could go ahead and control the movement of the tool or whatever she had to do for the pap smear. And, oh my god, get this- wait, wait, you better sit down because this is a REVELATION. If little pure Perfect Number from an alternate universe is reading this, sit down because you're going to be so stunned you'll probably faint.

Ready?

Okay.

You won't even believe this, but: About the pap smear. It was uncomfortable, but not painful.

WHATTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

OH MY GOD, ALL THESE YEARS, ALL THOSE DOCTORS WHO TOLD ME "it's not painful, just a little bit uncomfortable"- THIS WAS WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT? THIS WAS WHAT THAT WAS ABOUT ALL ALONG?

I, I, I JUST, I SWEAR TO YOU, I SWEAR, FOR REAL, I SWEAR ON ANYTHING YOU WANT ME TO SWEAR ON, THIS IS THE HONEST-TO-GOD TRUTH, it was uncomfortable but not painful.

Kinda felt like the doctor was scraping around in there with some kind of little bristly brush.

I JUST. DAMN. I am having a hard time putting this into words, maybe this is one of those times I regret my evangelical upbringing did not teach me how to swear effectively.

Just like, can you believe. All these years, every time I have a pelvic exam and it hurt like hell, holy shit it hurt so bad and I knew so little about my own body that I had no idea what exactly was hurting or why, and the doctors always said "it's not painful, just a little uncomfortable." And I thought it was normal that it hurt like hell, because when I screamed and all that, they didn't seem to react like anything unusual was going on, just told me "it's not painful, just a little uncomfortable." And then I always went home and added them to the gynecologist blacklist I keep in my head.

I thought it was like when I was in middle school and went to swimming lessons over the summer, when you get there, the swimming coach is always like "the water's not that cold today" but really the water is cold and they are just trying to put a positive spin on it to make you feel better. I thought, yeah sure the doctor says "it's not painful, just a little uncomfortable" but that's like, misleadingly optimistic, the reality is that it's painful, that's just the way it is.

BUT HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS. This time, it actually, literally, was not painful, but was uncomfortable. Like literally. Like if you were trying to objectively describe it, those are the words you would use. Like if you're trying to describe it with no "let's encourage the patient" bias or whatever, like if you were just trying to give a brutally honest accurate description of what it felt like to have a pap smear, I literally swear to you, I mean I know this is unbelievable, so unbelievable, I write one description after another after another in this blog post here but I still don't know if anyone will believe me because it's so so unimaginable, that a pap smear literally was not painful but uncomfortable.

It was. Legit. I, I, okay I have done all I can to describe it, I leave it up to you to decide if you can really believe such a thing is possible or not.

Before, the main thing I felt was the extreme pain of forcing the vagina to open. But this time, I didn't feel that at all. Just the little scraping brush. 

(As I've said in other posts, childbirth cured my vaginismus.)

And just, all these years, when doctors expected me to recategorize my feelings so that they could be described as "not painful, just a little uncomfortable"- I now suspect they weren't referring to the force-the-vagina-open pain at all. I'm starting to think, that's not supposed to happen. That's vaginismus. This huge giant pain that overwhelmed me, so that it was 100% what I believed a pelvic exam was... Apparently that's not what they meant at all, when they said "it's not painful, just a little uncomfortable." Apparently just the little brush getting a sample of cells from the cervix is "not painful, just a little uncomfortable"- but damn, of course back then I didn't even feel that or distinguish it as being a separate thing from the huge extreme pain.

It's like if the first time you go on a rollercoaster, there's an angry turtle sitting next to you, biting you constantly. And it hurts and you hate it, of course. You get off the rollercoaster, and somebody asks what you thought about it, and you say "it hurt." And they say, "well, some people don't like the feeling, but it doesn't really hurt."

(I do apologize for having multiple turtle metaphors in this post. That's just how it worked out.)

And you know so little about your own vagina, um, ahem, I mean rollercoasters, that you don't realize that you're talking about the angry turtle, and for the person you're talking to, there is no angry turtle at all. You think you're describing the same experience... and how can you even realize that you're not, when everyone is too timid to talk about sex and genitals explicitly, and all you can say is "it hurt"?

Of course you barely notice the ups and downs of the roller coaster, because an angry turtle is biting you constantly. Your view of rollercoasters is 100% about the angry turtle, but you don't realize it, because how could you even know that it's not normal to have an angry turtle with you? How could you even know that when people talk about enjoying sex, um, enjoying rollercoasters, they are talking about something that doesn't involve angry turtles at all. How could you know? Of course you couldn't. Every single time you rode a rollercoaster, the angry turtle was there.

And in my case, it's a failure of sex ed- purity ideology making me believe that the ideal situation is knowing nothing about my own genitals and then everything will just work perfectly- and a failure of doctors, a whole bunch of doctors, that when I told them "sex is painful" they seemed too awkward to talk explicitly about sex, so I now see that they never got anywhere close to understanding what the actual problem was.

It's astonishing, that I gave birth vaginally, and now the situation is so completely different; now I see from both sides, you could say. No problems opening my vagina anymore. No problems at all, and I'm still amazed at that. I'm still amazed that there is no angry turtle on my rollercoaster now.

Me, personally, going through this experience, that's what it took for me to discover that it wasn't normal to have so much pain. So I have to write about it- maybe someone else can discover that sooner.

And another thing- at my recent gynecologist appointment, the doctor assured me that because I've had a baby, the pelvic exam won't be painful. Apparently this is a known thing, that after giving birth vaginally, the vagina opens easier? My situation is much more extreme than normal, I would say, but apparently this is a known phenomenon? Why have I never heard about it?

I've only heard the misogynistic jokes about if a woman has sex with a lot of different men, it supposedly stretches out her vagina and her male partner won't enjoy the sex as much because of that- and then the feminists replying that no, the vagina does NOT permanently change just because of a penis; it stretches but then goes back to its normal size. But in my case- and apparently it's very common- giving birth through the vagina really did change it permanently. Why have I never heard about this before? I mean obviously men are full of it if they think something small like a penis can change someone's vagina, but a big baby head, now that's different.

I'm a little bit angry that this was never mentioned at all in childbirth class when they discussed the differences between a vaginal birth and a C-section. Imagine if I'd had a C-section- then I'd still have all the vaginismus problems. Would have been really nice to know that one potential benefit of a vaginal birth is it can make a big difference or even totally cure vaginismus.

So here I am, somehow, me, little pure and naive Perfect Number, somehow I'm giving sex ed advice on the internet. But I have to. I have to say these things, because I needed to hear them back then, and there was no one to tell me.

---

Related:

How Pregnancy and Childbirth Changed My Asexuality (or, actually, A Post About Vaginismus)

They said it was about "valuing our bodies." That was a lie.

How Pregnancy and Childbirth Changed My Asexuality (or, actually, A Post About Vaginismus)

 

A diagram showing the baby inside the pregnant person's body, at about 9 months pregnant. Image source.

[content note: it's about my genitals, sex, and giving birth]

I recently announced the birth of my perfect son, Square Root. I want to write about how, umm, my sex life has changed due to pregnancy/ giving birth/ taking care of a baby.

Basically, it is WAY EASIER to have vaginal sex now than it used to be, and also I want sex more than before.

And why is that? Well I think there are several factors, and the most important one is vaginismus-related, so I mainly want to talk about that. But there are a few other smaller factors I'll just touch on real quick here:

1. Hormones. Wowww oh my goodness, pregnancy hormones. There were times during the pregnancy when I really wanted to have sex- in a way that I hadn't felt before. Pregnancy hormones, breastfeeding hormones, all the hormones.
   As an aside: I did my research and the experts say it's fine to have sex during pregnancy unless you have a high-risk pregnancy- BUT if it's painful, that's a sign that maybe something's wrong and you should stop. And ... well isn't it effed-up that I never thought my own pain was a valid reason to completely refuse sex, but now that we add a vague "but what if it hurts the baby", suddenly I feel like I'm allowed to say no. (And no, fortunately it's not my husband who's treating me that way- it's what I learned in church.)
2. Due to the fact that we have a baby, we barely ever have time to have sex. So let's say before I got pregnant, I felt like "I have a responsibility to have sex with my husband at frequency x" (because I very much internalized this teaching from purity culture/ complementarianism- "men need it" blah blah blah) but perhaps I actually would have preferred frequency y, where y is less frequent than x. And now that we have a baby who always needs something, we only have time to have sex at frequency z, and z is less than y, so I feel like it's not enough. 

So I'm mentioning those things real quick, but they are not the point. Really I want to talk about vaginismus.

Healthline.com defines vaginismus thusly:

For some women, the vaginal muscles involuntarily or persistently contract when they attempt vaginal penetration. This is called vaginismus. The contractions can prevent sexual intercourse or make it very painful.

In the past, when I happened to come across blog posts about vaginismus, I was very excited because finally someone was talking about sex in a way that felt realistic to me. 

Still, I thought to myself, no, I don't have vaginismus. Because some of the details in other people's accounts didn't match my experience. Yes, it was the most relatable thing I had ever read about sex, a hundred times more relatable than any sex ed material or erotica or anything else I had ever encountered (with one exception- I once found an asexual sex ed guide which was very helpful and relatable for me)- but I still thought "no, I don't have vaginismus."

However, my thinking is different now- instead of getting stuck on the details that didn't match, I think it's more useful to say that yes, I have some kind of something that is like vaginismus, but maybe not vaginismus exactly, who knows, I'm not a doctor. See, that is a way more helpful description than just ... like... always being confused about why sex doesn't work.

Or basically, I probably have vaginismus but I don't feel like I can really diagnose myself? Something along those lines.

Anyway, let's switch gears now and I'll give you a basic overview of the story:

Gynecologist appointments: Always hurt like hell, and now I'm mad at how purity culture didn't allow me to know my own body and understand what was going on. I'm mad about how I just trusted doctors, and they hurt me and didn't really seem to realize there was a problem, that there was something very very unusual in how I was reacting and how painful it was, and I needed help. I'm mad about how I believed all of that was normal- surely it was normal, surely my body was perfect because I had never had sex and that meant I was pure and would have absolutely no sex-related problems. I'm mad because it was ... let me see ... I think maybe 8 years after my first gynecologist appointment, I read on Planned Parenthood's website that the pelvic exam is not supposed to hurt- and I cried. I had no idea.

My sex life: So I've only ever had sex with 1 person- Hendrix, who is now my husband (but I am VERY PROUD to tell you we had sex BEFORE MARRIAGE). The first time we tried to have PIV (penis-in-vagina) sex, we tried and tried and couldn't figure out how to get the penis to go in, so we gave up. Had to try again a different day; we were successful the second time. At that time, I was very happy that we had finally had sex, because it disproved all those warnings from purity culture about how sex was totally going to ruin my life and turn me into a completely different person, worthless and unable to ever have a happy marriage. Hooray, I had lived in fear of sex for so long, but all of that wasn't true! Sex was way less of a big deal than I thought. It's just, like, doing stuff with your genitals. Not completely changing your whole identity.

So yes, happy about that, but physically it was painful. There was a lot that felt good- the cuddling, kissing, being with him, making him feel good- but the actual penetration part was physically painful. Nothing but pain. PIV sex was like a whole huge task that I needed to steel myself to endure. And I'd been taught in church that that was normal. I had read the Christian marriage books about how if sex is painful for women, well that's not an excuse, you need to have sex with your husband anyway. I knew I didn't 100% believe that- in recent years I had started reading feminist stuff about how sex should feel good for women too and it shouldn't be all about the man. (Also, OBVIOUSLY queer people exist- you can have sex without any men at all actually.) But mostly, the "you have a duty to your husband" stuff is how I conceptualized it in my mind.

And when I went to my gynecologist appointments, I told them sex was painful and asked what I should do. And they were totally useless. I talked to at least 2 different gynecologists about this (and also mentioned it to the psychologist I was seeing back then) and they were all totally useless. They all said "just relax" and gave other bits of advice which I now see had absolutely nothing to do with my situation. I now see that they didn't understand the problem at all. I now see that my experience is very much NOT normal, but I didn't know that back then, and so I wasn't able to communicate it to the doctors. I assumed they would know what I was talking about. And also they were awkward and seemed to not want to talk explicitly about sex- the most direct and explicit it ever got was "is the pain on the outside, or deep inside?" We completely failed at communicating. Useless.

And then I found the asexual community.

Finally, finally, finally people are talking about "sex doesn't make any sense, why would you want to do that?" Finally! 

I researched and wondered for a while, and eventually concluded, yes, I am asexual.

And that was so good, because it was my starting point for learning about my body, learning about masturbating, learning about how to have sex with my husband. Before, I had always been so confused and disoriented by the idea that this is supposed to be natural, this is supposed to be easy, but when I accepted that no it's not natural or easy for me because I just don't have sexual attraction, then I could actually start doing the work of learning it. I accepted that it was something I would need to learn. (Maybe "need" isn't the right word here- certainly if you're asexual then it's totally fine to just not have sex; you do NOT "need to learn" it. But for me personally, I was very interested in learning about how to have sex in a way that feels good, and learning about my body.)

So I did the work. Bought sex toys. Lube. Masturbated. Communicated with my husband about what feels good and what doesn't. Tried different positions. All of that. I made FANTASTIC progress. I figured out ways to get my vagina to open, and I always always always put my fingers in to check the openness before attempting PIV. And every time we had sex, it took time, it was a process, but yes, I was able to do it in a way that physically felt good for me, despite the PIV. Most of the time. A difficult and delicate dance that was (most of the time) successful in avoiding (most of) the pain.

And then I got pregnant.

Fast forward 9 months, and I pushed a whole entire human out of my vagina.

And then gradually in the months after, we started having sex again. Not very often, because with a newborn baby, nobody has time for that. 

Gradually.

And then, months later, I realized, wait, this isn't hard any more.

It's NOT hard to do PIV any more. I don't have to go through a whole multi-step process to get my vagina to open. It just ... works.

Wait. 

Wait. Is this what sex is like for other people normally?

Wait. Wait. 

Like, if you want to put your consenting partner's penis in your vagina, you can just GO AHEAD and put your consenting partner's penis in your vagina? WHATTTTTT? That easy?

And- get this- sometimes the consenting partner can even be the one to put it in. 

WHATTTTTTTTTT

BUT LITERALLY THAT'S HOW IT IS NOW FOR ME. It's easy! It just goes in! Like sometimes we need a little lube, but like, there is a known solution to the "we need lube" issue, which is "buy lube." Not like how it was before, when I had a whole bag of tricks for trying to get PIV to work without pain, and could never be sure if I would be successful.

And- get this- now PIV can actually physically feel good for me. Before, I felt good in sort of a symbolic way, related to the society-defined meaning of sex in the context of a long-term relationship, etc. Feeling like, I'm good enough, I'm able to do what I'm supposed to do for my husband. But there was nothing inherently good in the physical act itself- it was either painful or not painful and that was it. (Oh hmm, actually there were a *few* rare occasions PIV did feel good physically.)

So I convinced myself it felt good, but now I see that was kind of a "if you really squint you can sort of make yourself believe it feels good." But now it REALLY DOES feel good, no question. Now it's like "wow that was nice, do it again" and I actually look forward to having sex. Look forward to it because it feels good physically, not like before when I looked forward to it because I wanted to get away from the guilt because the church told me I'm a bad wife if I don't have sex with my husband often enough.

Well this is just WILD. This is ... WOWWWW. Is this how sex is for y'all?

This is just mind-blowing. Like all along, when I've tried to talk to people about sex, we've actually been talking about ENTIRELY DIFFERNT THINGS. And in writing this blog post, I have emphasized the pain part, whereas before I wouldn't really focus so much on that when describing my perspective on sex, because I thought that was obvious and didn't need to be said. 

Like, of course it's very important to do penetration at EXACTLY the right angle, because if you get it wrong then it hurts so bad that you're better off just giving up on sex and trying again another day.

Right?

Is that ... not normal?

I really thought that it was this way for everyone with a vagina- that as you go about your normal life, you are not physically aroused, and therefore your vagina is shut like a steel trap and penetration is basically impossible. But then when you want to have sex, you do foreplay or whatever, and that gets your body aroused and your vagina open. And I concluded that my issue was I'm asexual and therefore my being attracted to my partner has no intrinsic connection to my body getting physically aroused. So I have to very deliberately stimulate the outer parts (clit, etc) physically in order to get my vagina to open, whereas for other people it would naturally open just because they are sexually attracted to their partner.

But, uh, turns out not. Turns out the "shut like a steel trap" thing just ... is not at all what most people experience.

And I'm sure I wasn't even consciously aware that I wasn't properly communicating how painful it was. That's all I had known. That was my entire experience of PIV sex- of course I didn't have any kind of reference point to show me that my pain was not normal. That's why it's so important to me to write this blog post now- having experienced this from both sides, so to say.

And wow. Wow. I just CANNOT BELIEVE how easy it is to have PIV sex now. (I guess after you push a whole big-headed baby out of your vagina, you no longer have any problems with some small thing like a penis.)

And we can do missionary position now! [TMI?] Before, we very very very rarely tried it, because the pain made it basically impossible. But now missionary position feels good. This is so different, it's unbelievable.

All right. Now we need to talk about my asexuality. Because this kind of calls my asexuality into question, doesn't it?

One interpretation is that I wasn't "really" asexual, that it was "actually" vaginismus. That I was wrong to claim to be asexual. It wasn't an issue about sexual attraction and sexual orientation; it was an actual physical problem with my body. And I should have gone to more doctors until I found one who could give me the correct treatment for vaginismus.

I don't believe that.

That would mean I shouldn't have had access to all the benefits that asexuality has brought me. I should have just continued to "try to be normal", paying money to more and more doctors and letting them hurt my vagina, in hopes of finding an authority figure who can tell me what I need to do to "be normal."

Let's be real, the only place a "you weren't actually asexual" argument can come from is the idea that asexual just isn't a valid thing to be at all. So no. I don't buy that.

Also, let's say, hypothetically, that I'm heterosexual, but vaginismus makes sex with men nearly impossible, and there is no practical way for me to even figure out what the problem is or get treatment- isn't that functionally the same thing as being asexual?

So... maybe it's like this: One possible explanation is that I do have that feeling that people call "sexual attraction." And yes, it's true that before I had ever attempted anything sexual at all, I was sure I would find sex really great. But then, I tried PIV and it wasn't anything like I'd expected. It felt all wrong and painful. So I concluded, "oh, if this is what sex is, then no I don't have a desire for that, so that means I'm asexual."

Then the issue would be the definition of "sex." "Asexual" means I don't have sexual attraction, and "sexual attraction" means I am attracted to someone in such a way that I have a desire for sex with them. And no, I am not attracted to anyone in such a way that I want to painfully stab my vagina with them. So have we been talking about different things all along? There is some other experience that people call "sex", which I had never had before I gave birth, and it is pleasurable for me and I do have an attraction for it?

Like... yes, I know PIV is not the be-all-end-all of sex. There is sex that is not PIV. I have been aware of that for a long time, for years, but maybe subconsciously I do still think "sex" means "penis in vagina." And when I decided to identify as asexual, I know I did consider if I have attraction for other sex that's not PIV, and I still concluded that I don't. But it's hard to untangle all of this... coming from that patriarchal purity-culture you-have-a-duty-to-your-husband background, was there even a possibility that I could have said "yes I enjoy sex, just not PIV, I hate PIV, but yes sex is great!" And knowing what I know now about how IT REALLY IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THAT PAINFUL, it makes me think I need to untangle it differently than I did in the past. 

So maybe. Maybe now that PIV is going so well, I will discover that I do have sexual attraction, and then I will conclude I'm not asexual. But even if that happens, I still believe I was right to identify as asexual up til now, and I am very grateful for my time as an asexual. It allowed me the freedom to explore and know myself, and accept that whatever desires I did or did not have were all okay and normal.

At the same time, though, I think about how even before I ever attempted anything sexual at all, I just ... didn't really have sexual desire at all? I never masturbated, never even considered if I might be interested in masturbating. The boys I dated before Hendrix, I never ever EVER considered the question "would it feel good to have sex with him?" The idea that one would have sex with one's boyfriend was just nowhere on my radar at all, except in the warnings I got from purity-culture Christians about "CAN YOU BELIEVE how gross and sinful THE WORLD is- some people think it's normal to *GASP* have sex with your boyfriend OH NO THE HORROR." (I've blogged before about times I was completely clueless about the reality that other people actually do experience sexual attraction- and that was all before I had attempted PIV, so vaginismus was not a factor.)

But maybe I was just repressed, and if my first PIV experience had gone better, then things would have gone way differently. Maybe. Who knows.

Imagine that, though, imagine how different that would be. What if I had tried PIV and it worked? Or at least, I was able to do it in a way that's satisfactory to my male partner. Then I would have had no reason to learn about my body the way I did. I would have just continued having mediocre sex, and thinking it was good because a man liked it. Also, I would have felt like it was normal if the man has an orgasm and the woman doesn't. 

And I would have just gone on like that and felt like it was fine. Hey... it just occurred to me that maybe a lot of women do that, and that explains the baffling advice I read recently in a book about how having a baby changes the relationship between the husband and wife. In this book, it was talking about how sex is all different and confusing since the baby was born, and so you have to communicate and do this and that, etc... And I'm like, so confused, because for me sex was confusing FROM THE VERY BEGINNING, and I worked hard to figure it out, and what I read in this book was just incomprehensible- like some couples are having sex and it's going along fine but they haven't done the work of knowing their bodies and communicating and all that, and then having the baby forces them to do that work in order to have any kind of sex life at all. Hmm.

(Yeah does anyone's sex life get better right after having a baby? Just me? Okay then.)

So yeah, in a way I'm grateful for vaginismus, because without it, I would never have taken control of my own sex life. I would still have thought everything I do sexually has to be focused on my husband. I would still have thought masturbating was basically cheating. I would still have thought there was something a little wrong about looking at and being familiar with my own body. And I would still not be having orgasms.

Because I was taught that a wife has sex as a duty to her husband. And I found I couldn't fulfill that duty. I needed to masturbate and learn about my body in order to be able to fulfill that duty, so that's what I did. I still think it's a little messed-up that this whole thing begins and ends with a man, but at least in the middle I learned that my body is mine, I am in charge, I belong to me.

The idea that I "wasn't really" asexual, and it was "actually just" vaginismus... I think about what would have happened if it had gone that way. What if I did find a doctor who knew what vaginismus was, instead of finding the asexual community? Then no, I wouldn't have been able to take charge of my own body and sex life. I would have viewed the doctor as an authority figure telling me what standards I am supposed to meet, and what I had to do to be good enough to meet those standards. I still wouldn't be able to actually learn about my body.

I wouldn't have asked myself, what do I want? It would have been only about getting my body good enough for a man to enjoy.

Yes, certainly it is possible for a doctor to help with vaginismus in a way that keeps the patient informed about what their situation is and allows them to set the goals. Yes. But I wouldn't have been able to do that, because I always viewed doctors as if they know everything and get to tell me what I'm supposed to be. Now I see it differently- now I see doctors as a very good resource I should use to further my own personal health/body-related goals. I'm responsible for my own health. I rely on the doctors for their knowledge and advice, but I belong to me.

But back then, when I was letting gynecologists hurt me because I had no idea what my own anatomy was? Nope, no way a doctor could have helped me.

(I guess I should throw a disclaimer in here: doctors are great, there are totally good gynecologists out there. I am very thankful to all the doctors and midwives and nurses who helped with the birth of my son. Especially the anesthesiologist who did the epidural. He listened to all my concerns about it, answered my questions, let me make my own decision about if I wanted to do it or not. And also then all the pain from the contractions went away.)

Asexuals, though. Asexuals said whatever desires I have or don't have are fine. Whatever amount of sex I want to have or don't want to have is fine. Asexuals told me I can know myself, and that nobody else can override that.

So none of this nonsense about "I wasn't really asexual." I firmly believe that if identifying as asexual helps you personally, then it's right for you to identify as asexual. I still don't know what sexual attraction is- now that I've found out I can just go ahead and do PIV and it's easy, I might have to completely rewrite my understanding of what sexual attraction is. Maybe it will turn out that I actually do have sexual attraction. But yes, it was right for me to identify as asexual. It has helped me so much.

And I don't want someone to read this and think "we need to have more awareness about vaginismus, so that people don't mis-identify as asexual and then get themselves all messed up." Yes, I definitely wish I had known about vaginismus earlier, but at the same time maybe it's good that wasn't the lens I viewed my "I don't understand sex" problem through. Instead of "I have vaginismus and I need a cure so I can be normal," I believed "I am asexual, and I accept myself as I am, and I set my own goals about what kind of sex I want to have." Which turned out way better.

So where am I now, then? Sure, it was right to identify as asexual in the past, and I keep saying that maybe in the future I won't be, but what about right now?

Well I'm definitely straight, so, am I heterosexual? Lolllll lol can you imagine being heterosexual? Like, that would mean that sex actually makes sense to me. Like, I would have to understand what people are talking about when they mention sex. Ha, no.

Well how about demisexual? Because I only want to have sex with my husband- that sounds sort of demisexual, right? Well, no I don't think I'm demisexual. The reason I only want to have sex with my husband isn't because I'm not attracted to other people, it's because sex is just SO WEIRD that I just can't wrap my mind around the idea that like, any random man on the street could theoretically do it. Like it feels like a weird inside joke that's just between me and him.

How about graysexual? No... I kind of always felt like "graysexual" was for asexuals who thought "but how can I be sure I've never experienced sexual attraction, if I don't even know what it is? I don't think I'm allowed to ID as asexual, I'd better say graysexual just to be safe." And, hey, no, there is no asexual police, you are allowed to ID as asexual even if you can't prove that you have never experienced sexual attraction. Yes, I bet that for some people it is very good and helpful to identify as graysexual. But not me.

(Edit: Ah, I think I am misrepresenting was graysexual means... Here's a post with a better description: Many ways to be between.)

So what's left then? Asexual? Well, yeah that fits, that feels right. Okay then.

So. In conclusion. Big changes. Ever since I pushed an entire baby out of my vagina, PIV sex is no longer the whole ordeal it used to be, where I needed to use all sorts of techniques to get my vagina to open or else the whole thing was unbearably painful. Like wow, it's night and day; it's just astonishing how easy it is now, and it made me realize that all that pain I had before was not normal and most likely was vaginismus (even though I don't feel I can actually diagnose myself). So I am having more sex now and it's very exciting. And all of this has me reconsidering my asexuality. Yes, I firmly believe I was right to identify as asexual, though maybe the context of it was sort of different than what I thought back then. Maybe in the future I won't be asexual any more. But I am grateful for all the benefits asexuality brought me. It allowed me to accept myself and be in charge of my own sexuality, instead of trying to fit society's / some man's / a doctor's idea of what "normal" is.

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Appendix:

So it turns out that every time I've blogged about sex in explicit terms, it was coming from a perspective where PIV is very painful for me and I had NO IDEA that that wasn't the case for everyone with a vagina.

I wrote the advice I wish I had had. But now I feel like... for most people, this has nothing to do with their situation at all. And for the people that do need this advice, how do I even find them to tell them? What keywords to use- I guess "vaginismus" is the only one? And how do I write it in a way that they would be able to tell their unusual situation is the same as mine?

Anyway, here's an example, an old post with my maybe-actually-not-useful advice on how to have sex:

3 Reasons I Need To Identify As Ace

Anyway, I ended up talking to 3 different doctors about this problem. (Why does it hurt? Why do I basically just like it because I'm in love with Hendrix and any activity I do with him makes me happy, but I don't feel pleasure specifically from the act of sex itself?) None of them were that helpful. They all told me "just relax" and other equally vague and useless bits of advice.

But when I found information about asexuality online, it all made sense. That's the answer, that's why sex is so difficult for me. It's because most people have this thing called sexual attraction, and I don't. And I love Hendrix and I want to have sex with him- if I didn't know these facts about my own orientation, it would be so much more confusing and difficult.

And this paragraph is going to be explicit [NSFW], but I'm going to write it because this is the secret I've discovered that has improved our sex life SO MUCH. Like, I'm just going to go ahead and say this explicitly because NOBODY EVER SAID IT TO ME EXPLICITLY AND THAT'S WHY I'VE HAD SO MUCH TROUBLE: So if you want to do penis-in-vagina sex, the important thing is that first the vagina has to open. Like, in regular life, it's not very open and so it would be incredibly painful to try to push something in. As it turns out, when people use the term "arousal", they are referring to when the vagina becomes more wet and open (or, if you have a penis, "arousal" means getting an erection). (I think? Correct me if I'm wrong on the vocabulary. As I said, I'm kind of clueless.) Furthermore, when people talk about "foreplay", what they mean is doing things to get the body aroused. See, before, I assumed "foreplay" meant "kissing and touching each other in pleasurable ways before you have sex." But it turns out it's more than that- if you're going to do penis-in-vagina sex, the foreplay NEEDS TO accomplish the task of getting the vagina to open. I had NO IDEA. Really. I thought foreplay was just about feeling good and maybe making yourself *want* sex (in an emotional sense)- I had absolutely no idea it was also supposed to include tangible genital-related bodily reactions. And that if it doesn't, then penis-in-vagina sex will be painful or maybe even impossible. LIKE THIS IS A BIG HUGE DEAL, NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN JUST SKIP or be like "eh I guess we've done enough of that, what comes next?" Like seriously, before you try to put a penis in, use your fingers and check if the vagina is open or not. Because usually it's NOT. It's only open if you're aroused enough. Sooooo anyway I figured out that if I use a sexy toy and stimulate the clit before we start actually having sex, and get an orgasm that way, it will make the vagina open and wet. And then we can put a penis in way easier. I don't know if that falls under the category of "foreplay" or not, because it's pretty much just me doing it, not my partner, but WOWWWWW that has helped our sex life SO MUCH. (Also: Use lots of lube.)

And currently my advice on PIV sex is this: Don't let anyone put their penis in if you've never put 2 of your own fingers in. Ugh, even as I write that, I question myself, like people are going to say "eww no", people are going to say it's normal to have ANOTHER PERSON put their penis in your vagina, but it's dirty and shameful to put YOUR OWN fingers in. WHY? WHY? 

Yeah I know in church they said my husband owns my sexuality and I do not, but that's wrong, that's so wrong.

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Related:

My Husband Is Not The Entire Focus Of My Sex Life 

Doctors (part 3 of Autism & Teaching Kids to Protect Themselves)

They said it was about "valuing our bodies." That was a lie.

I Wanna Preach the Good News of Masturbation

When the Teacher Says, "Don't Look at Your Report Card"

And also a big thank-you to all the bloggers who came before me and wrote about vaginismus. Here are a few of the posts that had a big impact on me:

TMI: Vaginismus, Me, and Why We Need to Talk Abut Female Sexual Dysfunction

The Kind of Sex I Thought I Wanted

The Other Side

Thank you, Libby Anne

Butterfly logo from the blog "Love, Joy, Feminism". Image source.

I was sad to see Libby Anne's announcement that she is retiring from blogging. Her blog, Love, Joy, Feminism, is one of my favorites. I have learned so much from her; she comes from a similar background to me (though her family was definitely more conservative than mine), and writes about a lot of the same ex-evangelical feminist issues that are important to me.

So I want to visit some of the topics she's blogged about, and the posts that have been meaningful to me:

Marriage/ sex/ dating from an ex-purity perspective

Probably the biggest impact for me is seeing what a good marriage can look like for ex-purity-culture women. 

Sex and Respect "Here was a man who wanted to have sex with me and didn’t have any convictions about waiting for marriage, but he wasn’t pressuring me to have sex with him? What was this?!"

CTBHHM: Divine Lovers and Desperate Castration "Look, if Debi wanted to talk about female pleasure she could have. She could have said things like 'you have this thing called a clitoris' or 'lube is your friend' or 'try some more foreplay' or 'if it hurts, there’s something wrong, and you should go to the doctor.'" I am pretty sure Libby Anne's blog is the first place I ever heard that it's a good idea to use lube during penis-in-vagina sex, to make it less painful for the partner with a vagina. So THANK YOU.

Hey Focus on the Family: Masturbation Is Actually Important YES! And Libby Anne's post inspired my post, I Wanna Preach the Good News of Masturbation, which I am very proud of because I definitely want to preach the good news of masturbation.

The Purity Culture and Trust "For one thing, I found out that he had had sex with a previous girlfriend, and when he wasn’t regretful for it, I did everything I could to let him know how much this hurt me in an effort to make him feel guilt and regret."

Purity culture 

Evangelicals Said Having Sex Before Marriage Will Ruin My Life. It Didn’t. PREACH.

Checklist: An Evangelical Approach to the Marriage Market "Look at the list above again and note what’s missing. There is nothing in there that covers warning signs of abuse. There are, in contrast, a million questions about whether the pair has had sex yet." And what has really stuck with me is how Libby Anne says her mind was blown when a relative gave her a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT set of questions: "Do you love him? Does he love you? Does he treat you right?" (See also my post: The Checklist: Purity Culture's Alternative to Actually Getting to Know Someone)

Purity Culture and Staying in Abusive Relationships

Louisiana Lawmakers Want to Marry Off Pregnant 15-Year-Olds Libby Anne has written many posts calling attention to child marriage in the United States and the purity rhetoric used to support it. (Which inspired this post from me: What do you mean by "sexual immorality"?)

The pro-life movement

How I Lost Faith in the “Pro-Life” Movement Last I heard, this was the #1 most viewed post on her blog, BY FAR, and wow yes, it is an extremely good post.

Dispatches from the Front Lines of the Abortion Wars About volunteering as a clinic escort at Planned Parenthood.

The Anti-Abortion Movement’s Fetal Imaginings About how the "pro-life" movement uses imagery of 8-month fetuses/ pregnant women, and literal already-born babies, which is extremely dishonest because most abortions happen during the first trimester. 

Josh Duggar (wow, I have a whole category for Josh Duggar)

When the scandal with Josh Duggar came out (2015), Libby Anne's blog was a very good source for information and analysis:

What You Need to Know about the Josh Duggar Police Report 
What Did Josh Duggar’s Counseling Look Like?
Anna Duggar and the Silencing Power of Forgiveness
When the Perpetrators Matter More than the Victims
How Christian Culture Excuses Sex Offenders 
Josh Duggar’s Lies, Damn Lies, and Half Truths
It Took This for People to Listen?
Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar’s Interview with Megyn Kelly: Minimize, Deny, Obfuscate
Are the Duggars Victims of Christian Persecution?

Answers in Genesis

On Answers in Genesis’ Portrayal of Noah’s Son’s Wives "I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that maybe—just maybe—Answers in Genesis should have taken more proactive steps to avoid perpetuating nineteenth century American race theory in their portrayals of Noah’s son’s wives."

How Did Judas Die? Why Evangelicals Seek to Explain Away Contradictions. (which inspired my post- The Bible Stories As I Read Them Were Never Actually In The Bible)

Misc

Progressive Piety and Conservative Politics: On Kaepernick, Tebow, and American Christianity

Evangelical Blogger: Christian Leaders Need Extra Protection against Allegations of Sin A response to an extremely bad article by Tim Challies.

Christianity Today Goes Full Pick-Up Artist About creepy evangelism.

About That Viral Modesty Video, “Virtue” I will never get over the absurdity of this music video about modesty- with boys in SUITS and TIES being total STUMBLING BLOCKS as they sing about the importance of girls dressing modest. Dayyyammmm.

My guest post

And I am very proud of this guest post I did: I’m Really Really REALLY Glad I Had Sex Before Marriage. About purity culture, asexuality, facing my fear that sex was going to change me into an unlovable person and ruin my life, and discovering there was nothing to fear at all.

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And I could keep going- she has also written A LOT about homeschooling in the United States, and how conservative organizations fight against any sort of regulations regarding homeschooling, and this can make it easy for abusive parents to hide the abuse. She has written about Josh Harris and his role in purity culture and impact on her own life. She has written about politics and Trumpism and immigration and how evangelicals have become unrecognizable since selling their soul to Trump.

So thank you for all your hard work blogging, Libby Anne. We will miss you. <3