With many unable to engage in penetrative sex, why does society see penetration as the definition of sex?
Rosie Howard, 25, has vaginismus – a condition where the vaginal muscles tighten, making penetration painful or impossible. She’s sat outside on a beautiful day with a warm smile, telling me about her sex life.
“I’m always so amazed at people’s generosity with their experiences,” she says, “I think it’s also quite therapeutic for people to share it sometimes.” Rosie works with The Vaginismus Network, a volunteer-led group that aims to connect people with the condition and spread awareness. “I think we’ve all individually felt that feeling of being broken, but the main message we want to get across is what does it mean to you to ‘overcome’ vaginismus? Do you even have to?” she says.
Society’s focus on penetration within sex is overwhelming, but is it completely necessary in order to have sex? “For me, the definition has to just be people experiencing pleasure,” says Rosie, “Whatever that means to them.”
For Rosie, her sex life completely changed when her definition of sex evolved. “Realising that I can still have sex if my definition of sex is pleasure, has been game-changing,” she says. “Before, sex was something that I thought I couldn’t do, but actually now I know I can have sex, and that I can have really good sex just like everyone else.”
Though this came after years of prioritising other people’s pleasure during sex, Rosie now knows how to have sex for herself. “This way of thinking certainly makes my journey less stressful, and more like ‘okay this is how my body works right now,’ and it’s not a desperate rush to change that,” she says.
Realising that I can still have sex if my definition of sex is pleasure, has been game-changing
Madge, 25, is calling me from her flat in Brooklyn. She’s wearing a T-shirt that says ‘Therapy makes you hotter,’ and makes a point of showing it to me. She’s an artist, currently utilising art therapy as a way of dealing with her vaginismus. “Something I have a really hard time reconciling with my vaginismus, is that it does not align with how I know myself to be,” she says. “I’ve always had really intentional, spontaneous, good sex.”
She went through stages of trying to force penetration, with bad sex being the result. “There’s still a longing in me that’s like ‘fuck, I wish I had the choice,’ but for the most part I feel like I’m missing out less and less.”
Before moving to Brooklyn, Madge thought part of what was causing her condition was her hiding her sexuality. “When I moved to New York and started sleeping with women as well as men, the same issues were coming up,” she says. Her definition of sex is slowly but steadily evolving, but society’s definition of sex is somewhat inescapable. “There’s definitely still a part of me that puts penetration on a pedestal, but my conscious brain is actively working to change that.”
Upon moving to New York, Madge started exploring her sexuality more. She began meeting with couples, and through this found a sense of empowerment. “I didn’t realise that it was a reclamation of my sexuality because that’s where I found myself most in control,” she says. Sexually, this changed the internal narrative for Madge with her vaginismus, as rather than penetration being something she couldn’t do, it was something that she could choose not to do. “It was a way I was able to advocate for myself.”
It was through doing this, that Madge learnt to have better sex. “Learning to advocate for my own pleasure and realising that I’m an active participant involved in sex rather than having something done to me changed things,” she says.
Madge emphasises the continuous work she is doing in relation to her vaginismus, through therapy and communication. “There’s a Brené Brown quote, ‘shame cannot survive being spoken,’” she says, “so I’ll tell almost anyone about my vagina now.”
She’s currently in the process of working on an anthological creative project, Mashed, looking at all kinds of pelvic pain. She believes that having these conversations, and creating this awareness, will help reshape the way that people view the condition.
This openness has translated into her sex life. “I have excellent communication skills, and I know my body well enough that I’m now very good at asking for what I want,” she says. “I think my sex life is really fun, as it should be.”
Holly Foskett, 21, holds a similar belief that there is a complete lack of representation for people with vaginismus in the media, particularly in terms of sexual content. “A lot of sex positivity stuff seems very focussed around heteronormative penetrative sex still,” she says, “I hadn’t really noticed this until I got diagnosed.”
“Penetrative stuff is kind of off the table, and a lot of the time people’s definition of sex is still just that,” she says. Holly defines sex as anything that can give you sexual pleasure, whether that be through masturbation or with other people.
Holly finds that porn feeds into this one-dimensional societal definition of sex as being solely penetrative. “I increasingly realised that there’s a lot of stuff in porn being sold to us as ‘good sex’, and it makes it difficult to navigate what you’re into,” she says.
“But I feel like through acknowledging that and realising that none of that works for me, I’ve been able to think ‘okay, what’s the opposite of that?’ and to understand what I’m actually into,” she says.
Marie, 20, is also focusing her energy on finding out what works for her. “When I first started engaging in sexual activities, it was with a partner,” she says, “I never actually explored that area for myself.”
Like many, society’s standard of sex meaning penetration has gotten in the way of understanding what Marie actually wants. “For me, sex was always just penetration. That’s it,” she says. “Vaginismus has definitely opened my mind to the fact that sex is not just that.”
Marie believes that sex should be defined however you want it to be. “As long as it’s pain-free, as long as you want to do it, and you’re enjoying it for yourself, then I think that’s how sex should be defined,” she says.
She’s enjoying the freedom she has to explore what brings her pleasure. “What’s great about my sex life at the moment is the discovery part, and figuring myself out,” she says, “I don’t need someone to be there to give me that.”
“It’s definitely scary stepping out on your own, but I feel like there’s so much beauty in that,” she says, “Not only are you discovering yourself, but you’re growing, you’re healing, and learning to embrace that body of yours.”