eroticism

Love Hurts – Sex with Endometriosis

by RC

Published on December 22, 2015

7592 views

sex pain endometriosis

“Bolts of electricity shoot around my abdomen and pelvis and down my leg as I lie on the pillow-topped hotel mattress, attempting in vain to remain silent. My husband’s arm, heavy from sleep, is draped over my aching body. I turn to look at him as he snores softly, blissfully unaware. No one told me the wedding night the night I dreamed about, would end with unbearable pain. Is this normal? Should it have felt like shards of glass stabbing me while moved inside me? I try not to let him hear me crying as I close my eyes and try to ignore the sharp electric-like currents terrorizing my body…
There is no one to speak to. I am the sole occupant of a vast and desolate island on which my innermost secrets cannot be shared, not even with my husband. Who to speak to? What to say? What to do when the event that should bring pulsating all-encompassing passion brings only excruciating pain instead? Who to tell when the one act that should create ecstasy and bliss causes pure agony? I should adore the sense of unity I feel with my husband when we are together, treasure each second that my body fuses with his. But, instead, all I feel is the white-hot sear of pain when he enters me, the blackness of despair when I know that I cannot share my pain with him and the blushing red of embarrassment when he knows I am not being honest…
How can I share the feelings of torture that overwhelm my body when he is inside of me? How can I let him know that he, my beloved husband, is the cause of my misery? How can I share with him that his body alone creates immense wretchedness in mine. I will never do that to him. I will never make him aware that he is the source of the agony that rocks my body through and through. Instead, I will live with this agonizing, heart-wrenching secret of mine. This secret that isolates me, that creates a fissure so large between me and my husband that I wonder if we will survive as one. And I will continue to allow my body to be exposed to the beatings and abuse that are, in reality, tender loving touch.”

Sound familiar anyone? Can you relate? Do you know what this girl means when she describes the pure agony that consumes her as she tries to have sex with her partner? Or the emotional turmoil she experiences as she tries to hide the pain from her partner? Well my friends, that girl is me, writing in my journal for the first year of my marriage.

You see, for many women with endometriosis, myself included, sex is not the erotic, passionate and pleasurable experience that we all wish it to be. In fact, according to a recent study in Italy, more than half of women with endometriosis experience dyspareunia, or genital pain associated with sex. Two types of dyspareunia exist. The first type, called superficial dyspareunia, is when the pain is felt at the opening of the vagina, and the lower part of the vagina. This pain is usually felt during the act of penetration and can easily be diminished by ceasing penetration. The second type, called deep dyspareunia, is felt deeper in the pelvis and thighs and can last for hours or even days. Women who have endometriosis, specifically recto-vaginal endometriosis and endometriosis on the cul-de-sac experience this type. There are many medical causes for dyspareunia other than endometriosis, such as vulvodynia, vulvar vestibulitis and interstitial cystitis. While this condition has historically been defined as a psychological issue, more recent treatment approaches lean towards the theory that dyspareunia is a combination of both physical and psychological causes. (More on dyspareunia theories).

In women with endometriosis, physical pain during sex is due to the presence of lesions found all over our insides, specifically behind the vagina and in the lower parts of the uterus. Having anything inside of us pushing or stretching those growths causes sheer agony, also described as burning, stabbing or deeply aching pain. It is intolerable, enough to make us scream, cry, or even throw up. This pain can start as early as the beginning of penetration and last up to 24-48 hours later. Women with endometriosis who have had a hysterectomy or who are going through hormonal treatments may experience pain due to vaginal dryness as well.

Dyspareunia has also been connected with more negative emotional attitudes towards sexuality as a whole. Studies have found that complaints of pain with sex are associated with low physical and emotional satisfaction, as well as decreased general happiness. Depression and anxiety were found more often in women with dyspareunia than control subjects.

Experiencing dyspareunia causes a loneliness inside of us that is worse than the most agonizing pain. Aside from simply not being able to connect sexually with people that we care about, we often feel compelled to hide our feelings from our loved ones so as not to hurt them. We would rather harm ourselves than tell our partners that they are hurting us. Keeping that a secret from them isolates us terribly, and fills us with a guilt that eats at our hearts. We are also consumed with incredibly strong guilt stemming from our inability to allow our partners the pleasure we know they deserve.

Fear of rejection is also a large part of the emotional pain associated with sex. We worry that our pain will cause our partners to reject us, whether because they have sexual needs that are lacking, or because they don’t want to cause us any harm. Ironically, many of us have experienced the strange situation in which we find ourselves begging our partners to have sex with us even though we know we will suffer. Aside from the pain experienced by those of us actually suffering with this disease, it is also important to mention the emotional anguish that our partners who don’t have endometriosis go through. They too have feelings of rejection when we refuse to have sex, and can sometimes feel insecure about the relationship. Unfortunately, their need to be loved and love another is sometimes inadvertently ignored.

Due to endometriosis-associated dyspareunia, sex is often a dreaded nightmare fraught with worry. We worry that we’ll have unbearable pain if we choose to have sex and that we will offend our partners if we choose not to have sex. We worry that when we do want to have sex our partners will refuse for fear of hurting us. Instead of bringing us closer to our partners, sex puts a strain on the relationship that is hard to overcome.

This post was published previously on Hormones Matter in January 2013.

Female Sexuality, Penis Size, Eroticism and Language

by Chandler Marrs, PhD

Published on February 18, 2013

3845 views

Several weeks ago I wrote a post about Penis Size and Condom Use. It was a legitimate commentary on the state of medical and science marketing, but, truth be told, I used it as much to get a post with the words penis size circulating in blogosphere as I did to comment on bad medical journalism. Penis size ranks among the highest search phrases around. The post got a lot of hits, but no discussion. It was, after all, a bit of a bait and switch using research on penis size to describe the state of medical marketing – not what most would have expected when Googling that phrase.

Recently, however, a gentleman commented both on the content of the article and the nature of modern eroticism. This gave me pause on many fronts. First, I had to consider whether to approve the comment at all – he used rather frank terms. Would our readers be offended? Would they discontinue reading because of the terminology? The very act of having to consider whether to publish the comment, led me to wonder when our adult, female ears became so sensitive that we could not speak or write frankly about sexuality? Probably around the time of Freud, but I think I missed that memo.

And then, there was the comment itself about the nature of modern sexuality or more specifically, eroticism.

It is that raw eroticism mediated by plastic [that] is devoid of real memory. When I think of some of my worst erotic encounters, they invariably are those mediated by plasticity.

How absolutely telling his comment was; modern eroticism is plastic. From a physiological standpoint, the plastic barrier that a condom provides reduces the erotic sensitivity for both parties – even when the condoms fit appropriately. And apparently, as the original research suggested, more often than not condoms do not fit correctly.

From the language perspective, modern sex is most often discussed in terms of disease, violence or ‘safe sex’ – no pleasure, no passion, no eroticism and not even an appreciation those concepts – only power, disease and violence. Even our images of what is supposed to be sexually desirable are plastic, modified and unreal – think unnaturally thin women, with fake boobs, botoxed lips and when at all possible, heavily photoshopped so that nary a glimmer of natural or erotic beauty comes through. Indeed, there is no reality to our plasticized versions of eroticism.

So how do we talk about sex in a modern culture, where disease from sex places a barrier on the act and the language of pleasure? How do we talk about sexuality when the medicalization of sex supersedes the erotic? How do we talk about eroticism when the politics of power elevate the sperm of violent, repugnant men – rapists, pedophiles and incestuous degenerates – above the health and well-being of girls and women? How do we talk about sex when women don’t enter the conversation, except to denounce the actions of men? How do we talk about sex, sexuality and eroticism in the 21^st century?

We don’t. We seem only capable of talking about or writing or even visualizing notions of plastic, unreal, violent or medicalized sex. To make matters worse, we fail to distinguish among the ‘types’ of sex, between sex and sexuality, between the erotic and the mechanical. It’s all just sex. Well, it’s not.

We need a new language of sexuality; one that brings back to the fore a notion of beauty and pleasure for both participants; one that speaks frankly about sex, sexuality and eroticism. We need a language that is honest about female and male sexuality, anatomy and pleasure and that is capable of distinguishing acts of violence from sex.

I would argue that conversations about penis size and female sexual pleasure have to come into the mix in some form, preferably with honesty. Ladies, what beyond the obvious, do we really know about the male penis or male sexuality? Probably, not a lot. Does penis size affect female sexual pleasure? Does penis size affect male sexual pleasure? Who knows. Nobody, but the purveyors of porn talk about this stuff.

And guys, how much do you really know about the female anatomy or more importantly female sexuality? Sure you’ve seen hundreds, if not thousands of pornographic images of women faking pleasure with over-endowed men. And of course, you imagine yourselves the wielders of such pleasure, but in reality how many of you know what a real woman actually wants and needs to achieve pleasure? How many of you have taken the time to find out, or better yet, become skilled in these endeavors?

If we are to move beyond the plastic, the political, the violent, the sterile and mechanistic views of sex, we need to bring sexuality, eroticism and pleasure back into the conversation. We need a new language about sex and we need it now.

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