On Virginity and Vaginismus

By Judith Sullivan

Sex is scary. Not having sex is scary. More young people are virgins, more young people feel like they should be having sex. There is something of a societal sex paradox occurring, and a lot of us are unequipped to handle it.

We are stuck in the murky grey area between sexual liberation and sexual shame, and whichever way you lean, you’re bound to be criticised. I am still a virgin. I feel no particular urge to have sex, and I don’t believe I’m in any sort of rush, but when I look at others my age or even younger, I do feel a pang of shame. Traditionally, one would feel shame about not being a virgin, rather than the other way around. In an age of body positivity and women’s sexual liberation, conversations about sex and sexual health are more frequent and public than ever. Women are feeling more empowered and comfortable in their bodies, and ‘sex’ is no longer a word you have to whisper to a small crowd of people. That being said, women and society are different — we live in a patriarchal society, and everything we do with our bodies is presented to men for judgement. The ‘Madonna-whore’ complex. Men demand that we remain ‘pure’ until marriage, but then complain when there is a shortage of women willing to sleep with them. Essentially, we should be sexually available to men when and if it suits them. How typical.

With society wreaking havoc on women’s self esteem and men calling the shots on our bodies, I want this to be a place to candidly discuss all manner of sexual opinions and experiences. Whether you have sex or don’t. Whether you have frequent partners or you want to wait until marriage. While I can’t provide all the wisdom a sexually experienced woman might have, I can certainly offer my thoughts from the other side of the fence.

You do not have to have sex. You don’t have to have it by the time you’re 25. You don’t have to have it ever. Your virginity does not make you better than a sexually experienced woman, nor does it make you less than. Virginity has, in recent years, been widely debated for its importance. It is, essentially, a social construct. Something created by men hundreds of years ago as a way of defining a woman’s worth. Surely we’ve advanced beyond such medieval notions, so why concern ourselves with it at all?

You are free to make choices regarding your body. Virginity as a concept is becoming obsolete. I will say it again: you do not have to have sex. Today, tomorrow, in five years, or ever.

In my personal experience, I view sex as something emotionally intimate. I am not waiting to be ‘deflowered’, and I’m certainly not ‘abstaining to preserve my innocence’. I am simply waiting because it’s what feels best for me. For some people, it’s a hugely daunting thing to show oneself to another so openly. To allow somebody to see you naked, to allow them to touch you in such intimate ways. To me, it would be giving away a part of myself. Not my innocence or my purity, but something more complex. I am much more concerned with being perceived than I am with my ‘purity’. Sex does not make somebody impure. Sex itself is not an impure act, despite what we are taught. If I choose to have sex, it will not be about me handing my partner my purity, but entrusting them with a part of my soul. It will be a way for me to say ‘I know you, and I trust you with my heart and body.’

You would think that somebody so clued in would not shudder at the thought of having sex. Wrong. Sex is terrifying to me, but why?

Vaginismus is underdiagnosed and rarely spoken about when we learn about sexual health. It’s estimated that anywhere from 7-68% of women struggle with vaginismus, and many don’t even realise it. Vaginismus is a condition in which the vagina instinctively tightens up when something is inserted into it, which can lead to painful and uncomfortable sex. It’s widely accepted that sex is supposed to be uncomfortable, especially the first time, but how true is that exactly? Certainly, penetrative sex can be uncomfortable the first few times — your vagina is not used to accommodating anything of that size. But what about when it isn’t just the first few times? Many women experience pain during penetrative sex but choose to ignore it. The shame and stigma around vaginismus means that it’s hugely understudied and rarely ever understood. How many women struggle with penetrative sex because they’re too ashamed to admit that it’s painful? How many women struggle because they’re afraid of offending their partners? We’re taught that sex is supposed to feel good, but oftentimes, vaginismus affects women outside of the bedroom too. It stops us from being able to use tampons, being able to use our fingers either alone or with a partner. This can make sex, or the concept of it, terrifying.

Does vaginismus mean that our vaginas are broken? No. As somebody who suffers with it, my greatest fear is having to explain it to a partner. It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that my vagina is trying to catch up. I worry that when I do have sex, it will be a turn off, that my partner will take it the wrong way. With the idea that first-time penetration will be uncomfortable, people with vaginismus are likely doubly scared. If it’s painful for ‘regular’ women, how bad will it be for me?

I’m here to tell you that it doesn’t have to be bad. Luckily, vaginismus can be manageable. Anything from pelvic floor exercises to vaginal dilators to talking therapy can help ease your struggles. You can slowly work towards penetration if you so desire. Little by little, day by day. A worthy partner will not be turned off by this, nor will they think less of you. A worthy partner will listen to your needs and pay attention to your body. That being said, you do not have to have penetrative sex! Many women prefer clitoral stimulation, and there’s no shame in choosing to solely rely on that. After all, it is your body, and you know what’s best.

In summary, I want to make three things absolutely clear:

Your body is not broken.

You do not have to have penetrative sex.

You don’t have to have sex at ALL.

Sex is scary. It can be scarier for people who struggle with vaginismus or any similar condition. In a world where sex is so openly spoken about and depicted, we may feel like an anomaly. Where are the conversations about our struggles? I write this because I want it to be known that we are not defective, and I completely understand those awful feelings of fear. The good news is, it doesn’t have to be forever.

Your sex, or lack thereof, does not define you as a person. You are free to make your own choice, and nobody knows your body better than you. I am choosing to relay my own thoughts and experiences with hope that I can comfort anybody who is in my position and struggles the same way I do. You are whole, exactly as you are, and I can only hope that we can feel more comfortable sharing our struggles openly in future.