The Painful Sex

I blinked back tears as the physical therapist asked me about my pelvic symptoms with sex.

When I had seen my obstetrician for the first time I denied painful sex, mainly because I had normalised my symptoms to the point of complete denial. Besides, I knew no different.

“I see women who have divorced over this,” the physio said sadly.

I blinked faster. It felt as though my invisible dam of pain, suffering and tears was about to overflow.

“Their pelvic pain is so bad that they can’t have sex at all, and unfortunately many of them get divorced.” She sighed. “It breaks my heart.”

I looked down as another piece of my shattered heart crashed onto the floor.

My heart broke for these women.

My heart wept with these women.

My pelvic pain wasn’t to the point of complete celibacy but it was something I’d been struggling with for years, though I continued to have sex in spite of my pain; an obvious necessity when trying to conceive. Some days were worse than others and I never told my husband about this because I was terrified that we would stop having sex all together. He cared so deeply for me; he’d never want to hurt me.

Certain positions were worse than others; and particular positions would set off my pain and trigger severe pelvic spasming that would last for days.

Of course, I would never admit that it was causing me excruciating pain, I would only say “I’m not liking this position. Let’s try something else.”

Other times I would just say that I wasn’t “in the mood” and we would find other ways to “have fun”. I tried my hardest to maintain a level of spontaneity and fun, but this, by far, was one of the most depressing and enraging aspects of my suffering.

When I finally confessed my predicament to my husband he was speechless, immobilised by disbelief. He was angry that I had not told him sooner, but he also felt sick with the fear that he had hurt me. The complicated emotions of this tragedy enveloped us and together we wept.

Throughout this journey, I have never really asked “Why me?”. I have seen too much suffering in my career and my upbringing in South America to assume entitlement and expect “special treatment” from the “universe”.

Here is the ugly truth my friends…………

We have done NOTHING to deserve the bad in our lives, but we have also done NOTHING to deserve the good.

It is just bad luck.

Believing that I have “sinned” or “disappointed God” is a detrimental, damaging belief system that does NOT serve me. I REJECT it.

But also believing that I am “special” and a “good person” and therefore deserve to be more blessed than others; believing that my entitled first world white privilege was EARNED is also a detrimental and scary belief system. I REJECT it.

It is just good luck.

Suffering is an inevitable part of existence, but I will admit with complete honesty and deep vulnerability that this particular aspect of my journey brought me to my knees. I would sob uncontrollably and the words “Why me?” would sit on the tip of my tongue.

One day I gave in.

With the full force of my anger I threw that question at God.

I got no response.