My vulva, vagina and I have been at odds for a long time.
Not only did I grow up feeling it was ugly – lopsided, hairy, not like the girls in the videos – it was also broken. I absolutely hated it.
When I think about my experience with vaginismus, many feelings come to the surface. Anger and resentment, for the young girl who did not receive accurate information about the condition or treatment. Sadness, for the inadequacy and brokenness that plagued her for so long. Mourning, for the many experiences I missed out on and the years that could have been different had I received treatment sooner.
At the age of 12, I got my first period: I remember running into my dad’s shed to announce the exciting news. As an inherently anxious person, I had already begun worrying that something must be wrong with me, as some friends had already had theirs. However, now I felt relief; I was like them now. Like many young girls, I started with pads. I felt that I didn’t need to start with tampons yet. I was still young.
A couple of years later, I felt ready to try out tampons. Many of my friends used them and I wanted to keep up with them. I always felt like the weird one for wearing pads; whenever I slept over at a friends’ house on my period, I had to make sure I hid them. I was so embarrassed that I used pads. Pads were definitely aimed towards girls who had just started their periods, whereas tampons were marketed as the end goal. I wish I could go back now and tell myself that what sanitary options you choose is unimportant and doesn’t affect your worth.
I studied the manuals and instruction booklets that came with tampons. I rigorously analysed many vagina diagrams and consulted my mum and the internet for help. The advice from all avenues was the same: RELAX. Take a deep breath. The diagrams of a girl with her leg up on the toilet seat mocked me as I tried over and over and over again. Many women who have experienced vaginismus report feeling like they were ‘hitting a brick wall’: this was exactly the case. There was simply nowhere for the tampon to go (or so I thought). I gave it a rest; it didn’t matter to me too much yet.
Like many women, it wasn’t until I met my boyfriend at 16 that it became much more of an issue for me. From our first time, I simply KNEW something wasn’t right. It was the brick wall feeling all over again. Sex was never right – I just knew it – and I knew he thought it was normal, because he was a virgin too. It saddened me that he thought this is what it was supposed to be. I decided I needed to see a gynaecologist, a consultation that ended up being a defining experience for me.
After the examination, the gynaecologist told me and my mum that I just “needed a bottle of wine to loosen me up” and basically insinuated that the problem could be solved if I was fucked hard enough. If I was really worried, there was a surgery we could do, he said. They would just need to make an incision.
Still to this day I don’t actually know what they did to me during the surgery. I am so saddened to think that I went through this unnecessary procedure, like many people before and after me. It breaks my heart beyond belief. After the surgery, I noticed absolutely no difference and was shattered.
I attempted my first pap smear at age 20. I had been sexually active (everything but actual intercourse) since I was 14 and felt it was time. As expected, the exam was unsuccessful. The GP asked me if I had been sexually abused as a child, and it got to the point that I started to think that maybe I had and had been blocking it out of my memory. I even asked my mum if something had happened to me. I ran out of the doctor’s office crying. I knew it – it was confirmed – something was definitely wrong with me.
Following the failed attempt at a pap smear, I went again to a different gynaecologist. She was much more empathetic, but concluded that as she could fit her finger in my vagina at the time (despite it being uncomfortable for me), that I at least had a vaginal canal, and all I needed to do was relax.
I was getting really fucking frustrated at this point.
“I AM RELAXED!” I would exclaim to my mum. “I’m not tensing! It’s out of my control!” She always told me (and still does) that it was just in my head – something I feel like lots of women with vaginismus hear repeatedly. There’s absolutely no denying that a large element of the condition is mental, but knowing this didn’t help. Hearing this repeatedly was damaging and really minimised what I was going through.
I swore, if one more person told me to relax…
Meanwhile, I was still in my relationship, of which the last 12 months were completely lacking of intimacy – we didn’t even share a bed anymore. I had given up. It was to the point that I put it down to just not being a sexual person; I told myself I didn’t like sex. It wasn’t for me. Believing that made me feel better, but in the back of my mind I knew I was lying to myself.
Fast forward to January of this year, to my first post break-up sexual encounter and the realisation that I could actually have intercourse, albeit super painful and uncomfortable. This was a pivotal moment: I finally knew what it was like to have a penis inside of me – such a wild concept. My partner was extremely reassuring and would help me to relax throughout.
But like any journey, my recovery was not linear. I tried tampons again - unsuccessfully. I tried to get a pap smear again - unsuccessfully. However, I now had an amazing GP who I trusted and felt comfortable with. She wrote me a referral to a physiotherapist, but at $220 a session (I had also just lost my job to the pandemic), it wasn’t a viable option for me.
As a 25-year-old, newly single gal who was rediscovering her sexuality, I had slept with a few guys, invested in some toys, and was well versed with masturbation. I was becoming more and more comfortable with my body and my vagina, so I thought it was time to take the next step. After doing some of my own research, I decided to invest in a dilator kit and go at my own pace.
I sat cosily yet anxiously in my bed the night it arrived. Rolling the smallest size around in my hand – it’s about the size of a tampon, a little longer – I thought there was no way that this would work. I expected my dilating journey to take a long time, but I was ready. I was so inspired by the many success stories I’d read.
To my surprise, the smallest size worked quite well, and by the end of my session I had already used the second biggest size. I was gentle with myself, took my time and focused on my breath. I burst into my roommate’s room, crying the happiest of tears and confided in her about everything. She is still the only person besides my mum who knows the whole story and has been my biggest supporter thus far.
I continued to use the dilators every night for the next couple of months, and have since had successful, comfortable and enjoyable intercourse – and, to my absolute shock and amazement – a successful pap smear. This was one of my biggest breakthroughs and achievements in my life. I couldn’t help but cry in my doctor’s office when it happened. I had been waiting for this moment for such a long time. I’m really happy to announce that I now have a great, healthy sex life and have had no issues ever since.
I know for a fact that my condition was exacerbated by my earlier experiences and traumas around feeling ‘broken’. Had I had the resources, treatment, and understanding that I have now at an earlier age, I know things would have been different. The feeling of not being a real woman really stayed with me, and undoubtedly caused more anxiety and tension, causing a vicious cycle and preventing any sort of penetration. To me, this confirms the role of the mind-body connection in the condition, and explains why many recommend individuals with vaginismus receive psychological treatment alongside physical therapy.
Discussing the concerns with my friends and normalising my experiences helped enormously and I truly believe I wouldn’t be where I am today without that. I also believe that my emotional well being played a huge role: at this point in my life, I have never been happier. So many years of my life I had been depressed and stressed and I have no doubt that this was a factor.
I’ve now come to terms with my vaginismus and the lessons it has taught me. I still mourn the years lost and the sadness that it caused, but my recent breakthroughs have given me so much confidence and an appreciation for my body that supersedes all of it.
It is a hope of mine that vaginismus becomes more spoken about in society so that more young people with vaginas can have agency over their bodies, and be spared the shame that I and many others have experienced. My vagina and I are best friends now. I listen to her needs and treat her with respect and love.
If you are experiencing vaginismus, I need you to know that it does not define you. You are not broken. You are perfect and so powerful.