How I Finally Gave Myself Permission to say No to sex...at 42
I was recently on a 12-hour road trip back home to Ottawa from the East coast where I had just spent 5 transformative days at a spiritual retreat. I came away from the retreat with a commitment to Mother myself, my inner child, to be the mother to all those disconnected parts of myself. No matter what. A commitment to BE myself, to speak my truth, my fire even when it may not please others. I felt so open-hearted, ready to show up in the world differently.
About two hours from home, I started tuning in to some worry, a slight feeling of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Being the good student that I am, I breathed into the sensation in my body, welcoming it with kindness and motherly attentiveness. Asking what it might be trying to tell me. The little girl inside was feeling afraid. Afraid of not being heard, of being betrayed once again. The old patterns around feeling like sex would be expected of me, that I should want it after two weeks of being away from my sweetheart. I wrestled with the conditioned beliefs, the heaviness of all the "shoulds", of wondering what's wrong with me for not wanting sex in a time like this. The truth was, my truth in that moment, was that I was tired. It had been a very long day and if I really listened to that deepest and most honest part of myself, I wanted to come home and go to bed for an uninterrupted night of sleep. My truth wasn't convenient or easy to accept. I judged it for a while, and finally accepted that life was simply giving me an opportunity, one I couldn't unsee or unfeel, to be there for myself with loving kindness and compassion. The commitment of the weekend pulsing through my veins intensely.
The pressure in my body and mind was too much to ignore. I knew I had to find a way to express what I needed to my love in a way that was truthful. But it also had to come from a place of love and respect for him. I didn't want him to feel rejected. In over a year and a half together, I had never actually said No to sex. Or with my words at least. I knew I couldn't wait until we got home to say what I needed. I was afraid I would betray myself. I had to start where I was at, by expressing myself in a way that felt safer to me, that took the little girl and the inner teenager's concerns into account. I considered calling him but decided to send him an honest and heartfelt text instead. I stopped at the next rest area, my heart was pounding as I sat there drafting this message, wanting it to be written from a place of self-worth and self-love (ie. no apologies). I finally pressed send, knowing that self-love in this moment meant risking he might be hurt by it. I felt relief, and a form of terror at what might come next. These fears, I recognized, were all from the past, old programming and beliefs, not from the actual responses I would likely get from my partner. This was my past. All my most profound fears around lovability and unworthiness, on display. For me to face with a loving gaze, and grow through.
It took several endless minutes to hear back from him. His response was so simple and understanding. I wept in gratitude for the love I have in my life, for his beautiful soul that just wanted me to rest, to be well, and to help me with my luggage when I got in... He wasn't stuck in the fact I had said no sex tonight. He went straight to welcoming my request with an offer of how he might alleviate my stress when I got back home.
My body shaking, I stayed at the rest stop for a while, releasing waves of fear, of self-contempt, of grief for the voice I held back for a lifetime, hope that today might actually mark a new beginning, an important honouring of a truth hidden for over 25 years. An act of sweet mothering myself with something that really mattered. I savoured sparks of self-worth and inner freedom at the realization of my own strength to face my deepest fears and create my reality anew in this moment.
How have I made it to this age without having said no to sex?
I am after all a pretty confident, vocal, knows what she wants type of woman.
My body and heart have however held secrets, shameful ones stemming back to my first sexual encounters as a teenager. The truth was I never felt my body was mine. It belonged to the guys I hooked up with, the men I dated, or ended up in relationships with.
At the age of 15, I learned that sex was a tool to find acceptance and validation. What I remember from my high school years was this deep feeling that I should put out no matter what, or risk being rejected, found unworthy of being in the popular crowd. None of this makes logical sense, yet it held such power over me. If the guy wanted it, it would be.
This detachment from my own desire cues and body evolved into my twenties and thirties with slight variations. Strings of casual encounters mascarading as sexual liberation would inevitably end with me feeling worthless, shameful, and angry at myself. Looking back I can see that I felt an unease around sex. On one hand, I wanted to connect, I craved intimacy and love yet these experiences always left me feeling empty and cheap. It's only now that I can see the cause of these feelings. I wasn't respecting myself in the equation. A part of me knew that having sex meant erasing myself. I had no idea how to say no when I wasn't feeling like having sex on a first date. I had no voice. I had never had a voice or a say when it came to sex.
This got worse once I got into serious relationships. Intercourse would be expected on a regular basis. It mostly felt like another item on the to do list. Something I did for someone else, a duty to the other. It was always about his needs. I let it be that way. I played into it with all these expectations on myself. Being there for my partner, always available, willing, likeable, pleasant, and pleased was my roadmap. It wasn't long before I started to feel resentment towards him. It grew as I calculated how many times would be reasonable this week, anticipating his needs and carefully calculating the days he would be home, and therefore possibly expect it. Worry, learn to anticipate and avoid like an expert. And then continue to disappoint myself by staying mute, going along with it. Putting on a mask of enjoyment, regularly faking orgasms. Watching myself from above, occupying space in my head most of the time, mostly disconnected from my body, desires, and urges.
Fast forward to today. I am in a loving relationship with a sweet soul of a man. I adore him and feel like he gets me and loves me exactly as I am. I feel safe and secure in his generous presence. Yet, i've felt unable to claim my sexual voice until now.
As I turn towards my shameful truth, I can see that we are a complex combination of core beliefs downloaded in our childhood, and the unseen yet heavy sexual expectations and roles we carry as women to be there primarily for a man's sexual pleasure. Deep at the core of it all for many of us is also a belief that we don't have a RIGHT to say no. That we have to or they will be upset, get tired of us, go get it someplace else, or leave us. I’m in the middle of a journey of shining a loving light on outdated beliefs, beliefs I didn't even want to really admit I held, leftovers from early abandonment experiences that led me to believe my one and only job was keeping others happy. Somewhere along the way, that meant losing myself. In a big way.
What I did on the side of the highway that day was an act of Radical Self-Love.
I tuned into the sensations, thoughts, fears and beliefs living within. I saw what I needed and was willing to be rejected or to disappoint him by giving these needs Voice. It's one thing to stand up for yourself when the odds are good for a supportive and understanding response. It is an act of incredible courage, and radical self-love to express what you need and want, stand in your truth, when the outcome, the response is not guaranteed. When the other person, someone you love with all your heart, could be hurt by it, or reject you.
Tuning in, expressing ourselves authentically is a lifelong practice, sometimes bumpy and messy. The reward however is the discovery of new parts of ourselves, the gems of our truest self. What the tender layers of our deepest truths and feelings most need once unearthed however, is a simple offering of self-compassion and patience. One awkward and heartfelt request at a time, they carry us through to deeper experiences of self-trust and self-love.
