Introduction
Growing up, I was an extremely inquisitive child. I was also very sensitive, and I had a strong internal desire for fairness. When I’d witness innocent people being harmed, I’d ask my peers and adults why these things occurred. Usually, the response I’d get was, “life isn’t fair”. For a while, I accepted this, but overtime, I began to think about how we could make it more fair.
One thing that particularly confused and bothered me in high school was witnessing my friends who were curvier than me being hypersexualized and slut shamed by my peers and adults. People would assume they were having sexual experiences that they weren’t solely because of their body type, they’d get their nudes leaked, and I’d hear guys saying derogatory things about girls who were sexually active. To me, these experiences seemed cruel, damaging, and traumatizing, but to many of my peers, this was the norm. When my friends and I would discuss their frustrations with these experiences, I felt sad and helpless. I was insecure and afraid that any action I took would make me a target. I’d tell my friends that what was happening to them wasn’t right and that they didn't deserve to be treated that way, but it never felt like enough.
My High School Experience
I’d probably be labeled a “late bloomer”, but this was somewhat not by choice. I had a lot of insecurities in high school, and many of my classmates made it known to me that they did not find me the least bit attractive. I talked to a few guys towards the end of high school, but I didn’t have my first kiss until after I graduated. Throughout high school, I felt pretty lonely and undesirable, but in hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with the toxicity that came with having sex and dating during that time period.
While I wasn’t interacting much with others in a romantic or sexual way in high school, I was having a lot of thoughts and desires of my own that I kept to myself. I’d overhear my male classmates having conversations about sex and masturbation riddled with misogyny and homophobia, but I was still envious of the seeming freedom they had to discuss sex openly and shamelessly in public and with each other. It was funny and normal for them, meanwhile my friends and I wouldn’t go near the subject.
Before I had sex for the first time, I had this inner knowing that it would change a lot for me. I saw how much of a focus sex was amongst my peers and in the media, and I was eager to understand what all the hype was about. When I had my first accidental orgasm via jacuzzi jets at a pretty young age that I can’t recall, my first instinct was to share the experience with others. It felt wrong to keep such an incredible feeling to myself. However, I also knew that this was a taboo thing to discuss, and people might think I was weird if I spoke about it, so I kept it to myself.
The message I got from my parents about sex was to use protection and that sex could be a beautiful thing if I did it with someone I loved. Of course there was much more to learn and know about sex, but I felt the conversations my parents had with me were filled with much less shame in comparison to other families. Perhaps this was because I didn’t grow up religious. While I was very curious about sex, I told myself I wouldn’t have sex with someone for the first time until I felt like they cared about me. But I downloaded tinder because at 18, I had never kissed anyone, and I didn’t want to go the rest of my life never having these experiences. I matched and had my first kiss with a cute guy who, unbeknownst to me at the time, was on a break with his girlfriend. Thankfully, I stopped myself from having sex with him, but still felt accomplished checking off one of my boxes.
College
I remember a conversation I had with some friends I met my freshman year of college about sex and how most of them wanted to wait until marriage. I stayed quiet because, while I wanted my first time to be with someone I knew would be gentle with me, the idea of waiting until marriage felt like torture. I wanted to get sex over with, and I felt ready.
I had sex for the first time when I was 18 with a guy I had hung out with a few times. It was very painful, but I wanted him to have a good experience so bad that I just tried to push through. I told myself that stopping was not an option. I imagined how he’d talk about the experience with his friends afterwards, and I didn’t want him to describe it negatively. I felt that a large part of my value was tied to how well I was able to please a man sexually, and I wanted him to like me and want to see me again. When I watched porn for the most part, the woman looked like she was in pain, so I assumed that pain during sex was normal for women. But luckily, the guy I was having sex with could sense my discomfort, and he told me that we could stop. I let out a large internal sigh of relief and felt proud of myself for choosing him as my first. However, he did simultaneously try to manipulate me into not using a condom even though I insisted we use one. Even though I remember my parents telling me how important it was to protect myself during sex, I gave into what he wanted again out of fear that he wouldn’t have a good experience. I was anxious the entire next day as I was sure that I had contracted an STD and was also pregnant. I later journaled about the experience.
Journal Entry from January 24th, 2019
“I really hyped this whole sex thing up. I did not enjoy myself. It was very painful during and after. As of right now, I’m never doing that again. I hope my future boyfriend is fine with a sexless relationship.”
I’m a very dramatic person (lol) but, eventually, the first guy I had sex with became my boyfriend, and I started enjoying sex more the more we had it. I started to understand what everyone was talking about and eventually realized I wanted to have sex a lot more often than my boyfriend did. I had the ignorant idea that all guys were extremely sexual. Being turned down when I’d initiate sex was hurtful and not something I was at all prepared to experience. However, I learned that everyone is different in terms of how often they want to have sex, and your gender doesn’t determine what that looks like. Sexual incompatibility is a common issue in relationships that you shouldn’t take personally, and it can be helpful to brainstorm alternative ways to be intimate together besides having sex. Also, consent is the most important thing to consider when having sex with anyone, and you shouldn’t coerce your sexual partner into having sex if you can sense they’re not interested. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a committed relationship or not, your gender, or how hurt or horny you are.
The longer my boyfriend and I were together, I started to feel like our sex life had fallen into a very predictable routine, and he seemed to be enjoying it more than I was. While orgasming shouldn’t always be the main goal in sex, I still had never experienced an orgasm with a partner, and that was something I wanted to work towards. But sex would end as soon as he finished. When I brought up different ideas with my partner regarding things like lube to ease some pain and discomfort I was experiencing during sex or sexual positions that might increase my chances of having an orgasm, he implied that my suggestions were ”inconvenient”. I would constantly ask him questions about how he was enjoying our sex and ways I could improve, but he would never ask me those questions. My sexual pleasure was important to me, and I started to feel dismissed and unfulfilled in this aspect of our relationship, but everything else was fine. I thought it would be a shallow reason to break up. However, eventually, I sensed he was being dismissive and dishonest towards my concerns in other aspects of our relationship as well, so I ended it. Of course I was disappointed that things didn’t work out, but part of me was excited to explore and find someone I was more compatible with.
I talk about my sexual explorations after ending my first relationships in this essay if you’re interested in reading more about that. In summary, while I did learn a lot about myself and other people in that time period, I would often have sex to cope with feelings of loneliness, and a majority of my experiences were unsatisfying and borderline traumatic. I had an unfortunate experience where I found the courage to tell someone I was having sex with that I was in pain, and his response was, “I’m almost finished.” I asked my therapist if it was normal to be in pain during sex because I honestly didn’t know the answer, and she told me plainly, “No, it’s not.” I started crying afterwards because I had sex with so many people who used my body for their own pleasure, and I couldn’t find the courage to advocate for myself in those moments. I felt like I betrayed myself countless times, and I couldn’t continue this cycle.
I became the “sex” friend in my friend groups, and everyone looked forward to hearing about my conquests. But inside, I felt like an imposter because I knew that sex could be much better than what I was experiencing, I just didn’t know how to achieve that. This was frustrating to me, but I still held onto hope that sex could be good, powerful, and healing even. I watched Shan Boody’s youtube videos, and she really affirmed to me that women are supposed to feel pleasure during sex, and it’s not shameful to talk about sex, seek pleasure, and advocate for your pleasure. In college, I read a book called Pleasure Activism by adrienne maree brown, and I also took a class called, “Identity and Sexuality”. These experiences all blew my mind. I had never heard people talk about sex in a way that was so free of shame, expansive, positive, feminist, inclusive, and affirming. I had to learn more. I became so excited at the prospect that there was information out there that could lead to myself and others possibly having better sexual experiences.
Why I want to be a sex educator
This leads me to why I want to be a sex educator now. I know I’m not the only person who’s had experiences similar to mine or much worse, and I know the effects that my relationship with sex have had on me mentally and emotionally. A lot of us don’t have the education we need in order to navigate sex in a way that feels aligned with our authentic wants and needs. Sex can be scary, and it is a risky thing to do, but many of us are going to do it anyway, so why not provide ourselves and our communities with the resources and education necessary to do it in a way that is as safe and as pleasurable as possible?
What is Sex Education?
Unesco says that comprehensive sex education, “…aims to equip children and young people with knowledge, skills, attitudes and values that empowers them to realize their health, well-being and dignity; develop respectful social and sexual relationships; consider how their choices affect their own well-being and that of others; and understand and ensure the protection of their rights throughout their lives.”
We are aware of the risks when it comes to navigating sex and relationships, yet we go about preventing harm in the wrong way. We tell young girls not to wear tight clothes because it’s “tempting to men” or we call them “fast” or “sluts” for having bodies and/or sexual desires. Men and boys are often violated and taken advantage of as well, but we condition them to believe that the more sex they have, the more of a man they are, and that they should be happy about any sexual encounters they experience no matter the context. In addition, we tell all young people to wait until marriage to have sex, and we offer little education on how to stay as safe as possible or experience pleasure if that’s something they choose not to do. There is purposely little to no mention of healthy ways to navigate queer sex and relationships, masturbation, power dynamics, sexual negotiation and communication, foreplay, aftercare, and the list goes on and on.
Many adults believe that talking to young people about sex at all will just make them want to have sex more. Children are not trusted to make smart decisions when it comes to their bodies, so they shame, scare, and misinform them instead of educating them. However, UNESCO also states that, “Sexuality education leads to learners delaying the age of sexual initiation, increasing the use of condoms and other contraceptives when they are sexually active, increasing their knowledge about their bodies and relationships, decreasing their risk-taking, and decreasing the frequency of unprotected sex.”
Sex education is not just about sex, and it’s not frivolous or hedonistic or reserved for one 20 minute class in middle school scaring you into abstaining. It’s also about:
understanding our bodies and the bodies of others
understanding how we want to relate to each other and treat each other in some of our most vulnerable moments
bodily autonomy and having the right to make decisions about your own body, life, and future, without coercion or violence no matter your gender, age, sexual orientation, race, religion, etc
not limiting ourselves to what we’ve been taught and not allowing ourselves to be controlled
discovering the expansiveness, the healing, and the transformative qualities that healthy sex and relationships can have on us physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually
reaching our full potential and authentically expressing all the parts of ourselves
being able to recognize when experiences are healthy or unhealthy for us
instilling the belief in ourselves that we are worthy of feeling good, and therefore having the courage to avoid and remove ourselves from unhealthy experiences when we’re able to and the courage to pursue the situations that could be good for us
so much more!
Where Am I Now?
You might be wondering what it looks like to actually work in sex education. This is a pretty expansive field, so many people will combine their interest in sex education with another unique interest or part of themself. I’ve always found film and movies to be fascinating, and I’ve had the desire to combine these two passions of mine for a while now. Since September 2023, I’ve been working on a documentary called “Sex Talk”. My co-director, Aminah and I, have interviewed 16 black people about sex, pleasure, and everything in between in attempts to normalize and de-stigmatize conversations around sex and pleasure in the black community. We are currently crowdfunding through a website called Seed and Spark with the hopes of raising $6,000 by August 1st. If this is a topic that interests you and you believe that all people no matter their identity deserve to experience the freedom that comes with having a healthy relationship with sex, follow this link, read more about our story, help us reach our goal, receive one or more of the incentives we offer, and make your contribution to a more equal, liberated, and pleasurable world for all!
Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!
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