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The Painful Uncertainty of Vulvodynia

Author: Bree

I wrote the following journal entry in 2019 – three years after being diagnosed with Pelvic Floor Dysfunction and Vulvodynia. I have gone through so many deeply painful moments – emotionally, mentally, and physically – on this journey to healing pelvic pain symptoms.

Two days ago, I was able to do a vaginal mapping session and touch my cervix. One year ago, I was doing the same internal work, but couldn't put a finger inside my pussy because the pain was too excruciating.

That to say, anything is possible when you have the right team of people to guide you and the internal strength and will of a divine being. Which, you do, because you are divine. At whatever point in your journey with pelvic pain you are, I hope this entry reminds you that you are not alone, and there are many of us who get it.

FUCK your PT and FUCK anyone who makes you feel unworthy because of this pain. Break up with them both and start touching your own body.

Attempting to explore my sexuality while accounting for the nuances of sexual trauma and my medicalized vagina is fucking daunting. So much so that I'd rather not interact with my vagina unless it's being used for external masturbation with a robotic toy or for carefully considered sex with a meticulously chosen partner.

I'm not saying that planned, intentional sex isn't fun or normal, and a lot goes into sex when you have Pelvic Floor Dysfunction. Virgo level preparation. All natural water-based lube, latex-free condoms, and pussy massages before sex.

Pussy massage: that sounds sexy, hot, and pleasurable. Surely massaging your own vagina or having someone finger you before sex would be lovely. A partner fingering you versus massaging your pelvic floor are two wildly different things. The pelvic floor "exercises" I have to do before sex are medical, sterile, even.

They remind me of lying on a table, fluorescent lights in my eyes, while a physical therapist's gloved fingers covered in cold lube are inside of me as they attempt a casual conversation while intermittently telling me to "bear down" and "breathe."

"I struggle with allowing my body to respond in its own way. I feel dirty, scared. If my pussy feels happy, relaxed, and even hints at feeling orgasmic while I'm probing her with a Therawand, I feel out of control.

Now I'm in my bed, trying to relax my pelvic diaphragm and take deep breaths while struggling to comprehend whether these medicalized exercises I do with a wand (that looks like a dildo) are … sexual. Is this pleasurable? Do I want it to be? Am I even in control of whether these exercises are pleasurable?

When I feel unable to control or rationalize my own body's response, I get anxious. Terrified really. A natural response. Fight, flight, fawn, freeze. Polyvagal theory is burned into my brain at this point. My pussy usually hangs out in freeze and flight as I, the rational brain in a primal body, make sense of the pelvic pain.

My experiences with sexual trauma further complicate my relationship with my vagina, making me question my own intentions. How do I derive and control her pleasure while navigating chronic pain? I analyze how I am initiating the pleasure of my own body and if she's responding in the "appropriate" way.

But I'm not even sure if putting a glass wand inside myself is medical, pleasurable, or both. Does this even feel restorative? No, it feels like mental purgatory. I'm afraid to penetrate my own body with sex toys out of fear of pain, dissociation, and, ultimately, fear of not being in control of what my body is perceiving as sexual pleasure. Or sexual assault.

I struggle with allowing my body to respond in its own way. I feel dirty, scared. If my pussy feels happy, relaxed, and even hints at feeling orgasmic while I'm probing her with a Therawand, I feel out of control.

Pelvic floor dysfunction can also include involuntary muscle spasms. My pelvic floor is so used to being contracted that any time I attempt to relax, its natural impulse is to brace, causing spasms. She literally doesn't feel safe in a state of calm. The bracing is autonomic, and sometimes, I don't even realize it's happening until I tune into my body.

My vagina also contracts before penetrative sex because she expects pain. Mainly because I've experienced painful sex since losing my virginity. I'm re-training my nervous system to relax and expect pleasurable sex, but my kitty doesn't always obey.

I've been told that my pussy is bougie by physical therapists, which to me sounds like "high maintenance," and the worst part is, I agree. I'm ashamed to admit I feel my most powerful sexual organ feels like a chore – a puzzle I can't solve, a betrayal.

I've struggled with my sexual identity and confidence since high school, but focusing on solo sexual exploration has been key as I adapt to this experience. I'm still on a journey of building a relationship with my vagina, and I crave the days when all of this dialogue isn't running in the background, and I'm simply dropped into my desires.

To others, I appear "normal." Walking around with the unseen and unfelt agony of a painful pussy. Nobody sees the moments where I'm on the floor sobbing, with a partner sobbing, or in a physical therapy office sobbing. They don't see the moments I'm stuck in bed in pain, or the late nights typing combinations of "pelvic pain" and "vulvodynia" into a search engine as I piece together a healing plan.

To come back to my sexuality in the midst of chronic pain is truly a hero's journey. To even want to be sexual is a feat that I find myself still staying open to. Staying open to this path of glass wands, valium suppositories, weekly visits with my physical therapist, and cold lube. As I continue to wade through the uncertainty of it all, I'm still very much in this with my pussy – me and her forever.

About the Author:

Bree is a retired sex worker who has navigated a number of chronic illnesses over the last decade. Deeply intimate with womb healing, her soul purpose is to guide sex workers in devotional intimacy with their bodies. She supports her community in reclaiming their bodies and sexuality through somatic trauma processing, energetic balancing, and guided self-bodywork.