Let's Talk About Sex in Marriage (Part 2)

(Extremely Vulnerable Post)

I’ve noticed something over and over with couples who open up to us about sexual struggles: they feel completely alone.

It makes me wonder… why? Why is it so hard to talk about what’s happening in the bedroom?

Some reasons I’ve seen: shame, fear, the sense that everyone else has a “perfect” marriage, or that it’s just too private to share.

We don’t have to talk to everyone. But I think we do need someone we trust (a friend, mentor, or counselor) so we’re not carrying it all alone.

Now, here’s my story. I’m sharing this because I want anyone reading to know they’re not alone. And sometimes, what looks perfect on the outside… isn’t.

This is deeply personal for me to share. But I’ve learned that being open about these struggles doesn’t make us weak - it reminds us we’re human.

Anyone who knew me while I was engaged to Ray saw a woman excited to get married. Our engagement was long-distance, with Ray in Saskatchewan and me in Alberta. I was planning, preparing, and imagining our life together.

What no one knew was that I was terrified about our future sex life. Maybe “terrified” is a little extreme, but I was extremely nervous.

Why?

A few months before our wedding, I went to the clinic for my routine pap exam. During the exam, I felt intense pain. The practitioner even asked if I was okay, suggesting I try to relax…. but I was relaxed.

Ouch.

She asked if I had something called vaginismus. Vagi-what? I had never heard of it before. She explained that vaginismus is involuntary tightening of the vaginal muscles, which makes penetration painful, including a pap exam… and sex.

I wanted to cry. I was engaged to a man who was excited about our future together in every way. How could I explain that our sex life might not be what we had dreamed?

At first, I didn’t talk to anyone. I just felt sorry for myself and worried that my future sex life might be painful - or worse, non-existent. I didn’t know who to open up to. I felt like there was something really wrong with me.

A few weeks later, I was having coffee with a friend. You know those friends who are so bubbly and open that you feel like you could tell them anything? She was that friend.

So, I got brave and opened up. I told her what the clinic had said and how scared I was - not just for myself, but for Ray, too. I worried that our intimacy (something we were both looking forward to) might be painful or disappointing for us both.

And in that incredibly vulnerable space, my friend gave me the greatest gift: no judgment. In fact, what felt like a huge thing to share, she treated as though it was no big deal.

She knew other women who had the same issue, and shared ideas and resources to help me. I realized I had nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of.

I wasn’t alone. There were many women who had experienced this, and for most, it wasn’t a long-term problem. I also learned that for a lot of women, vaginismus is psychological.

I felt so much hope. It was like a weight lifted from my shoulders. It was okay to talk about this. It was okay to be vulnerable… because in that, I found help, understanding, and reassurance.

I am so grateful for that conversation with her. By being open about what was going on, I also started a journey of healing. By the time Ray and I got married, there was no longer an issue… and no disappointment.

Sharing this story makes me feel a little ‘exposed’, but I hope it reminds anyone reading that we don't have to walk things alone if we don't want to. Vulnerability isn’t a weakness; it’s a bridge to connection, understanding, and healing. When we’re brave enough to share our fears, we give ourselves, and our marriages, the chance to grow stronger together.