Ask Beastly: My Sexual Trauma Makes Me Feel Defective

You’re not. The fact you’re trying means you’re healing.

Dear Beastly,

Thank you for sharing your wisdom and perspective with a world that desperately needs them. I discovered your blog fortuitously, and reading your posts has been one of the most educational and thought-provoking experiences I’ve had in quite some time. Normally, I’m a reticent person, but since the world is on fire, I figure I’d risk it all. The only way I can ask my question is by giving some context, so please don’t think I’m just rehashing some sob story. Your time is precious, and this may be a more complicated question than you’re used to receiving, so I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you chose not to respond. If you don’t, please know that I’m grateful for the vital work you’re doing (as I'm sure many others are), and I wish you clarity and strength during this challenging time for us all. (Trigger warning: sexual assault)

Without getting too specific, I experienced repeated familial sexual trauma during my youth. So I had a very unhealthy relationship with my sexuality and sex in general throughout my childhood. Soon after I began college, more familial trauma was brought to light, and I spent the years that are supposed to be reserved for experimentation and discovery trying to work through fresh trauma. After college (and god knows a lot of therapy, which I'm still doing), I felt like I was ready to finally begin experiencing sex for myself, but being naïve and inexperienced, I found myself feeling nervous and scared and anxious to perform correctly during what few times I had sex.

I felt like I was defective, and I couldn’t understand why, knowing that I’m a sexual being and wanting to have these experiences. I wasn’t able to celebrate this part of life I thought would always be off-limits. And now I’m thinking that perhaps I am defective. I know enough to know that at my age (I’m 26), I’m much less experienced than my peers, and I know that inexperience is a major turn-off, not to mention how I’m crazy and put the “fun” in sexual dysfunction.

So, if you’re still here, here’s my question: Am I too old and fucked up to ever figure out how to enjoy sex and “do it” correctly? Is there only a certain amount of time we get to first engage with sex before it’s time to admit defeat? Intellectually, I know it isn’t too late for anyone to do pretty much anything, but I can’t help but look back on my failures and think that I need to realize that it’s time to leave the game of sex to those who are stronger and wiser than I.

Hey sweet man,

Thank you for your kind and generous words about my blog.

My dear, you are 26—you are so young. Many people haven’t even tried sex by your age; many queer people haven’t even come out to themselves at your age. You have so much time—time to discover sex, time to heal, and time to feel better about all of it. Despite all the trauma you’re working through (and I am glad you are working through it, hopefully with a competent professional), I’d say you are learning sex at a speed that is reasonably typical for guys like us.

Many gay and queer men do not start exploring until after they have failed marriages, after they have children, after long careers, or after lifetimes in the closet. As you correctly say, it is never too late for anyone of any age to do anything, but waiting until the retirement years does make discovering sex harder. So give yourself some credit: You are younger than the age range at which most previous generations of gay men were able to come out and explore.

You have time, and the work you're doing to heal from trauma with a therapist is more important than developing sexual skills. Mind and self work affect everything else—everything stems from that. Many develop sex skills before they learn how to manage their trauma, how to befriend themselves, and how to heal, and their sex lives are unhealthy as a result. Trust me: trauma work comes first.

Learning sex involves nothing more than getting lots of practice. Sexual skill comes with time and failure; sex is a journey you'll be on your entire life. It's never over—I am still growing as a sexual being—so there's no point in stressing about it. There’s no goal you have to reach, no ideal level of ability and comfort at which sex is always good, always enjoyable. I wish it were like that, but it’s not. Very experienced people still have bad sex sometimes.

People seem to have this idea that there’s an ideal level of sexual ability—like cruising altitude—at which point they can coast along and sex is easy, but that’s not how it works. There are always new challenges, new struggles, and new things to learn. I am very, very advanced in sex—yet I am still lonely, still dealing with insecurity, and still learning my body. We are all evolving sexually at different speeds, and nobody’s speed is “right.”

Good, satisfying sex can (and does) help heal the deep wounds caused by trauma, but you still need therapy. Everybody does. You have a therapist, so you're doing better than most.

You're not abnormal, love. A seemingly universal feature of gay life is late starts. We typically spend our early years, the ones in which our straight peers are dating and discovering sex, hiding in the closet, which means that many queer men first discover sex in their late twenties and early thirties. Some of the most sexually liberated men I know did not come into their authentic sexual selves until after thirty.

My ex-boyfriend is one. He is an absolute sex beast—one of the most impressively sexual creatures I've known—but he did not come into himself until he was older than you are now. He struggled for most of his life to find the confidence he now exudes at sex parties across New York. He dove hard into his exploration, as did I, and this is one way that some people process trauma. This way tends to incur more risks and health consequences; I became HIV-positive at a young age and had some scary relationships I wasn't ready for, which were themselves traumatizing, and he had some scary and dangerous sexual experiences, too. Diving hard and fast, when you’re not quite mentally or physically ready for the deep end of the sex pool, is a trauma response, and it can go two ways: it can be empowering or cause more trauma.

You're free to dive hard into your exploration as we did, so long as you know the risks—the most significant risk being, namely, that you can't know all the risks—or you can take baby steps, find the right people, and go at a gentler speed.

You seem to be doing the latter, and I think that's a smart approach. Sometimes I wish I had done that. There's no wrong approach, just a riskier one. The biggest thing to avoid is letting the voice in your head—which is your trauma talking—tell you that you are inadequate and unfuckable. No one is unfuckable. Everyone can find, and deserves, sex. Don't let your trauma tell you otherwise.

As for being "too fucked up," I do not believe anyone is barred from happy, healthy sex (or love) if they want it. It sounds like you've put in the work to unpack and face your trauma, and that's good. That’s brave. I encourage you to keep doing so. Only a therapist can make the call on whether someone is mentally and emotionally able to have healthy sex, but based strictly on your question, I would be suspicious of any therapist who said you were not. You seem self-aware, and you're working on yourself. That's big. Some people with severe trauma never get there.

In life, everyone experiences some trauma. Life is brutal, and no one survives it. Growing up is painful. People are cruel. It's jarring to manage shame and fear while growing up in a world like ours. You have a head start compared to the countless people who are not able to even ask the questions you're asking—who are not doing therapy, who don't have access to a therapist, and who have no support or resources. You are lucky to have the support of a therapist, and you are even more fortunate to have the gay and queer community to call home. As a populace, we share many of your traumas. We are men discovering sex at the same speed you are.

What you need more than sex right now are friendships. Go hunting for gay and queer friends. If you do that, good sex will come—along with the healing, community, and support you need to grow.

Love, Beastly