Navigating Sex Post-Trauma

It takes time to feel intimacy without being triggered and for me, without being high. First in the unapologetic thots series.

TW: dissociation, sexual trauma and assault

It took one hit

For the blunt laced between my fingertips to loosen.

It took two hits

For my mind to drift.

It took three hits

For my body to get physically aroused.

It took four hits

For my consciousness to realize we were about to have sex.

It took a “I lost count” amount of hits

For me to admit to myself that the only way I could have sex was if I was high.

Because otherwise, I would start to dissociate.

Dissociation is a symptom of PTSD that affects your sense of identity and disconnects you from the present moment if a trigger arises.

That trigger for me was sex and god, is it frustrating.

Frustrating because the most basic forms of intimacy and sex felt like a trigger. Stuff like cupping my face while making out, embracing me from behind, or even doing it missionary style evoked such an intense outpour of emotions that left me frozen and numb. My mind at the time couldn’t distinguish that we were safe and no longer in that place of trauma. The intrusive thoughts just kept rolling in while any sensations in my body would feel out-of-reach.

I was on survival mode and to cope, I resorted to a means that would delay my reactions to the present moment.

In moments like this, we often take the shortcut when it comes to healing. I say “we” because at some point or another, we’ve all resorted to distractions to remove us from the present. May it be a trigger or not, there’s a conversation we often avoid discussing with ourselves regarding our trauma.

Weed delayed the conversation I was avoiding with myself. My relationship to intimacy and sex felt so stunted and as someone whose love language is touch—I felt paralyzed by my own sense of being. I wanted to feel pleasure. I wanted to be present. I wanted the person I had been shamelessly sexting for the past three days (yes, I work fast) to not see me space out after groping my ass.

All jokes aside, I don’t want to be reminded of what happened to me when I’m doing all I can to reclaim my body and mind. I craved the most basic tenet of sex and intimacy: autonomy.

So the question remains: How do we prevent the intrusive memories from killing our mood?

Honestly? You can’t prevent it. Healing isn’t linear and healing doesn’t necessarily mean we forget that the trauma ever existed. When I began confronting my dissociation without the weed, it felt like I plunged into a vat of ice cold water. My numbness and out-of-body experience engulfed me as I tried to simultaneously get into my hookup’s pants. The more I ignored my dissociation, the more it persisted.

Angry, hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I mentally cursed the flashbacks playing through my head. It was evident that I overwhelmed myself with this tug-of-war of wanting to feel pleasure and dismissing my body’s re-traumatized state. I had to step away from the night of pleasure altogether to my dismay. Suddenly, I was back to step one.

So let’s reframe our question: How do we cope with the intrusive memories that kill our mood?

Much better. I say “cope” because for many sexual trauma survivors, the goal of healing isn’t to bury what happened to us but rather, regain our power.

Let me emphasize that what triggers dissociation and how it manifests is different for everyone. For me it stemmed from sexual trauma and when triggered, I would mentally and emotionally check out from my body. Others may face the opposite and experience a visceral reaction that leaves them powerless to their emotions. Dissociation can make us go silent, freeze, inhibit our ability to communicate our boundaries, and disregard when our body language says, ‘no.’

So then it becomes tricky to check in with your partner when they’ve already checked out. There are multiple resources out there that provide a “how-to” guide in recovering dissociation when it arises, but often we don’t usually talk about how to go about it if arises during sex or intimacy.

The shortest answer to this is to stop. Communicate verbally and/or physically that you are withdrawing consent from this point forward and need time to yourself. Whatever feels comfortable for you in that moment, seize it. It’s helpful to think about this moment of halting as a chance to stabilize, or ground yourself. This is a classic treatment approach and one of three steps as described by the International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation which consists of stabilizing, trauma-work, and integration.

By stabilizing, we’re merging our homeostasis—the way our body regulates our senses—with our current environment. Meaning, that we can come back to ourselves and communicate to our partners: “Something came up for me and I need to process.” This phase of stabilization is solely for your needs and it does not mean you have to share your trauma. Regardless if this your life partner or a one-night-stand, they are not entitled to know your story unless you feel safe enough.

However, this first step is easier said than done. Dissociation is intense and it feels like secondhand nature because it harkens back to how we protected ourselves from the full impact of the trauma when it initally happened. Until we seek professional help, it becomes a comfort place—our way of self-preservation.

It’s one of the reasons why I believe it’s equally important to consider how our partners can help us through this moment of vulnerability. And, the best way to support is by checking-in continuously with your partners presence during sex and actively confirming if they are enthusiastically consenting, a newer term used by the Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network (RAINN) that describes consent as “looking for the presence of a ‘yes’ rather than the absence of a ‘no.’'

Dissociation becomes a huge communication barrier once the symptoms go into effect so relying on your partner to say something isn’t realistic nor should it be in any setting.

Enthusiastic consent is key and can look like regularly affirming each other's movements, asking permission, and showing reciprocal interest even before anything physical transpires. Note that enthusiastic consent does not apply to physiological symptoms of arousal such as getting an erection, secreting lubrication, or getting an involuntary orgasm. Your body’s natural functions are not a go-ahead.

I think we’re transfixed on the idea that confronting our trauma’s means tackling it head-on without consideration to our emotional and mental wellbeing. And I think we also think about confronting our trauma’s as a lonely journey. Neither are true. Sex is anything but casual or some activity we do in our pastime; sex is an act of trust, communication, and honesty. All of which can and should be applied when we engage in it.

I’ve had my fair share of hookups in the past couple of months since leaving a very toxic relationship and one of the things I’ve learned is that despite if my emotions are tied to a person or not—my autonomy is a priority. Being transparent about that has left me with a lot of meaningful experiences and the ability to practice patience with myself. Luckily, the partners I’ve had respected that and encouraged me to put the blunt down to rest.

Remember, healing isn’t linear and nor should it be. You are trying and that’s something we should be unapologetically proud of.