Dear Roe,
I am a straight woman in my late 20s, and I have diagnosed vaginismus. I have attended a few initial sessions with a qualified sex therapist, but have not gone as far as using dilators. I have tried and failed to have penetrative sex in the past, with men I was not in a committed relationship with, and have not been successful. I now have a better relationship with my body, having explored other paths to sexual satisfaction such as using vibrators, and am easily able to reach orgasm. But I still haven’t been in a heterosexual relationship, and part of the reason is vaginismus. The partners with whom I attempted penetrative sex in college backed away once it became clear that sex was not straightforward.
I am willing to have a mature conversation about my condition with a man I am dating if it looks like things are becoming serious, but I then feel a pressure to quickly train using the dilators purely because the man may have penetrative sex high on his list of crucial relationship markers, and this frustrates me. I need a partner with patience and understanding. I want to train on dilators for my own pleasure, but back away every time, partially because I feel I’m really only doing it to serve men’s pleasure. I’m open-minded and would love your thoughts.
Thank you for writing. What you’ve described is more common than most people realise, but because vaginismus is so rarely talked about openly, many women carry it quietly and with shame. Your self-awareness, reflection and act of sharing your experience here are already powerful acts of courage, so be proud of yourself – just by addressing this issue, you’re making life less lonely for others going through the same experience.
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Clinically, vaginismus is described as an involuntary spasm of the vaginal muscles when penetration is attempted. That’s not wrong, but it’s incomplete. This framing it puts all the focus on the vaginal muscle, as if that’s the only part of your body that matters. But vaginismus is more than a muscle reflex – it’s a whole-body, whole-person experience, and it often involves fear, pain, anticipation, and deep emotional responses that are shaped by personal history, relationships, and social messaging around sex.
There are different types of vaginismus. Primary vaginismus is when a woman has never been able to tolerate vaginal penetration – not just sex, but things like tampons or gynaecological exams. For many women, it’s not just discomfort; it’s physically impossible.
Then there’s secondary vaginismus, where a woman has previously been able to experience penetration, but then experiences a change like a painful medical experience, a trauma, an injury, or even just one unexpectedly painful encounter that triggered a protective tightening of the muscles going forward. The body, trying to shield itself from more pain, responds by closing off.
Both types of vaginismus are real, both are valid, and neither define your worth or your ability to have a full, intimate, loving life.
Some women who experience vaginismus have been deeply impacted by the cultural messaging they’ve experienced around sex. If you have been taught that penetrative sex is dangerous in some way – socially, emotionally or psychologically – it makes sense that the body would try to protect itself from it. And if your experience does resonate with vaginismus even without a formal exam, you deserve to be believed and supported. Some women have unfortunately reported having insensitive and upsetting interactions with doctors who either patronise them, pathologise them, or insist on invasive examinations, and this should never be the norm or tolerated. You know your body, and you deserve support.
I know you know this on some level. What I hear in your letter is a woman who’s caught in the tension between healing on her own terms and feeling pressure to make that healing palatable or convenient for potential partners. That’s a hard place to be, especially in a culture that puts penetrative sex on a pedestal. It’s great that you’ve taken the important step of seeing a qualified sex therapist, which shows commitment to healing. But remember to give yourself a lot of patience and grace. The early stages of therapy can be disorienting. You may not yet feel ready to begin physical tools like dilators, and that’s okay. Therapy is not a race, and it’s certainly not about “fixing” you. It’s about understanding yourself with more compassion and care.
What’s also wonderful is that you’ve found your own path to pleasure through solo exploration – which is sex! Masturbation, non-penetrative touching, orgasms – all of this is sex, and counts as sex when done with a partner too – as does oral sex, using sex toys and all the other things sex can entail apart from penile-vaginal penetration. Many women don’t even orgasm from penetration, yet it’s still held up as the ultimate goal – which is ridiculous and limiting. There’s a whole world of sexual intimacy beyond penetration, and good partners – the ones worth your time – will understand that. They won’t rush you or see vaginismus as a barrier to intimacy, because they’ll know there are many ways to connect.
You seem unsure that kind of partner exists. There’s an urgency and pressure in your letter, driven by fear of not being accepted by a future partner who isn’t even here yet. So it makes perfect sense that your body is hesitant. If you’re using dilators just to make yourself more “acceptable,” your body will resist – and rightly so. That’s not failure; it’s self-protection.
Try shifting your focus. Instead of centring what a potential partner might want from you sexually, centre what you want in a partner generally. If dating feels daunting, that’s understandable – especially if your past partners lacked empathy or put pressure on you. These past experiences deserve exploration and empathy in therapy. But it’s also important to remember that not all men are like that. Enter dating expecting kindness, emotional intelligence, and respect as the baseline. Think of dating exploration and connection. Move slowly. Be discerning. Maintain boundaries. Notice who makes you feel safe, and comfortable, and like yourself. Assume you deserve to be treated well – and don’t accept less.
You might also find it helpful to connect with online vaginismus communities. They can reduce isolation, offer support, and show you what’s possible. Many women with vaginismus are in loving, thriving relationships with supportive partners. For couples navigating this together, sex-positive couples therapy can be transformative. Seeing these stories may ease the pressure you’re putting on yourself and help dismantle the belief that men will inevitably pressure you into penetrative sex – which, frankly, is the type of man no woman should be dating anyway.
If you decide to have that conversation with a future partner, you’re not revealing a flaw – you’re sharing an important part of your story. The right person will see that as a strength. You get to say: “Here’s what I’ve learned about my body. Here’s what I enjoy. Here’s what I’m still working on.” And then you get to watch how they respond. That response will tell you a lot. If you share your story with someone and they back away, that’s not a reflection of your worth. That’s a filter.
Whatever comes next – whether it’s more therapy, dilators, dating, or just continuing to enjoy solo pleasure – know this: you are already doing the work. You’re already enough. Your body deserves respect, and so do you. Give it yourself, and expect it from others. Wishing you the best of luck.
