being naked is so much more than being naked

Self-Portrait by Stacie in her apartment in New York City.

Being naked is so much more than just being naked. 

If I was Carrie Bradshaw, I think this tagline would really resonate with the women of New York City. 

But I’m not Carrie Bradshaw. I’m, laughably, the complete opposite of Carrie Bradshaw. 

I’m a woman in her thirties living in New York City, who has only had sex with one man, writing about how sex can be painful, and how having Vaginismus means showing up in the bedroom might be intimidating, scary, and lonely (whether you’re a Carrie or a Stacie). 

Just having sex with one person (whether a man or a woman) can feel like a lot for someone with Vaginismus. If you’re new here, I am Stacie and I am sharing about my journey with Vaginismus. Vaginismus is both a mental and physical block that can make sex painful or make it completely impossible to put anything into a vagina (a penis, a vibrator, a tampon, etc.). 

When I think about the ups and downs I’ve had with Vaginismus and the contributing factors that caused it, I often think of how unprepared I was for the anxiety I would feel around nakedness. 

Being naked in front of someone in a passionate way for the very first time was something I day dreamed about all through high school math classes, almost every night before I went to sleep in college, and every time I saw a movie with a thirsty makeout scene. 

I was pretty excited to have sex for the first time twelve years ago. But I think I was actually more excited to finally get to makeout and be naked. 

But did you know one of the great paradoxes of life is that you can be equally excited and anxious at the same time?

Being naked meant more than just being naked— it meant being vulnerable. Vulnerable in a way I had never been vulnerable before— and that left me with anxiety I had never felt before. New vulnerability and new anxiety! Oh boy! So much newness. Or should I say “nude”ness? 

Were you somewhat anxious the first time you had sex or were naked in front of someone for the first time? Better yet, have you ever struggled with anxiety? At the best of times anxiety can feel like a heavy burden, or worse, debilitating. 

In my life, anxiety always manifests first in my physical body, whether responding to breakups, fears, disappointments, public speeches, musical performances, bumpy plane flights, or embarrassments. I feel nauseous, my stomach feels like it’s knotted up, and I’m unable to eat. Have you ever had your anxiety manifest in this way?

Thanks to mental health advocacy, I can now better identify when my body is holding anxiety, but I wonder why we don’t talk more about the anxiety of being seen naked in front of someone else for the first time? Especially in a society where our bodies and the way they look are constantly under dissection and discussion.

On a humorous note, in my daydreams and in cinema, removal of clothes just seems so hot and sensual. It’s ironic it’s the most unrealistic scene we see in movies and television because it’s just not that easy to actually remove clothes in a sexy way. 

Bra clasps can feel like a puzzle to those who don’t regularly use bras. 

Skinny jeans don’t just slide off. You really gotta tug those things off. (I got married when Skinnies were peak fashion; maybe the baggie jeans Gen Z are wearing now just fall straight to the floor?)

And honestly, taking underwear off once you’re laying down can look and feel a bit clunky. 

But before I knew all that, I was excited to get naked. I also remember a quiet sense of dread in the back of my mind that Brett was going to see me, in the body I wasn’t a super big fan of— completely bare. I had been criticizing my naked body for years every time I looked in the mirror, and now it was supposed to be this delicious experience for someone else. It was so hard to imagine someone else embracing my body with joy when I never had. Those critiques quietly mingled with the excitement I was feeling. 

Looking back at my wedding night now, I understand my behaviors the weeks leading up to it as undiagnosed anxiety. Anxiety that kept my body stressed, tight, locked up, and far from relaxed (I learned later that being relaxed is sort of essential to having sex).

There were a multitude of anxieties (not just nakedness) I was feeling leading up to my wedding night, and they all feel vulnerable to write about presently, but I think they are worth sharing and being aware of. These are anxieties I’ve internally worked through and continue to work through, which is why I feel comfortable sharing them on the internet. I feel like these anxieties could potentially be relatable to some of you.

Before we move on to my other anxieties, can we acknowledge that the older we get, the more aware we may be of our anxieties?

If you’d asked me twelve years ago if I had anxiety, I would have hardly known what you were talking about. I had just graduated college, was about to marry my best friend, and had been living in sunny LA for four years. I was living in my best weather years.

Back then I was very self-reflective, but I was pretty terrible at actually knowing how to identify unhealthy cycles of stress and anxiety in my life. 

I didn’t just have anxiety. I had anxiety out the wazoo. I don’t even know what a wazoo is.

A few weeks before our wedding, I found myself incredibly anxious, barely able to eat anything. I was so so excited to marry Brett and had so much peace about that. But I kept thinking about standing in front of him naked and felt so… nervous. 

Brett was super fit when we got married and I… well,  you couldn’t see my abs the way you could see his (If you’d looked at my tummy, you might have wondered if the Good Lord gave me abs). I was nervous about the size of my body compared to his. I was also very nervous about the amount of hair my body has. I’m a mediterranean girlie whom the Lord blessed with a fair amount of hair everywhere. I didn’t know what the right amount of hair for your wedding night should be, but I thought mine was probably too much.

On top of the anxiety I had about my body, I was and always have been anxious in a restroom. Since high school, it has always been hard for me to use the restroom in a public restroom (why don’t we talk about THIS more? I meet so many people who also have this anxiety). 

The day of my wedding, I got to my wedding venue and after we put my dress on, I realized I needed to go. Two of my bridesmaids walked with me into the communal restroom and helped hold my ball gown dress up while I sat on the toilet (which I felt SO awkward about), but I knew before I even sat down that there was no way I could go unless everyone left the room. As an undiagnosed People Pleaser, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t ask everyone to leave. Guests were already starting to show up and use the restroom too. 

So, I made up some excuse about not really needing to go and held my pee. 

The entire night. Until I got to our hotel room.

Six hours after I had to go. 

There’s no way holding your pee for six hours is a helpful thing to do before trying to have sex for the first time. Sex is all about relaxing your body and vagina, and pushing out… and I had been sucking in for hours and hours.

So you can see the oh so sacred mingling of my anxieties leading up to my oh so sacred mingling of my body with my husband’s. 

I look back and think…. No wonder our wedding night was so rough for me. I was anxious about sex hurting. I was anxious about Brett seeing me naked. I was anxious about going to the restroom in front of my friends. I was equally able to have SO much fun at our wedding and feel all of that anxiety at once. That’s a lot to carry in one day.

So why am I writing about the vulnerability of being naked? 

I wish we would have been encouraged to take our intimacy slow. We had never been naked together. We had barely touched each other. Why did we think the first night we were “allowed” to have sex we absolutely HAD to have it? Why did no one encourage us to take it slow. Maybe the first night we just makeout naked and leave it there. We were exhausted that night. Or, I was exhausted. I pushed myself and pushed myself to show up that day. I was so so tired. 

If we had agreed to not put pressure on ourselves the first night to have sex, I actually wonder if I would struggle with vaginimsus as much as I do. I hope to encourage couples in the future who have anxiety about being naked in front of one another for the first time to take it slow if you need that. To communicate what you need and not worry about disappointing the person sitting across from you. They can honor your needs. And they can go at your pace. Because they care about you. Sex is about loving each other where you’re at and finding joy in one another.

And if you have anxiety like I did, it’s okay to discuss that with your partner. I wish I had beena ble to communicate my anxiety with Brett twelve years ago. He has loved and cherished my body in all its shapes and sizes. He has loved my stretch marks. He has let me say yes and no to different kinds of intimacy and he listens to me talk through my anxieties, whether or not they’re about my body. He never pushed me to do anything that hurt when sex was painful. He’s even encouraged me to use public restrooms and waits outside the door for me when it takes extra long for me to go. LOL. A REAL GEM, HE IS.Maybe that’s what they meant when they said True Love Waits. Because True Love Waits for your partner, no matter how long it takes them to go to the bathroom or relax their body enough to have sex.

What do you wish was discussed more when it comes to sex?

Until next time my kind readers, 

Stacie