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We want to feel deeply connected.
To be seen. To be wanted (not just touched). To feel safe and alive inside our own bodies.
And yet, for so many people, sex becomes the very place we feel most disconnected.
It’s not for lack of desire. It’s often because of hidden beliefs, quiet shame, and old stories we never gave ourselves permission to question.
And these taboos—some inherited, some self-imposed—can shape our sexuality more than we realize.
The Invisible Scripts that Shape our Sex Lives
Sexual taboos aren’t always dramatic or obvious. They live in the subtle places:
>> The tightening in your chest when your partner lights a candle, and you assume it’s “leading to something.”
>> The way you instantly get in your head when your partner asks, “Do you want to have sex?”
>> The way your body shuts down the moment pleasure actually begins to rise.
Taboos often start in childhood, even if you had a loving home.
Many of these beliefs were inherited—from religion, media, family, or early experiences. They weren’t born from your truth, but they’ve shaped your relationship to it.
Maybe you grew up in a permissive household, like one woman I worked with, where nudity was normalized, drugs were present, and free love was part of the ethos. And maybe, instead of adopting that freedom, your nervous system responded by craving order, rules, and control. You became the “good girl.” You needed boundaries—so you built them internally.
Others grew up in environments where sex was met with silence—or shaped by purity messaging, like being taught that “good girls wait,” that sex outside of marriage is shameful, or that worth is tied to staying untouched. Some learned early that their body was a source of danger or objectification.
And if we never go back to look at the beliefs we formed about sex, we may spend our whole lives performing or avoiding it—rather than experiencing it.
What Happens When we Don’t Question our Taboos?
When sex lives in the category of “obligation” or “duty” or “something I tolerate,” we disconnect from our own erotic aliveness.
We go through the motions.
We avoid it until it becomes a source of tension.
Or we say yes, even when we mean no—then wonder why we feel more empty after than before.
Many people, especially in long-term relationships, begin to assume that this is just what happens over time:
“We’re just tired.”
“We’ve been together forever.”
“We’re in different seasons.”
Sometimes that’s true. But often, it’s not about time or stress or routine—it’s about unexamined stories, like:
>> “Sex is something I give—not something I receive.”
>> “It’s not supposed to feel good for me.”
>> “If I enjoy it too much, I’ll be seen as dirty, or wrong.”
>> “It’s selfish to ask for what I want.”
>> “If I say no, it means I don’t love them.”
>> “Pleasure is indulgent, not essential.”
Rewriting the Story Begins with Awareness
We can’t change what we don’t see. And for many, sexuality is the one area we’ve been taught not to look at too closely.
But it’s only in seeing clearly—without shame or judgment—that healing begins.
Some important questions to ask yourself:
>> What did little me decide about sex?
>> What did I see, hear, or feel about sexual expression in my home, my religion, or my early relationships?
>> What taboos still live in my body? Is there a part of sex that feels “off-limits” or uncomfortable? Is there a place in my body that I don’t want touched, but I don’t know why?
>> What do I believe is expected of me during sex? Do I feel like I need to perform? Or stay silent? Or always say yes?
>> What is my relationship to pleasure?
>> Do I prioritize it in my daily life? Do I believe I deserve to feel good in my body?
Taboos are Not Wrong. They’re Invitations.
It’s not about fixing or forcing anything. It’s about curiosity.
Taboos don’t need to be erased. But they can be explored—gently, at your pace.
For one woman I coached, initiating intimacy felt almost impossible. She’d been married for decades but still found herself pulling away, closing off, or enduring sex rather than experiencing it. When we slowed things down, she began to see: sex had always carried the risk of disapproval. Even as a grown woman, the “good girl” inside her was still afraid of doing it wrong.
She began making small shifts: staying naked a little longer after showering. Letting herself receive touch without immediately jumping to performance. Making honest sounds—not performative ones. Asking for touch that felt nourishing, not arousing.
Little by little, she stopped “doing sex” and began experiencing intimacy.
And it changed everything—not just in the bedroom, but in her sense of self.
Real Healing Happens During the Moment—Not Just After
You don’t need to wait until your next therapy session to explore this.
Some of the most powerful healing happens during intimacy—if you’re brave enough to speak.
You might simply say:
>> “Can we pause for a second? Something is coming up for me.”
>> “This is feeling tender. I need a minute to check in with my body.”
>> “That part of my body feels really sensitive. Can we try something else?”
>> “I want to try something new, but I feel a little nervous.”
>> “Touch me more slowly. Let’s go slower together.”
It’s not about saying the perfect thing. It’s about staying honest.
You can stop. You can shift. You can cry. You can laugh.
Sex doesn’t have to be linear. It doesn’t have to end in orgasm.
It’s a space for truth—not performance.
A New Relationship with Sex Begins with You
This is your life. This is your body.
You don’t need to become someone else to be more sexual.
You don’t need to heal it all at once.
But if you want a deeper connection, a fuller experience of your body, and a more intimate relationship with your partner—start by listening to what’s already inside you.
You don’t need to fix your sexuality.
You just need to get curious about it.
And you’ll be surprised what happens when you finally let yourself come home to it.
Reflection Prompts
>> What’s one unspoken belief I’ve carried about sex that I’m ready to question?
>> What part of my body have I avoided? How might I begin to reclaim it?
How might my sex life change if I saw it as innocent, expressive, and sacred—not something to perform or get right?
What does erotic innocence mean to me? And what part of me longs to return to it?
If you’re ready to explore these themes more deeply—in your relationship or within your own body—this is the core of the work I do.
You’re not alone.
And it’s never too late to reconnect with what’s sacred inside you.
~
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