The Gift of Bad Sex
What unsatisfying encounters are actually trying to tell you about yourself and your relationships
This post is from my EvolvingIntimacy.substack.com hub. Subscribe for free.
Perhaps you’ve been there: lying in bed after an intimate encounter feeling less like a million bucks and more like you’re a million miles away from each other. Something about the sex isn’t clicking, and at least one of you knows it. I’ve had clients come to me for this very reason. Initially, they are there to learn how to improve their sex lives. And sometimes, a few sessions, heavy on specific information/education and a few targeted resources, are just what they need to be on their merry, frisky way.
Then there are the times—more often than not, to be honest—when a deeper look at the sexual dynamic starts to reveal things about the overall relationship that aren’t working well or are even concerning. This can extend all the way up to abuse.
Communication problems? That will show up in intimacy. Attachment wounds? You betcha. Trauma? Yup. People pleasing and being performative, not authentic? Absolutely. Difficulty experiencing pleasure? For sure. A partner who actually doesn’t care much about you at all. Definitely. Shame? It’s got your number. Your own unmet needs you may not even be aware of yet? Likely. Resentment and buried conflict in the relationship? Indeed.
The above list is just for starters.
And then there’s the subtler version of all this: the sex that isn’t bad exactly, but isn’t good either. The ‘fine’ sex. The ‘I guess that was okay’ sex. The kind that leaves you staring at the ceiling not in devastation but in a mild, vague disappointment you can’t quite name. That version deserves just as much curiosity as the more obvious kind. ‘Fine’ is still data.
While it might be easy to throw your hands up in despair and say “forget about it. It’s too complicated. I’ll just grin and bear it, then, or stop doing it at all!” as a sex therapist, I’d say not so fast.
“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure that you seek,” is a Jung quote that comes to mind here.
No doubt taking a closer look at the intimate space is brave work. Let’s look at some of the ways subpar sex can (dare I say it?) serve.
Bad Sex is Data
Bad sex isn’t something to be ashamed of or push through. It’s information and it’s something to get curious about. Sex is one of the most honest mirrors a relationship has. The body can often sense what the mind hasn’t caught up to just yet. For example, a person who cannot be present sexually–how present are they in the relationship in general? How present are they with themselves?
If there’s something about sex in particular that causes a person to check out, what is up with that? (That person who checks out could be you, by the way!) This tender topic is a place where living the questions with compassion, curiosity, and empathy can help people bridge over and begin feeling closer, not further apart.
When Bad Sex Is Actually a Warning Sign
Sometimes the body senses something more sinister. For example, encounters that feel like you could be anyone and the other person/s wouldn’t particularly care that much. Or a partner who seems put off by your vulnerable, authentic erotic expression.
One story I’ve heard more than once goes something like this:
“Once we started getting more intimate in the bedroom, things got weird. I’ll never forget when it shifted. I was being expressive and open, and it seemed to really upset him somehow. Sex became much more vanilla and robotic from there. It was like he wasn’t even there, or I could have been any woman. Honestly, I was afraid I’d gone overboard that one time, and forced myself to rein it in. Actually, that wasn’t too difficult to do, because I wasn’t enjoying it that much at this point anyways. Feeling judged killed my excitement.”
While the details vary, the story often continues along these lines:
“Months later I found out he was a heavy porn user. He admitted that he felt a lot of shame around it. He said he thought the female performers were disgusting. It came out in the wash that he judged any woman who was sexually expressive as “bad.” He said he respected me too much to want to put me in that category. It took awhile, but I figured out that’s why he found my enjoyment to be such a turnoff to him. Why he judged me the way he did. It was his own judgment of himself that he put on [projected onto] me. It was awful. All I wanted was to enjoy
a sex life with my boyfriend. Oh, and he also became really controlling around my communication and overall self-expression outside of the bedroom. That took me awhile to see. But it did happen.”
It turned out the people who report this pattern were in narcissistically abusive relationships. Sex illuminated the pattern early (her partner was triggered by her truth, and controlling behavior around communication subsequently emerged).
Note: I’m not saying all people who struggle with porn usage are narcissists. I am saying that sexual challenges often point to dynamics that deserve a second look.
While this might read as a somewhat extreme example, I can assure you these scenarios can and do happen. It’s an example of why paying attention to what does or doesn’t happen sexually can go way beyond building sensual satisfaction. Practicing this level of honesty can be a move that keeps you safe.
The Radical Act of Admitting Sex Matters
For many people, especially those raised with shame, purity culture, or messaging that sexuality is sinful, frivolous, or unimportant, even acknowledging that sex matters is a huge and courageous step. As Emily Nagoski articulates in Come Together, depending on what gender socialization you receive, the degree to which sex matters varies. If you got female cultural programming, you’re supposed to want sex, but not too much. If you got male cultural programming, you’re supposed to want it all the time and be ready, willing, and able to make it happen anytime.
One interesting thing I’ve heard from clients, typically male clients, is that they’ve absorbed the message that goes something like this: “If sex is on offer, I should just take it. Whether I want to or not.” As you can imagine, this leads to awkward, disconnected, disappointing, and sometimes unsafe encounters. Peggy Orenstein addresses this phenomenon with nuance in her excellent book Boys and Sex.
Considering all of the above, getting clear on what you want, and what is and isn’t working for you, is a leap for many people precisely because it’s an act of self-respect. This shift can feel like rebellion against all sorts of norms and shame-based stories (because it is!) It’s a way of turning towards yourself and saying, “I see you. You matter.” Finding a way to voice your needs, wants, and truth? Massive.
And what if voicing your truth doesn't go well? That's a real risk, and it's worth naming honestly. Sometimes the truth changes things between you and a partner, or within yourself. Relationships can and do end over these revelations. And while that can be painful, humans are remarkably resilient when they're finally living honestly. The pain of truth is almost always cleaner than the slow ache of staying silent. People do heal, often into something better than what they were holding onto before.
From Awareness to Action
Bad sex is a gift, because it's an invitation to look deeper. And looking deeper doesn't have to mean blowing everything up. It means getting curious. It means starting an honest conversation, with yourself first, and then potentially with a partner. It means giving yourself permission to feel your own longing and to want more. Remember, you are worth engaging in this conversation.
If you're not sure where to start, consider working with a therapist trained in navigating sexual and relational matters. A skilled professional can help you untangle what's happening, to work through the challenges, and, when necessary, help you discern what the patterns in your intimate life are really telling you about the relationship overall. Sometimes that's a path toward deeper connection. Sometimes it's something harder. Either way, you deserve to know.
If you get nothing else out of this essay, dear reader, I’d hope you’d know that if something has gone awry in your sex life, or if it’s never felt great to begin with, it’s okay to get curious. Here’s what I want you to take with you: the conversation you’re most afraid to have…with yourself, with a partner, with a therapist…is often exactly the one that changes everything. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s honest. And honesty, even when it’s uncomfortable, is where intimacy actually lives. Bad sex brought you to the door. What you do next is up to you.
Moving Forward Authentically
Keen to dive in more? Here’s an invitation in the form of some journaling prompts. Pick one, a few, or all. Choose your own adventure!
You don’t have to write, per se, unless you want to. You could relate to these prompts in a variety of ways, including by making some art. Or you could collage, scribble, dance, stretch, chat with a friend, and/or meditate on the following:
What has bad sex taught you about yourself?
What has bad sex illuminated in your relationships?
What have you been afraid to admit you want?
What would it mean to take your own sexual satisfaction seriously?
What would a joyful, fulfilling sex life look and feel like to you?
If any of this is already making you think, feel, or blush in recognition, you’re exactly who I’m writing this for. Subscribe so you don’t miss what’s next, and it’d be pretty cool if you’d pass this on to a friend who’d be into it. 👇
Bria Tavakoli is an integrative sex and relationship therapist licensed in Colorado. Evolving Intimacy is her space for the conversations that don’t happen at most dinner parties. Find her on Instagram at @briatavakoli and at embodywithbria.com.
Boring But Important Disclaimer: This space is for reflection, education, and general information only. It isn’t a substitute for therapy or individualized mental health care. Reading, subscribing, or engaging with this content does not create a therapist–client relationship. While I’m glad you’re here, I’m not able to offer personal advice or support through the Substack platform. If you’re needing support, I encourage you to reach out to a licensed mental health professional or a trusted resource in your area.