Joy Division: Why Avoiding Delight is Damaging Your Sex Life
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My client looked at me like she had an idiot for a therapist. I had asked, “So, what are you going to do for enjoyment this week?” I often ask a version of this question of many of my clients as we are wrapping sessions. First, she proceeded to list her to-do list for the next couple of days. I pressed her…this list, while impressive (and perhaps a tad exhausting?) was not answering the actual question. I was asking about moments of play, about non-sexual things she enjoyed, not about hours of work.
Once I clarified that, her response was dismissive…somewhere along the lines of “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really do that.”
And yet her reason for seeing me was a long-standing struggle to orgasm with a long-term partner who she still professed to feel strong love and erotic attraction towards.
I saw the connection immediately between her dismissing of pleasure in daily life and her intimate challenges. My client did not. Not yet.
This incident was years ago, and while it might have been one of the first times I’d seen a client brush off the idea of everyday joys, it certainly would not be the last.
Pleasure Doesn’t Always Start in Bed
I’ve said it many times and lived it more than once: Pleasure is power. Passion is power. True, embodied joy is an act of rebellion, intentional or not. As much as pleasure is a birthright (women have an entire organ dedicated to it–the clitoris; thanks for teaching me this, Mama Gena), many humans have to consciously prioritize pleasure, joy, and passion.
Yet what even I have at times forgotten, despite knowing all of this in my bones and soul? That pleasure requires not only presence and attunement to oneself; it also requires vulnerability, the ability to receive, and openness. All of this requires both openness to oneself and to letting another see and feel you (sometimes literally, figuratively, and every way in between. With consent, of course, please and thank you). What is an orgasm if not a moment of being simultaneously fully present, locked into pleasurable sensation, and letting go?
For so many folks, the very vulnerability that allows pleasure is a double whammy:
Not only has pleasure gotten a bum rap (it’s suspect, even denigrated in many a religious faith; the terms Catholic guilt and Protestant work ethic didn’t materialize out of nowhere, for example). In many belief systems, body and ”pleasures of the flesh” are things to overcome, not spiritual spaces to be celebrated, erotically or otherwise.
Even if you somehow didn’t get the memo about pleasure, joy, and fun being sketchy AF, vulnerability itself is not a safe place for so many humans. Relational and/or sexual trauma, plus unhealthy social conditioning about relationships and sex, have taught so many people that being fully seen, experienced, and expressed is a dangerous thing. That these are moves to be avoided. True vulnerability could lead to rejection, abandonment, punishment, literal physical harm, emotional harm, or worse.
So what do we do? We bury pleasure. We label it as guilty. We perform it for others. We don’t even think to ask what brings pleasure. (I see this in folks of all gender identities and expressions, by the way).
In the opposite direction, some focus so much on their own pleasure, that their partner/s can feel unimportant. That’s just a hop and skip to internalizing a message about their delight not mattering.
Talk about pleasure killers!
So much of my work with clients is guiding them in finding a middle path, one of what I like to call “healthy sexual entitlement”—learning that beautiful dance of embracing your own erotic joy and that of your partner/s in ways that feel enlivening, not draining.
Pleasure Requires Risk
Speaking of balance, too much of a good thing can come to feel bad as well. Maybe you had it good once. Real good. Hot, loving sex, a fun, enjoyable connection. And that person (or maybe life, or both?) broke your heart. You vowed never to be that open and joyful with another human being again, because the pleasure ultimately only led to crushing pain.
So what do people do instead of embracing healthy eroticism? A few classic moves:
Perform pleasure for our partners. Apparently, none other than Marilyn Monroe said her most Oscar-worthy performances were in intimate moments with some of her male sexual partners.
Related: People pleaser style sex, including the whole concept of “doing my wifely duty” aka having sexual encounters one would rather not have. In service-oriented scenarios like this, a person can rarely, if ever, feel their own true desire, curiosity, and pleasure. This is a sneaky, subconscious way to avoid vulnerability and it can also be a smart strategy to ensure (relative) safety in a relationship. Note: When a person is taught that they only exist to be in service to others, one’s own pleasure can feel foreign, wrong, and even weird. And this kind of buzzkill ensures. Thanks, patriarchy.
Using sex to regulate another human’s moods, including to tamp down their reactivity (or worse!), can be a strategy that works quite well. And it’s also one that, over time, chips away at connection, feeds resentment, and can erode one’s sense of self. Whatever the reasons for strategic sex, you can stay “safely” out of your own experience, and may not even realize you’re doing so. There could be an element of coercive control in your sex life that you cannot quite name. That is the opposite of a pleasurable experience, so feeling cut off from your own sexual pleasure, and even joy in general, makes sense. (This is a whole rabbit hole of a topic that’s outside of the scope of this piece, but stay tuned, as I have more content planned around this).
If you associate erotic encounters with being coerced, feeling used or bad about yourself, or worse, it makes perfect sense that you could learn to deny yourself joy and delight in other areas of your life. What is supposed to be a blissful space has become a source of pain, which can lead to a broader negative association around happiness and delight in general.
The broader avoidance of pleasure is a learned stance. Let’s take a deep breath, and invite in some compassion. This strategy is one that was meant to keep you safe, and may well have done just that at times. It’s also a trap that keeps you from the fullness of life and intimacy.
How to Start Shifting the Adaptations That Have Protected You
As you can see, all of this is very layered. So what can a person do to begin to untangle this pleasure aversion and have the love and sex life they truly dream of? Or intimacy that’s beyond what they can imagine in this moment?
It starts with knowing that pleasure in everyday life and in intimacy are connected. One is a training ground for the other. Learning to feel safe in pleasurable experiences is also key, and that can start in every day life.
We’ll talk about specific ways you can build and leverage this awareness in a future post (or posts!)
Now What?
Curious to dive in more? For now, 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 is your relationship to pleasure now?
What has your relationship to pleasure been like in different eras of your life? Be so very honest!
What has our culture and/or the culture you were raised in taught you about pleasure? What in particular were you taught about this growing up?
What parts of this resonate with you, and why?
What parts of it do you question, and why? What parts don’t resonate with you, and why?
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.