Endo and pleasure
Sexologist Tessa Caramia explains how endometriosis isn't the end of sexual joy and pleasure
Around 1 in 9 Australians with a uterus live with endometriosis, a condition where cells similar to the lining of the uterus grow in other parts of the body. These cells excrete fluid during the menstrual cycle, causing more cell growth, inflammation, adhesions between tissues, and pain.
'Without much certainty in the medical sphere, many look to the experiences of people who live with the condition'
Endometriosis can impact people’s menstrual cycle, including cycle length and time between bleeds. While many symptoms exist as constants—imagine a radio constantly playing in the background—they can occur in what the endo community calls’ flare-ups’. These are moments when symptoms such as pain or fatigue become so severe that they impact a person’s ability to engage in day-to-day life, sometimes resulting in a trip to the Emergency Department.
Endo can destabilise your relationship with yourself by making even the most mundane parts of being alive, like choosing clothes in the morning or a quick post-sex bathroom run, feel like a fight-or-flight fight for survival.
Uncertainty around how your body might react to a new sexual experience or partner, or knowing you don’t have your pain medication on hand, can mean missing out on those fleeting moments of magic that can make life exciting and erotic. While many sexual partners are kind and well-intentioned, sometimes the potential of pain outweighs the joy of thrill-seeking.
But it doesn’t have to be that way—this isn’t the end of the story.
'Sometimes the potential pain outweighs the joy of thrill-seeking but this isn’t the end of the story'
In the biz, we refer to how people relate to their sexuality as a ‘sexual script’. This can be a helpful tool for people to make sense of the stories they’ve told themselves about what sex and pleasure mean for them. For example, someone with endo may have a sexual script along the lines of ‘I can only have sex with someone familiar because I need to be able to trust them if I have a flare-up’ or ‘If we have penetrative sex, it’s going to hurt’.
The first step is to take time and let your feelings breathe. The second is to open yourself to the idea that sex as you’ve known it may no longer work. If that feels impossible, return to step one or consider talking to a professional for support. Once you start from a blank slate, you can explore your body with fresh eyes and better appreciate its needs around pain and flare-ups. This is your olive branch to yourself.
Often, it can be helpful to start on one’s own. Schedule some time for a luxurious bath, a walk in the park, some music in candlelight, a nourishing (or comforting) meal, reading a book—whatever it is that brings your body into a state of calm in preparation for what’s to come (hint: it might be you).
The next step is to gently reacquaint yourself and your body with erotic pleasure and trust that it will not be pushed into pain. You might do hip-opening yoga poses to a sexy playlist, massage yourself with a favourite body oil, or gently explore your vagina with your hands or a preferred toy.
The point of these exercises is to follow your pleasure without chasing orgasm. Put on a timer (30 minutes can be a good start) and know there’s no pressure. Start small and build up towards trying new things over a few weeks.
'The first step is to take time and let your feelings breathe'
From here, it’s simple: return to life, rinse, and repeat.
Tessa (she/they) is a queer Italian-Australian sexologist working on unceded Wurundjeri Country. She runs educational workshops on queer inclusive sexual health for communities and young people. They are passionate about lifting the veil on conversations on pelvic pain for people of all bodies.