The word cunt is often considered the most obscene word in the English language. It’s one of my favorite words. For me, cunt has all of the connotations of the word home – warmth, depth, possession, safety, and comfort. My cunt is my special place where nice things happen. At least now it is. Early sexual abuse made me feel very conflicted about my body and that persisted for a long time. My sexual journey has been challenging, but finally, my cunt feels like home.
I’m changing all of the time. I am a fluid person of many moods. I’m constantly learning more about myself, and exploring my sexuality is no different. My way of fighting back against the abuse I went through is to own my sexuality totally. There shall be no stone left unturned. If I know that something triggers me, I’m going to work on it until it doesn’t any more.
Actually, my first step in owning myself was just to start believing that I am beautiful, to love my body and believe that I am worthy of love. I explored my body and learned about my own pleasure. Abuse robbed me of my innate sense of connection with my body. I used masturbation to reestablish my right to experience positive loving touch in a sexual way.
Next, I worked on creating an internal safe space for sex. At that time I was often dissociating during sex, overcome by flashbacks of abuse. I had a terrific therapist teach me a technique that let me take back my sex life – I learned to acknowledge the intrusive thoughts, then firmly tell them that while I recognized they were there, I was in the middle of something and I would get back to them. Strangely enough, it works. I do have to go back to those thoughts and look at what needed attention, but it lets me have my space. I still use this method on the rare occasions that something comes up for me. Avoiding flashbacks is empowering because it means that I can relax without fear of being sideswiped. I am in control.
It has also helped to put things into words. Words transform my maelstrom of emotions into experiences with handles. If I can talk about it, it isn’t as scary or painful. Putting sexual abuse into words takes the pain out of the present and puts it in the past. This is something that happened to me, but it was long ago, NOT NOW. I’m not there any more. It’s taken me a while, but now I can let my partners know when a memory surfaces in the middle of sex. Having language to communicate these complicated emotions helps me to feel safer and more intimate .
Maybe the most important thing I’ve practiced around post-abuse sex is saying no. Boundaries have been tragically difficult for me to master. At first I felt like I had to date or have sex with anyone who was interested. I ditched that notion, but I still felt like I had to have sex with someone that I loved, if they demanded it. Over time, I practiced my no’s. I got better at listening to my emotions and my desire, and expressing my wants to my partners. I got good at saying no, I’m not interested in fucking right now, but I’d really like it if you went down on me. This is super important because before I could do that, I frequently felt resentful and taken advantage of. My lack of good boundaries was keeping me in a victim state. Now I tend to feel that all of my sexual acts are a gift shared between us.
I have spent a fair amount of time pushing myself to overcome sexual fears. It’s fine if I just don’t like something, but I’m not going to tolerate artificial limits. It might be easier to sweep things under the rug and just let them be, push the bad feelings away and avoid going there again, but that’s not me. This is how I feel powerful. I bring the painful and shameful things into the light, and I conquer them.
I’ve worked hard in defiance of those who perpetrated the abuse, but I feel like my biggest victory has more to do with letting go than fighting back. Lately, I’ve seem to have forgotten that there was ever a war to be won. I have opened up to my partner and to pleasure. I’ve let myself be receptive in a way that I never have before. I trust – both my partner and myself. He spends as much time buried in my cunt as I want. Yesterday I filled his cupped hand with my come and that seems so precious.
I’m crying as I type this, but I’ve come home to a place that, deep down, I thought was inhospitable. I feel at home in my cunt! I have a home. It’s my place and it feels comfortable. I want to live here in a way that I’ve never known before. This is why I love the word cunt. The rest of the world may perceive cunt as dirty and shameful, like sexual abuse, but I know the mystery. Simply saying cunt out loud makes my mouth form a shape like a cunt, punctuated from cervix to clitoris. I take back the word and the place. Cunt.
(This post was first seen in The Buzz, Good Vibrations Blog on 5/17/12.)