How Doctors Have Let Me Down as a Woman

Stop Telling Women They Need to Relax

Since I was a teenager, I struggled with putting in tampons. And though in high school I was never sexually active, I imagine penetrative sex would have been completely impossible. It felt like there was a large door blocking the entrance to my vagina. Every time I attempted to put a finger inside my muscles felt tight and a burning, stabbing pain flushed through me.

At my family doctor’s office, the gynecologist told me during each annual checkup, that I just needed to relax. She told me it was perfectly normal to be nervous while putting in a tampon or during a pap smear. She insisted I was tense and that was the only thing wrong with me. At first, this was a comfort.

In high school, I felt normal in my pain. It matched what other girls at school were talking about. Girls who wanted to lose their virginity were talking about how bad it would hurt and wondered if they would bleed. We heard rumors of intense period pain and distressful cramps. So pain was no stranger, I thought I was one of the girls.

When I got to college, I was excited to be intimate for the first time. But no matter how ready I felt or how long foreplay went on, I still was unsuccessful in my attempts to participate in penetrative sex.

I felt isolated from my peers since I wasn’t experiencing something that seemed to come easily to everyone else. I started hating rap and pop music that referenced sex. I became squeamish towards movies that had sex scenes. I would find myself lying about my sex life to try and mask my discomfort. I felt hopeless that this mysterious joy that people were getting from sex was simply not meant for me.

I fell into patterns of avoidant relationships. I forced myself to have penetrative sex when I didn’t want to. Every time it hurt, but I ignored my pain in the attempt to make these boys stay. Sex no longer became an attempt at finding connection, but rather a strange currency, painful sex in exchange for human companionship. This of course never worked out.

I went to a different gynecologist, one my friend loved and recommended. But I was met with the same explanation. The doctor insisted I was too nervous for the examination and needed to relax. I was completely dejected.

Years, and many abusive relationships later, I met the man who would become my husband. And I would love so much to tell you that our sex is magical and our bodies just click and he taught me to love sex. But, that is not the case. Instead, he taught me to respect my body’s warnings. He encouraged me to keep going to different doctors. He taught me that penetrative sex is not the end-all-be-all of a relationship or a sex life. He’s loved me despite our difficulties in the bedroom for nine years now and every day is a blessing.

Media highlights hetero-normative penis in vagina sex to the point where all the men I’ve tried to be with, viewed sex in very black-and-white terms. To them and for many others foreplay isn’t considered sex. Dry humping isn’t considered sex. Anything that isn’t penetration falls away. I think that is quite a disappointing way of thinking and has caused me a lot of unnecessary anxiety around ‘performing’ in bed.

Now we live in South Korea, and because of the language barrier on my end, going to doctors by myself can be intimidating. One of my close friends took me to her gyno, and I had (to no fault of my friend) the worst experience of my life. I informed the doctor in my slow Korean that I experienced a lot of pain with penetration. I asked for a smaller-sized speculum.

While I was in that vulnerable, legs outspread position, she nodded along to what I was saying, then stuck the regular-sized speculum inside. I began crying and pulled away from her. She did not remove the instrument, instead, she scolded me and told me in English to JUST RELAX. As if that were even possible. I was hurt both physically and emotionally. I was so shocked that a doctor could be so cold. When the examination was done, she told me nothing was wrong with my body. BUT HOW? How could this doctor see my pain and think I lived a normal life? How could she be so dismissive of my obvious pain?

A few days after my appointment, I was called back in. I didn’t want to go, but I built up a false sense of hope that maybe the doctor, as awful as she was, found something. All I got was a prescription for antibiotics for a slight yeast infection. She told me that the infection was probably the cause of my pain. When I told her I’ve experienced the pain for years she was very dismissive and told me once more to just try and relax.

After that experience, I decided to see a specialist. I went to a new gynecologist that specialized in sexual disorders. On her website, she claimed to work with clients on special physical therapy programs. I had never heard of physical therapy for vaginal health before and was interested in hearing what she had to say.

When I went to my appointment I was immediately calmed by her presence. She listened intently and asked a lot of questions. When it came time for the physical examination, she used a Q-tip first, followed by a special, ultra-small speculum. When even that hurt, she immediately retracted and listened once more to my needs.

She taught me there were many different kinds of sexual disorders that I’d never heard of. Vulvodynia, Dyspareunia, and my disorder Vaginismus are all common types of Vaginal disorders that were never brought up by my other gynecologists. She was the first doctor to care enough to get down to the root of my problem and finally give me a diagnosis that would start my healing journey.

With her, I set up a healing path. First, I was instructed on how to use dilators. Which are cone-shaped tools that help relax the vaginal muscles. I also learned pelvic floor exercises and deep breathing techniques to help relax and strengthen my body.

Vaginismus is a condition where vaginal muscles tighten during penetration. It is linked to mental health disorders and victims of assault can often develop vaginismus symptoms. Though studies are seriously lacking, as they usually are with women’s health conditions, it was relieving to know that a diagnosis exists for me. Vaginismus is treatable, with persistent physical and emotional therapy. Check out this link for more information:

My mental health, which has been unstable since childhood, was affecting my sex life without me even being aware of the emotional links. I was diagnosed in 2021 with PTSD, but my therapist believes I actually have C-PTSD. Because the DSM-5 doesn’t list C-PTSD, sometimes my symptoms go unnoticed by professionals. Perhaps this was why so many doctors told me I looked healthy, because I did, on the outside at least. But internally, my mental health was sabotaging my physical health. Even when I felt relaxed and ready for sex, my body was locked in a familiar fight or flight response.

Though everyone with PTSD and C-PTSD experience their symptoms differently, I suffer from flashbacks and frequent nightmares. My C-PTSD symptoms have affected my entire body for most of my life. But, with CBT therapy, my new physical therapy routine, and support from my partner, I can feel myself growing more confident.

It’s so important that we advocate for our pain. And I hope more gynecologists, though they may not specialize in rare disorders, have more compassion for their clients who go to them in pain. I spent my entire teen years and early twenties feeling like an enigma. I felt alone in the discomfort I was experiencing. My diagnosis lets me know that I’m not alone and I am not broken. If you are experiencing any pain, I urge you to see a specialist over a regular gynecologist. As women, the medical world often ignores our symptoms and pain. So we must continue advocating for ourselves especially when it feels like no one else will.