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I felt as if my right to my body was being taken away from me, in my own bed.Fast-forward to the wake-up call a few months later, after being with that sexy, Latino man on a Tuesday afternoon. That was the problem—I was projecting this hurting inner child onto my sex life now and I did not want to be fucking touched. When I understood this, I took that check all the way to the bank.

That's a question I've been asking myself for a long time.I started to see that this approach was making those issues of body shame, insecurity, and disgust with myself rise to the surface.I understood how connecting to this false mindset rather than the truth of my sexuality was bogging me down and encouraging me to hop back on the dissociation bandwagon faster than I could even say "yes." I ended my celibacy in a sacred yet unexpected way.I've had a complicated relationship with sex for as long as I can remember—as I'm sure most of us probably do.I grew up in a very conservative, religious environment where any mention of sexuality was forbidden.It was when I had a questionable sexual encounter earlier that year that I first had my hackles raised around this issue.

I had been flirting with a guy I met on a dating site, talking on the phone well past midnight.

We're surrounded by it but often incredibly disconnected from the actual experience.

We're told what to do, how we should perform, and how we should please our partners, but we often sacrifice intimacy and spontaneity in the process.

I was a very sexual young woman who craved, desired, and put herself out there for sex.

But when I first started having sex, I found myself unable to engage.

I felt trapped every time I thought about a cute guy I liked. When I would get undressed to take a shower, I felt dread.