How I overcame my fear of intimacy and sex

“What has to change for young people to feel confident to engage with each other intimately? To be able to be vulnerable, without living in fear of what that vulnerability might expose?”

Recently I’ve been seeing all these TikToks talking about #fearofintimacy and it’s been making me feel nostalgic. That used to be me. I used to be so scared of having sex. Like, petrified. If my high school self could see the sexually liberated woman I am now, she’d be shocked and delighted.

I was afraid of kissing boys, of being touched intimately by anyone and especially by the prospect of blow jobs. How would I know I was doing it right? How could I guarantee they wouldn’t make fun of me behind my back? I knew boys did this to other girls because I was friends with a group of boys in high school. It felt safer to be their friend than to be their love interest. I wanted to understand boys more than I wanted to date them.

Looking for more thought-provoking reads? Try our Life section.

One day my group of boy friends and I went to the beach together. It was an unplanned and impromptu drive so I hadn’t packed my bathers and decided to just jump in the water wearing my undies and bra. I felt very brave and courageous because none of them had seen me even close to naked before. As we were frolicking in the waves, one of the boys started telling us about going down on another girl from our school. They’d been on a movie date a few days prior.

“She sat on my face and I thought I was going to die,” he recounted dramatically, treading water and imitating the facial expressions of discomfort he’d apparently felt at the moment. “She has thunder thighs!” another of the boys chimed in. The other boy nodded in agreement, “I didn’t realise how big they were until she was on top of me.”

I immediately regretted taking my clothes off because I didn’t want to get out of the water and for them to see my thighs. They might notice the small bits of cellulite that were starting to form on the back of my upper thighs or the way they brushed together at the very top. I was able to hide my imperfections in photos and under mini skirts, but I wasn’t so sure about real life. Especially with highly critical boys in broad daylight who seemed to have extremely unrealistic expectations about the female body.

This wasn’t the only time I heard a boy in high school speak negatively about a girl they’d been intimate with. It was one of hundreds. After every party, they’d have something to say. Someone had given them a sloppy blowjob. Someone’s boobs were saggy like tea bags. Someone’s pubic hair was so long they thought they might throw up. 

The expectations of perfection and criticisms of anything that sat outside of that seemed to have no bounds. It made me never ever ever want to get naked and intimate in front of a boy – or anyone, for that matter. I was sure I’d do it wrong, that I’d look too far from mainstream perfection, that I’d be too nervous to produce enough saliva for a blowjob, that I’d be so distracted and anxious thinking about what I looked like to them that I’d freeze in the moment. 

The one time I did kiss a boy at a high school party I remember it feeling wildly unromantic. I couldn’t believe I’d been holding out for that moment and he had the audacity to be so nonchalant. He stuck his tongue down my throat after approximately seven raspberry cruisers and about 15 minutes before he threw them all back up again. Our kiss tasted like artificial sugar and unbrushed teeth (on his part). I was mortified.

Mostly I was really sad that something so intimate – literally sharing saliva – could feel so disconnected. I hated that his tongue had touched mine but he couldn’t look at me as we passed in the school hallways for months. Maybe he was embarrassed, but it made me feel like my kiss was worthless to him.

I think that’s where my fear of intimacy came from. To me, it felt as though ‘putting out’ was an expectation that was exclusively endowed to us girls. And we’d better be bloody good at it, otherwise everyone would hear about it. No one would want to touch us if we couldn’t give the perfect blowjob or dared to have hair on our vulvas or our underarms or our legs. But how is it fair for there to be this immense pressure, without any education to tell us otherwise?

“The limited education we may have received about sex has a strong focus on the ‘performance’ of sex,” says Christine Rafe, sex and relationship expert for Lovehoney. I’m not saying we need to be taught how to have sex in high school, like how to give the perfect blow job or respectfully kiss with tongue – although maybe we should – but the lack of open and normalised conversation really adds to the fear of the unknown.

Christine says that poor sex education means that people are not provided with the understanding and/or language to explore, express and advocate for their sexual needs. “Many then turn to porn which is completely unrealistic in terms of the pleasure, bodies, sounds and activities when compared to non-performative sex and therefore put pressure on themselves for sex to be ‘perfect’,” she says.“The reality is that sex can be clunky and awkward at times and that’s perfectly okay.”

Thankfully the conversation does exist now, and it’s between young women on TikTok. I find moments like these refreshing. While it’s amazing that young people feel the courage to talk about their insecurities and fears on a public platform, it’s also kind of disappointing that fear around intimacy is still such a prevalent feeling. 

@weltsugrxfb Someone else feeling like this? #dating #datingfears #intimacy #bevulnerable #rejection #ghosting ##fearofintimacy ♬ original sound – stella

To me, it shows that we’re still lacking proper education and transparency when it comes to things like sex, intimacy, consent and talking about our bodies. What has to change for young people to feel confident to engage with each other intimately? To be able to be vulnerable, without living in fear of what that vulnerability might expose? And worse still, be exploited?

If you’re someone who feels a little afraid of sex and intimacy, don’t be hard on yourself. Especially if you haven’t experienced much of it yet. In my experience, the best way to become more comfortable with it is to remove yourself from the messaging around it – as best you can – and experience it for yourself.

And of course, a disinterest or disgust of sex and intimacy could mean you lay somewhere on the asexual spectrum and are someone who might experience little to no sexual attraction. If this could be you, a member of the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network Project previously told Fashion Journal, “Chances are if you think you’re asexual or on the ace spectrum, you probably are, and there is nothing wrong with it! You aren’t alone. Do research… Join forums to ask questions, read up and just see what resonates with you.”

Otherwise, for those trying to overcome their fear of sex, Christine recommends trying to stay as present as possible when engaging in intimate acts. “If you notice that you’re overthinking, being self-critical or judgemental of yourself, practise mindfulness-based strategies that bring you back into the present moment. A personal favourite of mine is to bring awareness to any of your senses (what do you see, smell, touch, taste or smell) and focus on this, bringing you into the moment and distracting you from your self-critical thoughts.

“As a self-reflection exercise, bring your awareness to what you tell yourself about what sex is or ‘should’ be or look like. Challenge any narratives that focus on sex as a performance-based activity, and see if you can bring more curiosity to pleasure for you and your partner(s). Ask yourself and partner(s), ‘What could make this feel even better for you?’ and use this as a guide to get more present with pleasure over performance-based sex.”

The truth is that when you’re into someone and they’re into you and you can feel that connection; there’s nothing to be afraid of. They won’t care how ‘good’ you are at being intimate, because they’ll just be happy that you’re there with them. Any nervousness about being vulnerable will be something they’ll be experiencing too. Plus, you can talk about it and fumble your way through it together.

I’m still fumbling at 28, especially when I like someone. Sex and intimacy are always exposing. I sometimes still feel a little twist in my tummy when I go to take off my clothes in a well-lit room. I sometimes still feel aware of the noises I make when I let go in a moment of pleasure. But through experience, I’ve learnt that those moments are the moments that connect us.

For more information on fear of intimacy, head here.