Take a breath. Now say the word “sex” out loud.
Feeling a little tension in your shoulders? A knot in your stomach? A sudden urge to scroll away?
If so, you’re not alone.
“The body keeps the score.” — Dr. Bessel van der Kolk
For many of us, sex isn’t just about connection or pleasure. It’s about survival. It’s about shutdown. It’s about fear masquerading as desire—or the other way around. When trauma enters the room, even the most loving touch can feel like too much.
Knowing Yourself First: The Inner Work of Intimacy
Psychologist Sidney Jourard once wrote: “We can only know each other to the extent that we are willing to know ourselves—and make that self known.” What happens, though, when the “self” you’re trying to know was shaped in silence? When your nervous system learned that connection = danger?
When emotional expression was punished, and vulnerability was unsafe?
Before we can be fully seen, touched, or desired, we must meet ourselves—not just in the mind, but in the body.
Trauma, the Body, and the Unfinished Story
When trauma occurs—whether through abuse, betrayal, medical invasion, or relational neglect—the body remembers. In response, our physiology lights up:
- Heart races
- Muscles brace
- Adrenaline floods
- Breath shallows
This response is natural. It’s brilliant. It’s survival. But when trauma is not fully processed, the body doesn’t forget, instead, it stores these sensations in what Dr. Peter Levine calls “trauma imprints.” So we walk around with histories held in our fascia, our breath, our pelvic floor, our jaw.
Enter: Sex
Here’s where it gets complicated (and beautifully human):
Sex isn’t just physical—it’s neurological. It’s relational. It’s energetic. It’s somatic.
If your body has learned that closeness equals danger, then arousal can feel threatening. Intimacy can trigger panic. Even love can feel overwhelming.
“Trauma isn’t what happens to you—it’s what happens inside you as a result of what happened to you.” — Dr. Gabor Maté
Suddenly, what should be safe becomes unsafe.
What should be pleasurable becomes dissociative.
And your body, trying to protect you, pulls away just when you long to lean in.
The Nervous System Needs Safety First
According to Dr. Stephen Porges, creator of the Polyvagal Theory, safety isn’t just a feeling—it’s a physiological state. Until your nervous system feels safe, intimacy may feel impossible.
And this is where healing begins—not with “fixing” yourself, but with listening to the body you’ve spent years trying to ignore or override.
So What Can You Do?
Here are some starting points for healing the connection between sex, trauma, and the body:
Get curious, not critical. Instead of asking “What’s wrong with me?” try: “What is this part of me trying to protect?”
Practice somatic tracking. Notice what sensations arise when you think about sex or closeness. Where is the tension? What does it feel like? What does it need?
Explore gentle, trauma-informed touch. Start with self-touch. Hand on heart. Hand on belly. Let your body know: You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to soften.
Write to your younger self. She may be the one who learned to hide, to shut down, or to please for survival. Give her a voice. Offer her kindness.
Relearn the language of needs.
Practice saying:
“I feel anxious when I’m close, and I need time to feel safe.”
“I want connection, but I also need space.”
“Touch me, but gently, and let me breathe first.”
You Are Not Broken. You Are Becoming.
Yes, sex can be sacred.
And awkward.
And healing.
And terrifying.
Sometimes all at once.
“It’s not weakness to feel. It’s strength to ask for what you need.”
If trauma lives in the body, then so can healing.
One breath, one boundary, one soft touch at a time.
Want to Go Deeper?
Try journaling with these prompts:
- What did your body learn about safety and touch growing up?
- When does intimacy feel like connection, and when does it feel like pressure?
- What does your nervous system need to feel held?
Don’t forget: Your body is worthy of peace, pleasure, and presence.