My Own Journey Figuring This Out
Okay, so this whole “why don’t I feel pleasure during sex” thing. Man, that was a heavy one for me for a long time. It wasn’t like a switch flipped off one day; it was more like a slow fade, or maybe it was never really there in the way I thought it was supposed to be. You see all these movies and read books, and you think, “Yeah, that’s how it is!” And then it’s… not.
First, I Blamed Everything Else
For ages, I just assumed it was, you know, external factors. Maybe it was my partner at the time – not a bad person, just, “we’re not compatible,” I’d tell myself. Or maybe I was just tired. Or stressed from work. Classic excuses, right? I went through a phase of thinking, “Oh, I just need the perfect setting, the perfect mood.” So I’d try to orchestrate things. Dim lights, a stupid amount of candles, you name it. Spoiler: didn’t magically fix anything. It just made me feel more like a director of a play that wasn’t very good.
The “Huh, Maybe It’s Me?” Moment
Then I hit a point where I was single for a bit, and I started to think, well, if it’s not always someone else, and it’s not always the situation, then what’s the common denominator here? Ding ding ding. It was a tough pill to swallow, let me tell you. It wasn’t about blaming myself, but more about realizing I had to actually look inwards. This wasn’t some project I could just manage with a to-do list.
My “Practice” – Getting Real With Myself
So, what did I actually do? It wasn’t like I signed up for some weird course or anything. It was way more low-key and, honestly, a bit awkward at first. I just started trying a few things, kind of feeling my way through it.
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I stopped trying so damn hard. Seriously. The pressure I was putting on myself to “feel pleasure” was probably half the problem. It’s like trying to force yourself to fall asleep. The more you try, the more awake you are. I decided to just… be. During intimacy, I tried to focus on just being present, not on achieving some specific outcome.
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I started paying attention to my body outside of sex. This sounds a bit woo-woo, maybe, but it was just about noticing small things. What feels good? Not just sexually, but like, the sun on my skin, a comfortable blanket, a good stretch. It helped me reconnect with physical sensations in a non-pressured way.
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I got curious, not critical. Instead of thinking, “Ugh, why isn’t this working?”, I tried to think, “Hmm, what’s actually happening here? What am I feeling, if not pleasure? Am I tense? Am I distracted?” It was about observing without judgment. I jotted down notes sometimes, just for myself, like a little logbook. Sounds clinical, but it helped me spot patterns.
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Communication, but not the kind you think. Yeah, talking to a partner is important, but for me, it was also about being honest with myself. What did I actually want or not want? Sometimes I’d go along with things because I thought I should like them. Turns out, that’s a great way to feel nothing. I had to learn to say “no” to stuff, or “let’s try this instead,” even if it felt weird. This took practice, a lot of it.
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I considered the mental load. My brain is always going a mile a minute. Bills, work, what to have for dinner. It’s hard to feel pleasure when your mind is running a marathon somewhere else. I didn’t magically learn to meditate or anything, but I did try to consciously put those thoughts aside, even for a little while. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Just acknowledging it was a factor was a step.
What I Found Out – My “Record”
It wasn’t an overnight fix. There was no “aha!” moment where suddenly everything was fireworks and rainbows. It was more like a gradual thawing. I started to notice small glimmers of pleasure, things I hadn’t felt before, or hadn’t recognized as pleasure. Sometimes it was just a feeling of closeness, or warmth, or simply not feeling numb anymore. That was a big win for me, a real turning point in my little record-keeping.
The biggest thing I learned? Pleasure isn’t just one thing. It’s not always this huge, explosive experience. It can be quiet, it can be subtle, it can be different every time. And it’s deeply, deeply personal. What works for one person might do nothing for another. And that’s okay. I stopped comparing my experiences to what I thought they should be.
Still a Work in Progress, And That’s Fine
So, do I feel pleasure all the time now? Nope. And I’ve stopped expecting to. Life’s messy, bodies are weird, and sometimes things just don’t click. But I’m way more in tune with myself now, and I’m not scared of the question anymore. It’s more about the journey of figuring it out, rather than desperately seeking a perfect, consistent outcome. It’s about being kind to myself through it all. That, for me, has been the most important part of this whole practice. And honestly, just sharing this feels like part of that ongoing process.
