Let’s Chat with Leah
by Leah Tassios
Let me set the scene. It’s 2016 and I’m a 22-year-old living in inner city Melbourne. I’ve got a great job, and my first serious boyfriend. I feel like I’ve finally got my life together. Little did I know my pelvic floor was about to set my life into a spin, one that would take me years to recover from.
A few months into my new relationship I started to experience pain during sex. I didn’t really say anything at first, hoping it would just go away on its own. It got to the point where it hurt so much I had to speak up. My boyfriend was about as supportive as any 22-year-old guy can be. He never pushed me to do something that caused me pain, but he didn’t take an interest and he certainly didn’t support me emotionally.
We shifted into having sex which was more comfortable for me, and tried again and again to have penetrative sex with no success. After a few months I plucked up the courage to finally speak to my GP about it. She suggested checking for STDs. After numerous painful pap smears, it was confirmed I was STD free – but I was now back at square one and still dealing with a considerable amount of pain.
My vaginismus diagnosis came months later when I switched to a new GP. Vaginismus is an involuntary pelvic floor muscle spasm which can cause any type of penetration to become extremely painful or impossible. Attempting penetration to me felt like hitting a brick wall, and left a burning sensation in my vagina. I struggled with any type of penetration, including tampons which had never been an issue for me. While I was relieved to finally have an accurate diagnosis, I was mortified by the condition – even the term ‘vaginismus’ made me recoil in disgust. The previous months had left me feeling physically and emotionally drained, and the thought of a long, arduous and expensive treatment program depressed me. My doctor recommended sex therapy and pelvic floor physiotherapy, and despite how defeated I felt, I started both immediately.
I felt triggered and upset watching sex scenes in movies and I avoided talking about sex with my friends. I suffered in silence, far too embarrassed to even tell my sisters what I was going through. Compounding my depression and isolation was my inevitable (though blindsiding at the time) breakup, which left me feeling like I would never find someone who would want to be with me again. I went through a debilitating depressive episode where I finally came clean to my sisters over what I was going through. They couldn’t quite understand why I had been so torn up over my ex-boyfriend until I explained that my vagina had ruined my relationship. Strangely, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. They comforted me and let me express myself for the first time to someone other than my sex therapist.
I had been using dilators for a few months, but my biggest breakthrough came when I had progressed enough to allow my pelvic floor physiotherapist to perform an internal massage. Yes, I paid someone to massage my vagina. I think the combination of stretching my muscles while having no control over the movement helped me to relax and release the tension in my pelvic floor. After 10 months, a horrendous breakup, hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars spent on treatment, tears, triumphs and setbacks, I was finally vaginismus-free. Of course, the following months and years were filled with lots of sex. But during that time, I rarely paused to reflect on how isolating and frustrating my journey had actually been.
While I had felt like I was the only person in the world shouldering this burden, other survivors of vaginismus were closer to me than I’d known. It wasn’t until 2020 when a friend bravely opened up to me about experiencing painful sex. For the first time I found myself in a position to completely empathise with her situation, and to offer some guidance and advice. Although I no longer experienced pain during sex, it shocked me how raw it felt to remember that time in my life and how difficult it had been. The impact on my mental health and self-esteem had lingered, and I found it helped me more and more to talk about what I had been through and how it had made me feel. I felt less alone and I quickly began to realise that vaginismus is an extremely common condition that no one was talking about. In July 2021 I launched GINA, the world’s first app for vaginismus support. Basically, it’s an app full of helpful information, stories, guidance and support. I talk more about my vaginismus now than I ever did when I was diagnosed. I even told my parents about it, but I could write a whole separate blog post about that!
When it comes to advice about vaginismus, I could talk for hours. But if I had to pick one thing to impart on people dealing with this diagnosis, it would be to not let vaginismus hold you back. You’re allowed to feel scared, but don’t let it consume you or stop you from dating or exploring sex. For me, vaginismus has a silver lining. My experience gave me the courage and the confidence to openly talk about sex and what I wanted. It’s a skill I took with me into dating and it’s a reminder to put myself first, to speak up if I feel uncomfortable or in pain and to ensure I feel in control of my body and my experience. It also gifted me with an incredible community, many of whom I have met online and in person since launching GINA last year. The community built around vaginismus is full of brave and resilient people who share a common goal. Always remember, painful sex is extremely common, but pain free sex is possible!
You can download GINA on the Google Play or App Store and join the Instagram community here.
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