Dear Roe,
I read your interview with Amanda Montei and subsequently bought her book [Touched Out]. I found the ideas of sex as duty and consenting to sex without knowing fully what was being consented to both thought-provoking and upsetting. I’m female, in my 40s and married, but thinking back over my past I realised how often I consented to sex that wasn’t pleasurable, or where the man treated me like nothing afterwards when I thought sex meant something.
I’m also realising that even in my marriage, I often consent to sex with my husband not because I want to have sex but because I think I ‘should’. My husband never pressures me but there’s just this idea that healthy marriages involve frequent sex, so I do it. Some of the time I’m glad I did it, but other times I just feel empty. We have two young children that keep us busy and when my husband and I have free time, most of the time all I want is to rest but I end up having sex instead, because I feel a pressure to take advantage of any alone time we get.
Reading Amanda Montei’s book made me think about how the idea of ‘duty’ is the pressure. I now feel very anxious because all these memories are coming up. She writes about taking breaks from sex and I think that might help me process these feelings, but I’m concerned about the impact that will have on my marriage. I love my husband and don’t want to damage our marriage or make him feel bad. I don’t know how to approach this. Any advice appreciated.
Firstly I want to say that the feelings you are having are both upsetting and vitally important. I think a lot of people, women in particular, will recognise what you’re going through. Since #MeToo, there have been various waves of discourse around sex and consent that have been very illuminating and have not only highlighted societal and cultural issues but, for many individuals, have brought up memories of sexual encounters that may have been minimised or normalised at the time, or even suppressed, but are now more clear to see for what they were: forms of violence, assault, harassment, violations or betrayals.
While it is vital that these conversations happen so that our ideas of sex and consent can progress and make the world safer for everybody, having these forms of realisations about our lives and previous experiences can be triggering and upsetting. I really want to urge you to be incredibly kind to yourself as you move through this emotional experience, and strongly suggest that you find an accredited therapist (I would suggest one who has a feminist approach) so that you can have a safe space to talk about and process these memories and your feelings about them.
In Touched Out, Amanda Montei writes about a lot of things, including motherhood and sexual violence, but I think what you’re referring to in your letter is what can be described as consensual unwanted sex; sex where an individual consents to sex they don’t want to have. It’s unfortunately common and also under-discussed (partly, I suspect, out of fear of bad faith actors weaponising the idea of unwanted consensual sex to deny and attack the experiences of sexual assault victims where consent was not given). To be clear, consensual unwanted sex is sex resulting from freely given consent, not coercion, pressure, threats or guilt-trips. If any form of coercion or pressure is involved, that is not freely given consent and falls under sexual assault. As I don’t think that’s what you are describing, I shall not be discussing sexual assault here, rather consent that is given because of internalised pressure to be nice, to be liked, out of a sense of duty, or a desire to connect in some way, even if we don’t necessarily want that connection to be sexual.
In Touched Out, Montei describes the societal and cultural sense of duty that is often placed on women to have sex with men or male partners, noting that men’s sexual desire and pleasure is often prioritised over women’s boundaries in a culture that “grooms women from a young age for a life of sexual and emotional sacrifice”. Montei notes how even new mothers are bombarded with “listicles of tips for reviving post baby sex drive,” whereas men are targeted with pieces “addressing husbands as though they are impatient children sitting on their hands, trying desperately to hold back a force beyond their control”. As girls and women are often socialised to put others’ needs before their own, this sense of duty can create an overwhelming sense of pressure to consent to sex even if the woman doesn’t desire it. Having this kind of sex can disconnect women from their own boundaries, embodiment, libido, desire and pleasure, and cause deep damage to the woman’s relationship with sex and their body, their connection with their partner, and their sense of self-esteem, self-trust and self-respect as their desires, needs and boundaries are constantly violated in favour of another person’s desire.
It isn’t only women who have sex with men who experience this – toxic ideas of masculinity can put pressure on men to constantly desire sex, and queer people can often feel under pressure to have sex to “prove” their sexuality. In Hailey Magee’s book Stop People Pleasing, there’s an excellent chapter on people-pleasing and sex. Magee writes that people of all genders who have people-pleasing tendencies, suffer low self-esteem or have sexual trauma can often consent to sex they don’t want to please other people or maintain relationships, not trusting that they can assert their boundaries and still be liked or loved. Magee’s book features compelling interviews with people who have experienced consensual unwanted sex and how these experiences can cause deep sense of self-betrayal, shame and trauma. One interviewee notes the complexity of the oft-unacknowledged experience, explaining “it really messed me up, but I had no way to process it. People want to have a villain to point fingers at, and if there’s no villain, then harm goes unacknowledged. The man I was with isn’t a villain; I consented. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have trauma from the experience.”
The pain, anxiety and sense of trepidation you’re feeling around sex is a normal response to realising that you’ve had experiences that have harmed you emotionally. Taking a break from sex so that you can process those emotions, work with a therapist, and get to a place where you can recalibrate your relationship with sex and boundaries could be really helpful. If your husband is truly loving and supportive, he will want to understand and support you in this – not just because it will benefit your connection in the long-term, but because you are a human being who deserves to feel loved, supported and respected. Flip the script for a moment: if your husband was consenting to sex only out of duty, wouldn’t you want to know and ensure he was only having sex he truly wanted?
I’d recommend getting an individual therapist to help you process your experiences and feelings as well as an accredited and feminist couples counsellor who can help you and your husband understand each other more, navigate a period without sex while staying connected, and create a new paradigm of sex and connection in your relationship where you can trust and assert your boundaries and desires.
This can be hard work, but it is vital and will be life-changing – not to mention you will be able to pass on the lessons you learn about consent, empowerment, boundaries and self-respect on to your children. I’m applauding your bravery and wishing you well.