How to Freak Out Your Friends by Talking About Your Vagina

Can you freak our your friends by talking about your vagina? Oh yes, it’s totally possible to do that. I’m pretty sure I do it all the time, just by bringing up this subject, but you know what? That’s not going to stop me.

In case you haven’t realized it yet, I talk about my vagina a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Way too much, most likely, but this is apparently who I am now. Go figure. Every time I talk to someone and say I’m surprised at my willingness to be so open about something so personal, they look at me like I’m nuts and say they aren’t surprised in the least. I have no idea what that says about me, but…ok…I guess…

I’ve learned that talking about your vagina can really mess with people's heads. Most people (and rightly so, I’d imagine) don’t talk openly about truly private things and if a vagina isn’t a private thing, I don’t really know what is. I understand why that is, but also understand why it’s not that way for me anymore.

I am fortunate, however, to have a couple of friends in my life right now who allow me to talk about my vagina all the time. Actually, I have a lot of friends who seem to roll with it when I talk about all this kind of stuff, but two in particular seem to handle the conversation pretty well. Or maybe they’re just faking it. That’s always possible as I’m also quite confident that they would welcome other topics of conversation that do not include my vagina (yes, at this point I’m actually trying to see how many times I can mention the word “vagina” in this post). And one of them definitely does not like to say the word vagina, so maybe I’m onto something there.

For our purposes here, I’ll refer to these friends as “The Girls”. Ordinarily I’d refer to my breasts as “The Girls” or “The Twins”, but I know some twins and that would be awkward. So I’ve decided to change things up and call my breasts Eva and Zsa Zsa instead. It feels right. It also makes it sound less strange if someone asks what my weekend plans are I say, “Oh, nothing much. Just hanging out with Eva and Zsa Zsa.”

Back to the original topic of this post which is that it is often quite easy to freak out your friends by talking about your vagina. Now, it’s not necessarily that they can’t talk about the fact that I have one or that it is presently dysfunctional, but it sometimes upsets The Girls that I have this problem. The Gal (as she has asked to be called), in particular, struggles with knowing that I often times have to deliberately do something that causes me pain. Because that’s what happens frequently with my physical therapy – I am causing myself pain. Unfortunately, much like Shelby Eatonton having to have 9 bridesmaids in Steel Magnolias, there is no way around that.

Sometimes, physical therapy just hurts. But you know what? It doesn’t always hurt and it will get better.

A year ago I couldn’t have imagined certain size dilators would not be excruciatingly painful and yet now they are not. For a while there, I couldn’t get my mind to wrap around that. I was frustrated and angry and upset and that didn’t help things. My body would play off the messages my mind was sending and make the experience worse. Once, it hurt so bad I cried for a long time afterwards. It felt like I’d never make any progress.

But you know what? I did. One day things just got better. It really was as simple as that. Something that hurt one day and drove me to tears, suddenly became easier and the pain went away. I try to keep that in mind when something does hurt because I know that one day it won’t. When I allow my mind to relax, my body will follow suit and things work out so much better.

One particular detail that bothers The Gal is that sometimes I bleed. Yes indeed, sometimes there is blood. So far it’s only happened twice and it can certainly be disconcerting (which is nicer than saying the first time it kind of freaked me out), but that also goes away. I am not sure why it happens, but I’ve discussed it with my physical therapist in the past and I think it’s really a matter of hitting a tender spot when doing a stretch and/or making a small tear in the vaginal wall. And let’s be real here. I’m putting a large, hard foreign object into my vagina, which we’ve previously established is a bit of a hostile environment these days. And once inserted, I’m stretching the vaginal walls which have proven that they aren’t very flexible to begin with, which logically means there will be pain. Possibly even blood. (Side note: I find it perversely funny that I am a freakishly flexible human being in basically every part of my body except for my vagina.)

The bleeding happened for the second time a few nights ago and I’ll be bringing it up in my next PT session to keep her in the loop. I wasn’t expecting it because I felt like that session went really well and the pain was less intense than it usually is. Then…blood. I don’t want to make light of that nor do I want to make it sound like a bigger issue than it was. It was truly minor and did stop soon enough. Heck, the paper cut I got today hurt more than that did, but it’s more about the mystery of why it happens and how to prevent it in the future if possible.

Telling your friends things like this will, doubtless, mess with their heads. I don’t know how it couldn’t. Even the most supportive friends, like The Girls, are surely to be squeamish about those kinds of things. What I find so strange is that I am not. I don’t think I ever have been. From the moment I realized I had to take control and find out what was wrong, I’ve never looked back. Once my mental health counselor suggested maybe I take a break from physical therapy if I felt like it was taking a physical toll on me and I looked at her like she was insane. I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to let things regress. I’m only moving forward. There is no other option.

So to recap our story today kids, sometimes simply saying the world “vagina” (that makes 12 times in the word count game) will freak out your friends. Then if you talk about having to stick foreign objects inside it or having it start to bleed from said objects, well, you’re pushing it. Push it real good. bahahahaaha I crack myself up.

But my hope is that anyone dealing with a situation like vaginismus has friends who can handle these discussions. Those who will be supportive and lift you up…like my Girls. Oh, there’s another boob joke for you right there.