Letter to a Late Bloomer
No one told me how awkward sex is. Sex is nothing like the pornos or movies I’d consumed, but for that reason, it’s better. After all, nobody likes things if they are perfect. The most beloved gifts are those which are handmade; crafts with their own knots and nicks and kinks (pun intended.) The fact that sex is imperfect and far from the fiction is what makes it enjoyable. While films depict sex as carnal and, at times, animalistic, there’s a lot more to it then that. You can be funny. You can be gross. You can also be sexy. As long as it’s consensual and pleasurable for both parties. Once put you put your own pleasure first, sex will start to feel exciting instead of enforced. It took me my entire adolescence to realize this.
I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 17, even then it wasn’t that great. It was on a parked motorcycle outside a crowded Korean BBQ joint. When he put his lips to my mouth, I was overcome with sheer horror and pushed him away. The kiss killed our friendly rapport, ending things on a sour note. I watched him drive off while I kicked the pavement wondering what was wrong with me. I had liked them... up until the kiss. After that kiss, I felt disgusted… at him but mainly at myself. Later that weekend, I texted him it wasn’t going to work and I didn’t want to see him anymore. The choice to cut off my date felt right, yet I still felt like a coward. I was almost in college at this point and felt immense pressure to finally be in a relationship. Still, I could never bring myself to actually become involved with anyone. Why was it, if I wanted intimacy so badly, I threw away every romantic opportunity? I couldn’t answer, and my resentment for myself grew.
As a teenager, I was terrified of sex and avoided relationships for the entirety of high school. I feared sex because I feared disappointing my partner or otherwise not living up to the expectations of adults and mass media. Most of all, I hated the vulnerability brought by sex. It was a mortifying ordeal of my deepest fears and desires being known, things which I was deeply ashamed of at the time. I didn’t want to open up to someone only to be rejected later down the line. Because of that innate fragility associated with sex, I closed myself off emotionally in defense. I had an intense preoccupation with presenting myself as flawless. But this corroded to self-hatred when I struggled to attain that paradigm I once pursued. I was compelled to occupy the life of the most normal teenager possible, in order to appease my peers and especially my relatives.
When my friends began dating I watched from afar. I was jealous of them, unable to reckon with my own developing feelings. They made romance look easy, merely a matter of batting eyelashes and brief flirting. Meanwhile, I had a hard time ordering food, much less asking someone if they wanted to snog. It took me a while to realize that the reason why I had a hard time flirting with boys was that I wasn’t attracted to them. Even after admitting I was a lesbian, that awkwardness and fear of intimacy never faded away. If anything, I began to resent my attraction to women. It was hard coming to terms with my sexuality, especially when it contradicted everything I’d been taught by my family. I wanted so deeply to be heterosexual in order to appease my relatives, including going on a date with a guy I knew I didn’t like. My own sexuality began to feel like a betrayal. I internalized the guilt that came from expressing my attraction. The shame I felt toward my own attraction meant that, for most of my adolescence, I completely repressed my desires. I felt rejected, and as I grew older and approached adulthood, I believed that my avoidance of sex and romance had rendered me defective.
To this day, I carry the shame that came from my sexuality. While it wasn’t easy, it got better with time. Once I was able to surround myself with people I trust, I began to accept myself. At my own pace, I was able to explore my identity and my sexuality. I realized that there was no need to rush, I have a life ahead of me to explore these things. I wish I could tell myself then that there was nothing wrong with who I was. Some people are late bloomers and some people are not. Many people are asexual and many people are queer. Frankly, it’s nobody’s business but your own. Ultimately, it isn’t our place to judge anyone’s sex life. We should respect people’s choices without necessitating an explanation from them.
To my past self: You are under no obligation to confine yourself to what’s considered normal because normal doesn’t exist. Everyone will have their unique experiences with their sexuality and it is not our position to judge them for it. In the end, it’s alright to be afraid, it’s alright to feel confused, but don’t let that affect your self-worth. Right now, there is no rush for you to have sex or enter a relationship. You will have plenty of time to figure yourself out. Take that time to treat yourself with kindness and empathy. Be patient with yourself. You spent a lot of time thinking there was something wrong with you for being unable to embrace intimacy, being emotionally closed off. While it is not imperative to “love yourself before loving anyone else” (as anyone who has struggled with insecurity can attest, this adage is easier said than done,) at the very least recognize that you deserve to like who you are, and you deserve to be happy in love and sex and all other pursuits. There will be a day where you will find people who understand you, who teach you trust, and teach you not to fear intimacy. There will be people who see you for who you are. And at the very least, there is the person you will become, watching you from afar, wishing the best for you.