Why I Felt Nothing in Sex (Until I Faced This Truth)
Have you ever felt like something was missing during sex
—even when everything looked fine on the outside?
For a long time, that was my experience. Intimacy felt flat. Pleasure felt distant. Sex was something I could take or leave. I didn’t feel distressed exactly—but I also didn’t feel alive. And because nothing was “wrong” in an obvious way, I assumed this was just who I was.
What I couldn’t see at the time was that a part of me had been buried so deeply, I didn’t even know it was gone. That buried part was my sexual identity. And the fracture—the split between who I was and how I showed up sexually—changed everything.
Hi, I’m Raquel Perez, a licensed therapist in the state of Colorado, and I specialize in relationship therapy, couples counseling, and sex therapy. I want to share this story because I see versions of it every day in my therapy practice—and because if this resonates with you, I want you to know: you are not broken.
The Fracture: When Sexuality and Identity Split
There was a time when my sexual identity was completely blocked from my awareness. I had pushed it down so far that I couldn’t recognize how profoundly it was shaping my experiences.
When I was in sexual situations, I wasn’t fully present. I wasn’t connected to my body or to my own pleasure. I went through the motions. I told myself, This is fine. This is enough. But underneath that acceptance was a quiet absence—something muted, something missing.
Looking back now, I can see that my pleasure was muted because my identity was muted.
In preadolescence, I absorbed countless messages about what was “right” and what was “wrong.” Messages about who I was allowed to be. About what desire should look like. About what love was supposed to feel like. And without consciously choosing it, I buried parts of myself in order to survive.
At the time, it never occurred to me that this would affect me as a sexual being. But it did. It left me fractured—split between my inner truth and my lived experience.
You’re Not Alone: Normalizing Sexual Disconnection
I know now that my story isn’t unique. I hear versions of it from clients all the time, especially in sex therapy and couples therapy.
Clients tell me things like:
“Sex feels mechanical.”
“I’m going through the motions, but I’m not really there.”
“I don’t feel desire like other people do—something must be wrong with me.”
When sexuality is cut off from identity, sex can feel confusing, disorienting, or numb. We wonder why we don’t feel what we think we should. We compare ourselves to others. We start to believe that we’re broken.
But the truth is often much more compassionate than that.
Many of us were taught—directly or indirectly—to silence parts of ourselves. Through shame. Through pressure. Through cultural, religious, or relational expectations. That silencing doesn’t just disappear. It lives on in the body. And it shows up in intimacy.
A Therapist’s Reframe: Shame and the Nervous System
As a therapist, I see this pattern clearly. Shame creates splits.
Shame teaches us: Hide this part of yourself. Don’t speak it. Don’t feel it. And our nervous systems, doing what they do best, comply in order to keep us safe. They wall things off. They numb sensation. They disconnect.
That protection makes sense. But it comes at a cost.
When our sexuality and our identity don’t align, pleasure becomes muted. Intimacy feels distant. And the deep, embodied joy of being fully ourselves feels out of reach.
This isn’t a failure of desire. It’s a protective response.
The Turning Point: Reclaiming Identity, Reclaiming Pleasure
For me, things didn’t begin to shift until I started living my truth as a gay woman.
And honestly, I couldn’t have imagined how different everything would feel on the other side.
It was as if something inside me clicked back into place. My body wasn’t just participating—it was responding. I could feel pleasure in a way I never had before. I felt connected, present, alive.
More than that, I felt whole.
The fracture wasn’t permanent. Once I began to honor my identity and allow it to come forward, my sexuality could finally breathe again. And with that came intimacy, connection, and joy that I once thought were simply unavailable to me.
An Invitation to Reflect: Your Story May Look Different
Maybe your story isn’t about sexual orientation.
Maybe it’s about the roles you were taught to play.
Maybe it’s about cultural or religious messages that told you desire was dangerous.
Maybe it’s about family dynamics that made sex feel shameful, transactional, or unsafe.
Wherever it comes from, I want you to hear this clearly:
Feeling disconnected from pleasure is not a sign that you’re broken.
It’s a sign that something in you learned it wasn’t safe to be fully expressed.
Healing doesn’t mean forcing desire or fixing yourself. It means gently welcoming the silenced parts of you back home—with compassion, curiosity, and safety.
You Are Not the Problem
When I look back now, it seems obvious—of course burying my identity affected my sexuality. But in the middle of it, I couldn’t see it. That’s how shame works. It blinds us to the fracture while convincing us that we are the problem.
But you are not the problem.
You are not broken.
You are already whole.
The parts of you that feel cut off can be welcomed back with time, safety, and care.
If you’re ready to take a gentle next step, I created a free booklet called Creating Safety for Insight. It includes grounding practices, reflection prompts, and compassionate exercises to help you reconnect with your body and inner truth.
I’ve also linked a guided meditation designed to help soften shame and support reconnection with your body in a safe, supportive way.
And if this reflection resonated with you, I invite you to explore more therapy-informed insights here—or reach out if you’re curious about individual therapy, couples counseling, or sex therapy in Colorado.
You deserve a sexuality that feels alive, authentic, and true to who you are.
