How Our Sexual-Selves Are Formed

In the first article in this series, Sexuality Is More Than Sex, I invited you to think about sexuality as something much larger than sexual behavior. Now I want to ask a different question:

How did you come to experience yourself sexually in the way that you do today?

At first, that may sound like a question about sexual history. Who were your partners? When did you first have sex? What experiences have you had? But our sexual history and our sexual-self are not quite the same thing. Our history is made up of experiences. Our sexual-self includes the meanings we have gradually made from those experiences. That distinction matters.

Two people can have similar experiences and carry away very different meanings. Being rejected by a partner might leave one person thinking, We were not right for each other, while another quietly begins to believe, Something about me is undesirable. A child who grows up in a home where affection is openly expressed may learn something different about physical closeness than a child who rarely witnesses tenderness. A young person who asks a question about sexuality and receives a calm answer may remember something different from someone whose question is met with embarrassment, silence, or anger. The experience matters, but the meaning attached to the experience may travel with us much longer.

We Learn About Sexuality Before We Have Words for It

Long before most of us understand the word sexuality, we are observing. We notice how adults respond to bodies. We notice whether affection is comfortable or awkward. We notice who is allowed to express desire, who is expected to be modest, who initiates closeness, whose needs matter, and what happens when someone says no. We notice what is laughed about, whispered about, celebrated, criticized, hidden, or never mentioned at all.

These observations do not arrive in our minds as formal lessons. Yet they can gradually contribute to what researchers have described as sexual scripts, the cultural, interpersonal, and internal expectations that help people interpret sexual situations and understand how they are supposed to behave within them (Simon & Gagnon, 1986).

A sexual script might quietly say, Men should always want sex. Another might say, A good woman should not appear too interested in sex. Or, If my partner loves me, I should want sex whenever they do. Another might communicate that sex is acceptable only within certain relationships, that pleasure is selfish, that certain bodies are more desirable than others, or that talking openly about sexual needs is inappropriate. Eventually, something we repeatedly heard or observed can begin to sound less like a message we received and more like a truth about who we are.

When ‘This Is What I Learned’ Becomes ‘This Is Who I Am’

This is where I believe the conversation about our sexual-selves becomes especially interesting.

Research on sexual-self-schema suggests that we develop mental understandings of ourselves as sexual beings based partly on previous experiences. Those understandings can then influence how we interpret later sexual information, relationships, choices, and experiences (Andersen & Cyranowski, 1994). More recent scholarship describes sexual-self-concept as multidimensional and emphasizes that researchers themselves have not always captured the diversity of human sexual experience adequately (Astle et al., 2025).

In everyday language, we might think of this as an internal story we have gradually learned to tell ourselves.

Someone who thinks, “I am not a sexual person,” may genuinely be describing their experience, and that experience deserves to be respected. But for someone else, the statement may have developed after years of feeling disconnected from their body, rarely experiencing desire in the circumstances available to them, learning that sexuality was something to suppress, or simply never having the opportunity to discover what sexuality means to them personally.

Another person may carry the belief, “I am too sexual.” Yet “too sexual” immediately raises another question: too sexual according to whom? A person may have learned to judge a perfectly natural interest in sex, pleasure, fantasy, or physical affection because it exceeded what was considered acceptable within their family, culture, religion, relationship, or gender expectations. The distress may not always come from desire itself, but from the meaning attached to having that desire.

“I am difficult to please” can also become a powerful sexual story. Perhaps a person needs more time to become aroused, prefers particular kinds of touch, requires emotional connection, or simply experiences pleasure differently from a partner. Instead of learning, “My body has its own way of responding,” they may gradually conclude, “There is something difficult about me.” A difference in sexual response can quietly become a judgment about the self.

The belief “My body is not desirable” may similarly contain years of accumulated experiences. Comments about weight, aging, skin color, disability, attractiveness, gender expression, comparison with others, rejection, or cultural ideals about what a desirable body should look like can gradually influence how someone sees themselves. Eventually, a person may look at their own body through the eyes of imagined observers rather than through their own experience of living within it.

For some people, the internal story becomes, “I should take care of my partner first.” Caring about a partner's pleasure can be a beautiful part of intimacy. But when giving becomes an obligation rather than a choice, a person may become highly attentive to whether their partner is satisfied while barely noticing their own body, desire, comfort, or pleasure. What appears to be generosity may sometimes include a learned belief that another person's sexual experience matters more than one's own.

And then there is “I cannot ask for what I want.” Sometimes this comes from not yet knowing what one wants. At other times, a person may know quite clearly but fear being judged, rejected, misunderstood, considered selfish, or hurting their partner's feelings. Over time, remaining silent can become so familiar that the person no longer experiences it as silence. It simply becomes part of how they believe they are supposed to participate in intimacy.

These statements do not necessarily mean that something is wrong or that every sexual feeling must have a hidden psychological explanation. Some may accurately reflect a person's identity, preferences, boundaries, or current experience. But others may contain old conclusions, adaptations, expectations, or roles that have been practiced for so long that they now feel indistinguishable from the self.

This is why understanding how our sexual-selves are formed requires more than asking, “What happened to me?” We might also begin asking, “What did I come to believe about myself because of what I experienced, observed, was told, or was never allowed to explore?”

Sometimes these statements genuinely describe a person's preferences, identity, or present experience. But sometimes they contain something else: an old conclusion, an adaptation, an expectation, or a role that has been practiced for so long that it feels indistinguishable from the self.

The purpose of asking about this is not to challenge every sexual preference or turn every difference into a psychological issue. Sexual orientation, gender identity, asexuality, boundaries, levels of desire, consensual preferences, and individual differences are not problems waiting to be explained away.

The more useful question is: Which parts of my sexual-self feel authentically mine, and which parts have I never had the opportunity to examine?

Sometimes What Was Never Said Matters Too

We often think that people are shaped by what they were told. I think we also need to pay attention to what they were never given language for.

Perhaps nobody ever told you that you could change your mind during a sexual experience. Perhaps nobody explained that desire does not appear the same way for everyone. Perhaps pleasure was never discussed. Perhaps boundaries were taught only as protection from danger rather than as part of healthy intimacy. Perhaps nobody asked what you wanted because the expectation was that you would adapt to what someone else wanted.

Silence can leave its own kind of learning.

When there is no language for an experience, we may still feel it in our bodies and emotions, but have difficulty recognizing, interpreting, or communicating it. Part of developing a fuller sexual self may therefore involve acquiring language for experiences that were always present but never named.

We May Carry More Than One Sexual Story

Culture makes this even more complex because many of us do not live inside only one set of expectations.

In my research with first-generation Iranian-American women, participants described negotiating sexual-self perceptions and gender roles across Iranian and American cultural contexts. Their experiences suggested that migration did not simply replace one cultural understanding with another. Earlier cultural memories remained meaningful while new experiences created opportunities to reconsider gender roles and their sexual-selves, sometimes accompanied by conflict, shame, guilt, and greater self-understanding (Rashidian et al., 2013).

This raises a fascinating possibility: our sexual-selves may contain multiple voices at the same time.

One part of us may value what our family taught us. Another may question it. We may intellectually believe one thing about sexuality while emotionally reacting according to an older message. We may feel confident in one relationship and uncertain in another. We may discover that something we once accepted no longer fits us.

That does not necessarily mean we are confused. It may mean we are developing.

Formation Is Not Finalization

Perhaps the most important word in the title of this article is not sexual. It is formed.

Formation is a process, not a finished product.

Our sexual-selves are influenced by experience, relationships, culture, biology, identity, emotion, and the meanings we make throughout life. Sexual scripts themselves can change as circumstances and experiences change (Simon & Gagnon, 1986). Our sexual self-concepts can also continue developing across adulthood rather than becoming permanently fixed at some earlier point in life (Astle et al., 2025).

So perhaps the question is not simply, What shaped me? A more interesting question may be:

What have I carried forward because it is genuinely part of me, and what have I carried forward simply because I never knew I could examine it?

That question does not require us to reject our history, our families, our cultures, or earlier versions of ourselves. It gives us an opportunity to meet them with curiosity and compassion.

Because understanding how our sexual-selves were formed is not about finding someone or something to blame. It is about recognizing that we can honor where we came from while becoming increasingly conscious of what we want to carry forward, and perhaps that is where a sexual-self begins to feel more fully our own.

A Moment of Self-Reflection

As you consider how your sexual-self has developed, take a few moments with the questions below. There are no right or wrong answers, and this is not a test or a measure of sexual health. The purpose is simply to become curious about where some of your beliefs, expectations, and ways of experiencing sexuality may have come from.

For each statement, choose the response that feels closest to your experience:

Rarely | Sometimes | Often | Almost Always

1. I can recognize some of the messages about sexuality that I learned while growing up.

In simple language: When you think about your family, culture, religion, community, school, media, or early relationships, can you identify some of the messages you received about sex, bodies, desire, gender, pleasure, relationships, or what was considered acceptable and unacceptable?

2. I can tell when a belief about sexuality feels genuinely mine rather than something I learned I was supposed to believe.

In simple language: When you think, “I should want this,” “I shouldn't feel this way,” “a good partner does this,” or “someone like me shouldn't want that,” can you pause and wonder where that expectation came from? Can you distinguish between what feels personally meaningful to you and what may have been handed to you by someone else?

3. I can notice when an experience from my past has influenced the way I think about myself sexually today.

In simple language: Have experiences such as acceptance, rejection, affection, criticism, embarrassment, silence, feeling desired, feeling ignored, or being compared with others affected how you now see your body, desirability, sexuality, or comfort with intimacy?

4. I can question sexual beliefs about myself that I have carried for a long time.

In simple language: If you have told yourself things such as “I am not sexual,” “I am too sexual,” “my body isn't desirable,” “I am difficult to please,” or “I shouldn't ask for what I want,” can you become curious about whether that belief fully describes who you are today, or whether part of it may have developed from earlier experiences?

5. I notice when I put another person's sexual comfort, pleasure, or expectations ahead of my own automatically.

In simple language: During intimacy, do you find yourself concentrating so much on whether the other person is comfortable, satisfied, attracted to you, or pleased that you lose awareness of what you are feeling, wanting, enjoying, or not enjoying?

6. I feel able to reconsider messages about sexuality without feeling that I am rejecting my family, culture, religion, or past.

In simple language: Can you appreciate where you came from while also deciding that some beliefs may no longer fit who you are? Can you allow yourself to keep what feels meaningful while questioning what does not, without believing that curiosity automatically means rejection or disrespect?

7. I allow myself to believe that my understanding of my sexual self can continue to develop.

In simple language: Can you make room for the possibility that you may discover something new about your desire, body, boundaries, pleasure, relationships, identity, or intimacy without assuming that you should already have everything figured out?

What Did You Notice?

Take a moment to look back at your responses. Notice where you answered Often or Almost Always. These responses may reflect areas where you already have greater awareness of the experiences and messages that have contributed to your sexual self.

Now notice where you answered Rarely or Sometimes. Try not to interpret those answers as shortcomings. Instead, consider whether they point toward parts of your sexual story that you simply have not had much opportunity to examine.

You might also notice whether one question created a stronger emotional response than the others. Perhaps you immediately thought of a parent, a relationship, a cultural expectation, a religious teaching, an experience of rejection, or something that was simply never discussed. Sometimes the question that makes us pause is worth becoming curious about.

The purpose is not to separate everything into “this is really me” and “this was learned.” Human beings are more complex than that. Our histories, cultures, relationships, identities, bodies, and choices become intertwined. The invitation is simply to become more conscious of what you carry and to recognize that something can have shaped you without having to define you forever.

A Question to Take With You

What is one belief I have carried about myself sexually that I have rarely stopped to question, and where might I have first learned to see myself that way?

You do not need to change the belief or even decide whether it is right or wrong. Begin by becoming curious about its story. Sometimes understanding where a belief came from allows us to see, perhaps for the first time, whether it still belongs in the life we are living today.

Continue the Conversation

If this article brought up a belief you would like to understand more deeply, I would be glad to explore it with you. Scheduling a session is a way to talk about what you are noticing, ask questions about my approach, and see whether working together feels like the right fit.

You are also welcome to share what you noticed in the comments below. Your reflection may help someone else recognize something about their own experience. I will continue this conversation in the next article in the Our Sexual-Selves series. 

---

References

Andersen, B. L., & Cyranowski, J. M. (1994). Women’s sexual self-schema. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 67(6), 1079–1100. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.67.6.1079

Astle, S., Anders, K. M., McAllister, P., Hanna-Walker, V., & Yelland, E. (2025). The conceptualization and measurement of sexual self-concept and sexual self-schema: A systematic literature review. The Journal of Sex Research, 62(1), 95–106. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224499.2023.2244937

Rashidian, M., Hussain, R., & Minichiello, V. (2013). ‘My culture haunts me no matter where I go’: Iranian-American women discussing sexual and acculturation experiences. Culture, Health & Sexuality, 15(7), 866–877. https://doi.org/10.1080/13691058.2013.789128

Simon, W., & Gagnon, J. H. (1986). Sexual scripts: Permanence and change. Archives of Sexual Behavior, 15(2), 97–120. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01542219