Sexuality Is More Than Sex: Beginning a More Personal Conversation About Our Sexual-Selves
Before we talk about sexuality, I would like to begin with something very simple.
How comfortable are you saying the word sex?
How comfortable are you saying the word sexuality?
You may be completely comfortable with both words. Or perhaps you can read them easily but would feel uncomfortable saying them aloud. You may talk about sex with a partner but not with your family. You may be comfortable discussing someone else's sexuality but become uneasy when the conversation turns toward your own. You may even have noticed a small reaction in yourself just reading these first few sentences.
If so, that reaction is worth noticing. Not because something is wrong, but because many of us were never given a comfortable language for talking about sexuality.
For some people, the word sex was surrounded by silence while growing up. For others, it was associated with warnings, morality, danger, pregnancy, disease, reputation, shame, or something adults whispered about. Some were taught that sex belonged only within very specific relationships. Others received different messages depending on whether they were male, female, heterosexual, LGBTQ+, married, unmarried, young, older, religious, or part of a particular cultural community.
Some people received almost no information at all. They simply learned, somehow, that we don't talk about that. That silence matters.
Research on culture and sexual health has repeatedly shown that cultural expectations can affect not only how people understand sexuality, but even whether they feel comfortable discussing it. My own research with Iranian-American women found that women's understanding of their sexual-selves was shaped by cultural memories, gender expectations, migration, acculturation, shame, guilt, and exposure to different social norms (Rashidian et al., 2013, 2015). Research with Iranian-American physicians similarly demonstrated that embarrassment, cultural and religious factors, and attitudes toward sexuality could interfere even with professional conversations about sexual health (Rashidian et al., 2016, 2020). So if talking about sexuality feels unfamiliar, uncomfortable, or deeply personal, you are entering this conversation from somewhere. We all are, and perhaps that is exactly where our exploration should begin.
What If Sexuality Is Much Larger Than Sex?
When most people hear the word sexuality, they understandably think about sexual activity.
Intercourse, Desire, Orgasm, Attraction, Performance, Sexual orientation, Sexual problems, all of these may be part of sexuality. But they are not the whole of it.
The World Health Organization describes sexuality as a central aspect of being human that can include sex, gender identities and roles, sexual orientation, eroticism, pleasure, intimacy, and reproduction. Sexuality is also influenced by biological, psychological, social, cultural, religious, historical, and other factors (World Health Organization [WHO], 2006).
In everyday language, this means that sexuality is not simply what we do sexually. It also includes how we experience ourselves as sexual human beings. That may involve how you feel about your body when no one else is present. It may involve whether you believe you are allowed to experience pleasure. It may include whether you know what kind of affection feels comfortable to you. It may involve whether you can tell someone, “I like this,” “I don't like this,” “I'm not sure,” “I want to slow down,” or simply, “No.”
It may involve whom you are attracted to, how you understand your sexual orientation or gender, what intimacy means to you, how comfortable you feel being seen by another person, and whether sexuality feels like something that genuinely belongs to you.
This larger experience is what I refer to throughout this series as our sexual-selves. When I say your sexual- self, I am not referring only to the part of you that has sex. I am referring to the part of you that experiences your body, attraction, desire, affection, intimacy, boundaries, pleasure, sexual identity, vulnerability, and the meanings you have learned to associate with sexuality. Some people know this part of themselves quite well. Others have barely had the opportunity to meet it.
Our Sexual-Selves Have a History
None of us wakes up one morning as an adult with a fully formed understanding of sexuality. Long before we understood words such as desire, intimacy, or sexual identity, we were learning, we watched, we listened and we noticed. Perhaps affection was common in your family. People hugged, kissed, and expressed warmth openly. Or perhaps affection was rare. Perhaps bodies were treated naturally. Or perhaps bodies were something to hide. Maybe questions were welcomed. Maybe they were quickly shut down.
You may have learned that boys were expected to pursue sex while girls were expected to control it. You may have learned that a “good” woman should not appear too sexual, or that a “real” man should always want sex. You may have learned that marriage automatically creates sexual obligation. You may have heard negative messages about homosexuality, bisexuality, gender diversity, masturbation, divorce, sexual pleasure, or people whose relationships looked different from those around you.
Sometimes these messages were obvious. A parent might say, “You shouldn't feel that way.” But what does that actually mean to a child or teenager? It might mean, “Your feelings make me uncomfortable.” It might mean, “People like us don't talk about sexual feelings.” It might mean, “That attraction is not acceptable.” It might mean, “You should not be curious about your body.” Or perhaps nobody said anything directly. A facial expression, silence, joke, criticism, religious message, family rules, or reaction to someone else's sexuality may have communicated the lesson. We learn through more than instruction. We also learn through observation and emotional experience. This is one reason culture matters so deeply.
In my research with first-generation Iranian-American women, participants described negotiating sexual-self concepts across two cultural environments. Their understanding of gender roles and sexuality reflected not only their current surroundings in the United States, but also memories, expectations, values, guilt, shame, and meanings carried from their earlier cultural experiences in Iran (Rashidian et al., 2013). Later cross-cultural case research similarly demonstrated that female sexual self-concept cannot be fully separated from culture, migration, gender expectations, family, and lived experience (Rashidian et al., 2015). Culture does not simply stay outside us. Parts of it may gradually become part of how we see ourselves.
The Body Is Learning Too
Our sexual history does not exist only as a collection of thoughts and memories. Our bodies participate in experience. When I say “the body is present,” I simply mean that during intimacy, your body is responding along with your thoughts. You may notice warmth, tension relaxation, a faster heartbeat, comfort, excitement, numbness, a desire to move closer, or a desire to move away.
Perhaps your shoulders tighten when someone becomes emotionally close. Maybe you notice yourself holding your breath when you receive sexual attention. Perhaps your body relaxes when a trusted partner touches you gently. Maybe you become distracted when sexual activity begins, even though part of you wanted the experience.
These bodily responses do not automatically mean that something is wrong. The nervous system is continually taking in information about our environment and helping us respond to experiences of safety, uncertainty, connection, and threat. When I say “emotion is present,” I mean that sexual experiences may bring feelings with them. For example, a kiss may bring tenderness. Being desired may bring excitement. Taking off one's clothing may bring vulnerability. Asking for something sexually may bring embarrassment. Being turned down may bring disappointment or shame. Touch may bring comfort for one person and anxiety for another. Sexuality therefore involves far more than sexual organs. The brain, body, emotions, memories, expectations, relationships, and environment interact with one another.
This is one reason contemporary models of sexual response increasingly emphasize context rather than assuming that desire simply appears spontaneously and leads predictably toward sexual activity. Basson's model, for example, demonstrated the importance of emotional intimacy, sexual stimuli, context, and responsive desire, particularly in understanding women's sexual experiences (Basson, 2001).
Instead of asking only: “Does my body respond sexually?” we might sometimes ask:
“What tends to help my body feel comfortable, interested, relaxed, connected, or safe enough to respond?” That is a much more human question.
Pleasure Can Feel Vulnerable Too
We often talk about pleasure as if everyone automatically knows how to receive it. That is not always true. For some people, giving feels easier than receiving. They know how to take care of others, anticipate another person's needs, make a partner comfortable, or focus on someone else's pleasure. Receiving may be much more unfamiliar. So when I say “pleasure can require surrendering some control,” I do not mean losing control or allowing someone else to decide what happens to you. I mean something much safer and more ordinary. To enjoy a pleasurable experience, sometimes we have to stop monitoring everything for a moment.
We may need to stop wondering:
“How do I look?”
“Am I doing this correctly?”
“Is my partner enjoying this?”
“Am I taking too long?”
“What am I supposed to do next?”
For some people, allowing themselves to receive attention without performing can feel surprisingly vulnerable. This becomes particularly important for people who learned early that their value came from taking care of others.
A person may say: “I've always been the giver.” By giver, they may mean:
“I usually focus on what my partner needs before I consider what I need.”
“I am more comfortable giving affection than receiving it.”
“I know how to please someone else, but I have difficulty identifying what gives me pleasure.”
“I worry that expressing my own needs makes me selfish.”
The phrase suddenly means much more than sexual technique. It tells us something about how that person may have learned to exist in relationships.
Our Emotional Patterns Do Not Disappear During Sex
We bring our emotional lives into intimacy. If rejection is especially painful for you in everyday life, sexual rejection may feel especially powerful. If you have difficulty asking for help, asking for what you want sexually may also feel difficult. If conflict makes you fear that someone will leave, you may agree to sexual experiences simply to preserve closeness. If you have spent years protecting yourself through independence, allowing another person to see you emotionally or physically may feel uncomfortable even when you love them.
This is where affect regulation becomes important. Affect regulation simply refers to how we manage our emotional experiences.
Can I feel disappointed without becoming overwhelmed?
Can I feel vulnerable without immediately shutting down?
Can I notice embarrassment without deciding that I should never speak about the subject again?
Can I experience desire without feeling ashamed of having it?
Can I tolerate hearing “not tonight” without immediately interpreting it as “you are undesirable” or “I no longer love you”?
Research suggests that difficulties with emotion regulation are associated with sexual functioning and sexual satisfaction, although sexuality is complex and no single emotional process explains sexual difficulties (Fischer et al., 2022). Attachment research similarly suggests that patterns involving anxiety, avoidance, closeness, and security can intersect with sexual motivations, functioning, and satisfaction (Stefanou & McCabe, 2012). Again, this does not mean we should psychologically analyze every sexual response. It means that our emotional history does not wait outside the bedroom while we go inside. We bring ourselves with us.
Sexuality Also Includes Who We Understand Ourselves to Be
A truly inclusive conversation about sexuality cannot assume that everyone is heterosexual, cisgender, partnered, married, sexually active, monogamous, young, able-bodied, or interested in the same kinds of sexual relationships.
Sexual orientation, gender identity, attraction, sexual behavior, romantic attachment, desire, and sexual expression are related aspects of human experience, but they are not the same thing. A person may know exactly how they identify. Another may still be wondering. Someone may experience attraction differently at different points in life. Someone may experience little or no sexual attraction. Another person may know what they feel but have lived in an environment where expressing that part of themselves felt unsafe. This distinction is particularly important. The problem is not necessarily the person's identity.
Sometimes the suffering comes from what happened around that identity: rejection, discrimination, secrecy, fear, concealment, family conflict, religious condemnation, or the belief that love and belonging could be lost if the person's authentic experience became known. Minority-stress research has documented the psychological burden associated with stigma and prejudice toward sexual minority populations (Meyer, 2003).
So rather than beginning with: “What category am I?” we might first ask:
“Have I had enough safety, freedom, information, and acceptance to understand myself?”
That question leaves room for discovery without demanding an immediate label.
When “That's Just Who I Am” May Need a Second Look
After years of repetition, learned patterns can feel so familiar that they simply feel like personality. Someone might say:
“I don't like affection.”
“I don't talk about sex.”
“I've always been the giver.”
“I don't know what I want.”
“I just don't have much desire.”
“I don't like anyone touching me there.”
“I need to make sure my partner is satisfied.”
Sometimes these statements describe something genuinely authentic. They deserve respect. But occasionally, a statement deserves gentle curiosity. For example, instead of immediately accepting: “I've always been the giver,” we might ask:
“When did I learn that my partner's experience should come before mine?”
“Do I actually enjoy giving, or do I feel anxious when attention is placed on me?”
“Have I ever had enough safety to discover what receiving feels like?”
The goal is not to turn every preference into a problem.
It is to help distinguish choice from obligation, preference from adaptation, identity from expectation, and desire from performance.
One of the questions that will be returned throughout this series is:
Has this always been who I am, or might some part of this be something I learned?
Equally important:
If it truly is part of who I am, can I allow myself to respect that too?
Perhaps “Normal” Is Not the Most Helpful Question
Many people approach sexuality through questions that quietly contain judgment.
“Do I want sex too much?”
What might that actually mean? Perhaps:
“I seem to want sexual connection more often than my partner. Does that make me excessive?”
“I think about sex often. Should I be embarrassed?”
“My cultural or religious upbringing taught me that sexual desire is inappropriate. Does wanting it mean something negative about me?”
Or the opposite:
“I don't think about sex very often. Is something wrong with me?”
Notice how quickly a difference can become a judgment. The same happens with questions such as:
“Am I attractive enough?”
“Should I orgasm more easily?”
“Why doesn't my body respond the way I think it should?”
“Should I want sex more often?”
“Why am I not like my partner?”
Behind many of these questions is another question:
“Am I acceptable?”
That may be one of the deepest sexual questions people carry.
The WHO's sexual-health framework deliberately moves beyond dysfunction and emphasizes physical, emotional, mental, and social well-being in relation to sexuality, including respect, safety, pleasure, and freedom from coercion and discrimination (WHO, 2006).
Perhaps, then, instead of asking only:
“Is my sexuality normal?”
we can begin asking:
“What is my relationship with my own sexuality?”
That question may still sound abstract, so let us make it concrete.
Do I know this part of myself?
By this part, I mean:
Do I know what kinds of affection I enjoy?
Do I know what makes me uncomfortable?
Do I know what helps me feel close to another person?
Do I recognize when I am experiencing attraction?
Do I know whether I enjoy sexual attention or sometimes merely tolerate it?
Do I understand my own boundaries?
Do I have a language for pleasure?
Do I know what sexuality means to me, separate from what someone else told me it should mean?
Do I experience my sexual self as something private that belongs to me, or primarily as something I need to provide, hide, control, or perform for someone else?
These are not questions designed to judge us. They are invitations to know ourselves.
Let Us Make the Words Less Frightening
I hope something else begins happening as you read this article. I hope the words themselves begin feeling a little more ordinary.
“Let Us Make the Words Less Frightening”
I hope something else begins happening as you read this article. I hope the language itself begins to feel a little more familiar and less intimidating.
Words such as sex, meaning sexual activity or sexual experience; sexuality, the broader way we experience ourselves as sexual human beings; desire, our sense of wanting or not wanting sexual or intimate connection; pleasure, the experience of physical or emotional enjoyment; body, the physical self through which we experience sensation, comfort, tension, and arousal; attraction, the experience of feeling drawn toward someone emotionally, romantically, or sexually; intimacy, the experience of closeness, trust, vulnerability, and connection; sexual orientation, the pattern of sexual or romantic attraction a person experiences; gender, the way a person understands and experiences their gender identity and expression; and boundary, the personal limit that helps us communicate what feels comfortable, acceptable, wanted, or unwanted, are simply words that describe important parts of human experience.
There is nothing inappropriate about using them. Some of us were simply never given enough permission, comfort, or practice to say them openly. Sometimes healing around sexuality begins before anything sexual happens at all. It may begin when a person can finally say:
“I have questions about sex,”
“I don't know what I like,”
“I feel uncomfortable talking about my sexuality,”
“I have desire,”
“I don't have much desire,”
“I am confused,”
“I know who I am,”
“I am still discovering who I am,”
“I don't want that,”
“I do want that,”
or simply,
“I don't know yet.”
These are not failures. They are ways of putting experience into language, and language can give us a way to begin knowing ourselves. There is nothing inappropriate about these words. They describe parts of human life. Some of us were simply never given permission to use them comfortably. Sometimes healing around sexuality begins before anything sexual happens at all.
It may begin when a person can finally say:
“I have questions about sex.”
“I don't know what I like.”
“I feel uncomfortable talking about my sexuality.”
“I have desire.”
“I don't have much desire.”
“I am confused.”
“I know who I am.”
“I am still discovering who I am.”
“I don't want that.”
“I do want that.”
“I don't know yet.”
These are not failures. They are language, and language can give us a way to begin knowing ourselves.
A Moment of Self-Curiosity: Self-reflection questions
There is no score in the following reflection. There are no correct answers, and you do not need to show your answers to anyone.
For each statement, choose Rarely, Sometimes, Often, or Almost Always.
After every statement, I have added a short explanation, so you know exactly what I am asking.
1. I experience my sexuality as something that belongs to me.
In simple language: Do you feel that your sexual feelings, choices, boundaries, attractions, and experiences are yours to understand and make decisions about, rather than something you mainly manage for another person's approval?
2. I can become curious about my sexual wants and needs without immediately judging myself.
In simple language: If you notice that you want affection, closeness, sex, more sex, less sex, different kinds of touch, or no sexual contact at a particular time, can you notice that feeling before telling yourself that you are wrong for having it?
3. I can tell the difference between what I genuinely want and what I think I am supposed to want.
In simple language: Can you sometimes recognize whether a sexual choice comes from you, or whether it comes mainly from messages such as “a good partner should,” “a woman should,” “a man should,” “married people should,” or “people my age should”?
4. I notice what happens in my body during affection, intimacy, or sexual experiences.
In simple language: Can you notice whether your body relaxes, becomes tense, feels interested, feels numb, wants to move closer, wants more time, or wants to stop?
5. I feel that I have permission to understand my sexual identity in a way that feels truthful to me.
In simple language: Do you feel able to understand your own attraction, orientation, gender, relationships, or lack of sexual interest without believing that you must fit someone else's expectations?
6. I can communicate a sexual or emotional boundary without feeling that I have to give up myself to keep someone close.
In simple language: Can you say things such as “no,” “not tonight,” “please slow down,” “I don't like that,” “I'm not sure,” or “I would prefer this,” while still believing that your needs matter?
7. I allow myself to continue learning about my sexuality throughout my life.
In simple language: Can you accept that what you understand about your body, desire, intimacy, identity, relationships, or pleasure may deepen or change as you grow older and have new experiences?
What Did You Notice?
Do not rush to evaluate your answers. First, notice your reaction to the questions themselves.
Was one easy to answer?
Did another make you think, “I have no idea”?
Did you feel uncomfortable seeing certain words?
Did you want to skip a question?
Did you suddenly remember something?
Did you realize that nobody had ever asked you about your sexuality in this way?
Even confusion can give us information. If you found yourself thinking, “I don't understand what I want,” that does not mean you failed the question. It may simply mean:
“I have not had enough opportunity to ask myself this before.”
Look at the statements where you answered Often or Almost Always. These may be areas where you already have a stronger sense of your sexual self.
Then notice the statements where you answered Rarely or Sometimes. Try not to label them as problems. Instead, perhaps say:
“There may be something here I would like to understand better.”
That is self-curiosity, not fixing, not judging, not diagnosing, but simply learning.
One Question to Take With You
If nobody were judging me, expecting anything from me, or telling me how I should experience sexuality, what would I want to understand better about myself?
You might become curious about your body, meaning how comfortable, connected, or at ease you feel physically; your desire, including when you experience sexual interest and when you do not; your relationships, especially how closeness, trust, conflict, and emotional safety affect you; your sexual orientation or gender, if these are areas you are exploring or understanding more deeply; your comfort with intimacy, including how it feels to be emotionally or physically close to another person; your boundaries, or how clearly you recognize and communicate what you do and do not want; your pleasure, including whether you know what feels enjoyable or meaningful to you; or your fears, such as fears of rejection, judgment, disappointing someone, being vulnerable, or simply speaking openly about sexuality.
There is no requirement to have an answer today. For some people, being able to ask the question safely is already a meaningful beginning.
Continue the Journey
This first conversation has been about giving ourselves permission to think about sexuality differently. Not simply as sex. Not simply as performance and not simply as something we do for or with another person.
Our sexual selves develop through an ongoing relationship among our bodies, brains, nervous systems, emotional lives, identities, families, cultures, relationships, experiences, and the meanings we make from them.
In the next article, How Our Sexual-Selves Are Formed, we will begin exploring how that internal map develops. We will look at early messages, family relationships, culture, emotional experiences, gender expectations, identity, implicit learning, and the patterns we may carry into adult sexuality without realizing where they began.
If this article made you think about your sexuality in a new way, I hope you'll stay curious, and stay connected.
Join me as we keep exploring how our bodies, emotions, relationships, and experiences shape our sexual-selves. Join the conversation.
*The self-reflection questions in this article are intended for personal exploration and education. They are not a psychological assessment, diagnostic instrument, or substitute for individualized professional care.
References
Basson, R. (2001). Human sex-response cycles. Journal of Sex & Marital Therapy, 27(1), 33–43. https://doi.org/10.1080/00926230152035831
Fischer, V. J., Andersson, G., Billieux, J., & Vögele, C. (2022). The relationship between emotion regulation and sexual function and satisfaction: A scoping review. Sexual Medicine Reviews, 10(2), 195–208. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.sxmr.2021.11.004
Meyer, I. H. (2003). Prejudice, social stress, and mental health in lesbian, gay, and bisexual populations: Conceptual issues and research evidence. Psychological Bulletin, 129(5), 674–697. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-2909.129.5.674
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
Rashidian, M., Minichiello, V., & Hussain, R. (2015). Sexual self-concept through a cross-cultural lens: Qualitative case studies of Iranian-American women. Advances in Social Sciences Research Journal, 2(10). https://doi.org/10.14738/assrj.210.1539
Rashidian, M., Minichiello, V., Knutsen, S. F., & Ghamsary, M. (2016). Barriers to sexual health care: A survey of Iranian-American physicians in California, USA. BMC Health Services Research, 16, 263. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12913-016-1481-8
Rashidian, M., Minichiello, V., Knutsen, S., & Ghamsary, M. (2020). Western, Asian, and Middle Eastern societies’ cultural attitudes and barriers impacting the management of sexual health care. In D. L. Rowland & E. A. Jannini (Eds.), Cultural differences and the practice of sexual medicine: A guide for sexual health practitioners (pp. 165–182). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36222-5_10
Stefanou, C., & McCabe, M. P. (2012). Adult attachment and sexual functioning: A review of past research. The Journal of Sexual Medicine, 9(10), 2499–2507. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1743-6109.2012.02843.x
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