How did it end? Part Two (Amber's Version)

Warning: This post contains explicit content that may be triggering for some, with themes around sex, purity culture, pain, and divorce. (I promise there will be more light-hearted and real posts to come.) xoxo, Amber Lee

After "I do"...

My wedding day was flawless. It started with Auntie Connie's homemade biscuits and chocolate gravy. My bridesmaids joined me for breakfast, tea, and a viewing of "Cinderella" to celebrate what we believed was the start of my happily ever after. Surprisingly, I was calm. The day flew by in a blur of champagne sipping, lipstick touch-ups, and camera flashes until it was time to walk down the aisle. After exchanging vows, rings, dancing, and smashing cake in my groom's face, it was time to leave. I had made it through my wedding day, but now I faced a new challenge. It was time to survive my wedding night.

Every girl is a flower.

In the 90s and early 2000s, religious institutions frequently used the "rose" analogy to promote purity culture. The analogy suggests that every girl is like a rose, starting off perfect and beautiful. Each time she engages in sexual activity with a man, she loses a petal. The rose becomes more barren, less valuable, less beautiful, and less desirable. If the girl isn't cautious, by the time she meets her husband, she might have nothing left to offer but a thorny stem. And who would choose that over a beautiful flower?

"No one," I thought.

"Absolutely no one."

Advice that didn't work

"It always hurts the first time."

This is what everyone tells you to help you prepare for your wedding night if you've waited until marraige to have sex. "Don't expect it to last long." "It will improve." "It will only hurt once." Well... they were partially correct. It did hurt, A LOT. However, it didn't stop hurting after the first time. It hurt the second, the third, and the fourth time, and even five years later, it still hurt. When I sought advice from friends, family, and even doctors about how to stop the pain, their suggestions were always the same. "You just need to relax." "Take a bath first." "Drink wine." "Have you ever tried weed?" None of their advice worked.

I used to love kissing

I mean, who doesn't? Kissing is fun, it's intimate, and it helps you feel closer to your partner. However, sometimes kissing leads to sex. I stopped kissing my husband. I stopped kissing my husband for five years.

A diagnosis

"You have vaginismus." I wanted to giggle. My medical condition sounded like some weird fanfic superhero a teenage boy would make up while bored in English class. It's rare. At the time I was diagnosed, it was believed that less than 1% of women have vaginismus, though we now know that number is much higher. It's a very real condition where a woman's body will not allow full penetration. Most women who suffer from vaginismus are victims of sexual assault or grew up in a religious environment. They are so afraid of sex before marriage that they can't stop fearing it afterward. Even if their mind understands it's acceptable, their body doesn't. The body has a genuine and physical response to sex. The severity varies. Some women can feel some pleasure, but it's mixed with pain. Others find sex purely painful and can't even use a tampon. I was in the latter group. Some women with vaginismus will never have children for fear of sexual intercourse. I wanted a baby. I will fix this. I will fix my body because I am the problem. It is my fault. I am the one who is broken. I am the one who doesn't work the right way. I will fix this.

Keeping up with the Kardashians

That's the show I watched for hours while doing PT to cure my vaginismus. I would lie in bed for hours doing treatment. I would lie in my bed for hours crying, bleeding, and watching Kourtney talk about how good her avocado smoothie is. I will fix this.

A cure

I did it. It finally stopped hurting. Sex caused me physical pain for five years, but emotional pain for seven.

No one's fault

By the time sexual intercourse stopped hurting, the damage had been done. My husband would touch me, and I would be afraid. I had a trauma response to his touch. It wasn't really anyone's fault. We both were too immature and too inexperienced to handle my condition appropriately. We should have stopped having sex when we realized it was hurting me. We should have talked about it. All of it. We should have talked about the lack of intimacy we were feeling. We should have talked about ways to make it better. We should have talked about sex in general because there is no reason not to. That is why I feel comfortable enough to share this blog post now. Sex isn't a scary taboo topic. Sex is normal and natural and essential to a healthy marriage. I wish we both were brave enough to talk about it when we were together, I will be brave now.

"I want to have real sex."

Me too.

Sex is not everything, but it is something.

My ex-husband and I never figured sex out. No sex meant no kissing. No kissing meant no cuddling, and without these physical acts, our intimacy plummeted. There was less flirting, fewer pet names, less hand-holding. However, I will say sex is not everything. My ex and I had a beautiful friendship. We got along. We had inside jokes. We had rituals that included wine and brie cheese nights watching trash television, game nights with friends, and coffee walks on Main Street. We also had a solid partnership. I did the laundry, he took out the trash. If I was up all night with the baby, he was on diaper duty the next day. We were a team, and honestly, we were a good one. However, the lack of intimacy was taking its toll on all aspects of our relationship. It wasn't fair to him that I flinched when he touched me. It wasn't fair to me that I pretended I didn't. It wasn't fair to him that I didn't cuddle after sex. It wasn't fair to me that the reason I wasn't cuddling him was because I was silently crying in the shower. Sex is not everything, but it is something.

How did it end?

It wasn't just our issues surrounding intimacy. There was a lot more to it than that. However, we both agree it was a catalyst in everything that transpired next.

Separation Story Time

We need a break. We need to stop trying to be intimate for a while. We are both tired of feeling ashamed. We are both tired of feeling like jerks. We are both so, so tired. We will take a break... not a divorce, a separation.

After "I don't"...

We said we wouldn’t separate. But we did. And when it happened, everything crumbled. “Let no man (or woman) divide what God has joined together.”

We said that too. And yet—here we are. Words were said that couldn’t be taken back. Mistakes were made that couldn’t be undone. The separation felt like a death sentence. Because when two people come together, they don’t just build a life—they create a new identity. A new “we.” And when that identity breaks apart, it doesn’t just feel like a breakup. It feels like a death. We couldn’t reunite—not because we didn’t love each other, but because the people we once were no longer existed.

He couldn’t find me.

And I couldn’t find him.

Those versions of us were already gone.

If this resonates, you're not alone. There is help, and there is healing.

Click HERE for resources