Her Sexual Abuse Marked Him Too

They had booked a couples retreat, and we had already met for a few sessions. I’d seen them individually the day before—worked with him around his desires, and with her around understanding that her partner has needs, too. Both sessions flowed with ease. They each walked away with fresh insights. But deep down… I couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was hiding beneath the surface.

Their couple's session came next. The team had done a beautiful job—the room was filled with flowers and candles, my favorite playlist playing softly in the background. The ocean view was stunning, as always. I was ready to guide them through a five senses experience.

As usual, I invited them to sit on the bed. Most couples either sit close together or face each other. But these two chose opposite corners. She sat with her arms and legs crossed. He stared at the floor, his back hunched more than usual.

The distance between them wasn’t just physical—it was thick in the air. Something really heavy and painful sat between them

So I asked, gently, “Is there anything you didn’t share with me in your session that you want me to know?”

He looked at her.

She bit her lip.

We all remained in silence until she spoke softly, barely above a whisper: “I was sexually abused when I was a child. I blocked it from my memory for many years. It resurfaced almost 15 years ago, and I went to therapy to work through my trauma. During that process, I couldn’t even tolerate him touching me, even slightly. Obviously, sex was completely out of the picture. I finished my process, but somehow, we haven’t been able to reconnect physically again. We just can’t, and I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

She said this as they both looked around the beautiful room we had prepared for them. I could feel the sadness rise between them. Not just for the 15 years of sexless silence, but for something deeper — the ache of two people who once loved each other with their bodies, now afraid they might never ever find their way back.

There was something so fragile in that moment. The way her voice cracked as she said, “I don’t think we’re ready for this.” The way his shoulders curved inward, like he was trying to disappear inside himself.

It wasn’t just that they hadn’t touched in years — it was that they believed the moment had passed. That the door to intimacy had closed and would never open again. They weren’t angry. They weren’t blaming. They were just… tired. Tired of trying. Tired of pretending it didn’t matter. Tired of hoping for something they no longer knew how to ask for.

And still, underneath all that sadness, I felt their longing, their desire and the deep love that had kept them together all these years. It touched me deeply.

“It’s actually very normal,” I said softly, “for a woman healing from abuse to feel unable — or unwilling — to have sex. And once intimacy disappears, it’s not easy to find the way back. The fear of reliving trauma is very real. And for your partner… he probably had no idea how to support you through that. It must’ve been terrifying, frustrating, confusing — even painful — for BOTH of you.”

He looked up, just slightly. His back uncurled a little, and his eyes softened. Whatever he had felt, I had just put words to it. And maybe, no one ever had. Not even him.

“Who taught you how to deal with sexual trauma in marriage?” I asked gently. “Where did you learn how to navigate something like this?”

They both sat in silence. Not defensive, not ashamed — just quiet. The kind of silence that comes when you realize you simply never had the tools.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. They hadn’t failed. Like most people, they were just never taught how to move through something this tender, this human.

And when that recognition lands, something shifts. The shame begins to crawl out the door. And in its place, a new reality enters: we can learn. We can do this differently.

“You didn’t have the tools,” I said softly. “But… if you’re open, I’d love to guide you through some really gentle practices. Just small steps. Something to help you begin feeling safe with each other again.”

His face changed — a flicker of hope, quiet but real. Please, let’s try, his expression said.

She nodded shyly. And in that moment, it felt like the whole room exhaled. There was still something alive here. Still a doorway. Still a chance.

---

We did some gentle breathwork to calm the nervous system. A little bit of eye gazing. They said out loud what they were grateful for, asked for forgiveness, and expressed their love. It was soft and real — something in the room started to melt.

Then I introduced some very gentle BDSM tools, the kind that work beautifully in cases like this. They only explored each other’s hands with touch. She practiced saying what she wanted, and how she wanted it. Most importantly, she started using a safe word.

That changed everything. She began to feel in control. He could relax, knowing he wouldn’t accidentally trigger her.

They were smiling now. Even laughing a little. The weight they’d walked in with had started to lift, and I felt the space open for something deeper.

“I want to share something with you,” I said, “something we often don’t talk about.”

They both looked at me, listening.

“When a woman has gone through abuse recovery, the focus is usually — rightfully — on her healing. But often, we forget to look at what happens to the man in the relationship, too. Especially when there’s been no intimacy for a long time.”

He looked down again. I could already see it landing.

“When a man doesn’t have sex with his partner for years, he starts to feel unseen, unloved, undesired. That wound rarely gets named. And people assume it’s just about sex, or ego — but that’s not the full story.”

I paused for a moment and continued gently.

"In Tantra, we see it differently. For many men, sex is more than physical pleasure — it’s a way to open their hearts, to feel love, and to connect deeply. When intimacy fades, their hearts slowly begin to close. A quiet pain settles in. They start to suppress their emotions, not knowing how to express them or where to place them.

It’s only through the loving, conscious touch of their partner that their heart begins to soften again — that they reconnect with their feelings. This is why sex can be incredibly powerful for men. It’s not just physical. It’s emotional. It’s spiritual. It’s a real need."

His jaw tightened, and he brought a hand to his chest. I could see the tears gathering — not in his eyes, but in his throat. Held there. Stuck. 

That truth had hit him deeply. It had lived inside him for fifteen years — never acknowledged, never named — but always felt. Felt and numbed. But now, it had nowhere else to go. It needed to be seen — and more importantly, it was ready to be met with love and compassion.

Her face changed. She brought her hand to her mouth — the way someone does when something clicks inside. I’ve hurt you… and I didn’t even realize…and I'm so sorry.

With that new awareness in the room, I said softly,

“Would you be open to healing your husband’s heart and body with your touch?”

And slowly, with so much care, softness and devotion, she reached for his face.

He had been waiting for this moment for so long. Not just her touch — but her presence. To be seen. To be felt. To be met in his hurt, not as a problem to fix, but as a man who had been silently carrying so much. It was a moment charged with truth. So much pain and so much love. Longing and reconciliation.

 In that instant, they were no longer lost in the past — they were finding their way back to each other. Back to the safe space that only exists when two people meet in real, raw intimacy.  Meeting each other exactly as they are, without expectations— just choosing to be there, together.

I quietly stepped out of the room to give them space. My heart was full. I felt deeply honored to have witnessed such a raw, human, and profoundly beautiful moment.

There’s a powerful truth in Tantra that I carry with me always: every expression, every action — no matter how painful or confusing — is either an act of love or a call for love.

Even in the most devastating circumstances — like the heartbreak of not knowing how to navigate sexual trauma in a relationship — there is space for love. For compassion. For understanding. And for reconnection.

To all the men out there trying to support your partners through their healing: your pain is also real. Your experience is valid. You are seen. And you too deserve tenderness, patience, and love on this path.

May we all grow in love — step by step, moment by moment — learning to meet each other again and again, just as we are.