Toxic shame has a way of embedding itself into the deepest layers of our being. It creeps in like fog-subtle at first, almost unnoticeable-and then one day, we wake up and realize we’ve been living our lives through a distorted lens. A lens that tells us our bodies are wrong, our desires are dangerous, and that sex-especially when enjoyed-makes us less worthy, less respectable, less lovable.
For many, toxic shame begins early. Sometimes it comes in the form of religion or rigid family values, sometimes it’s cultural, generational, or gendered. Sometimes it’s rooted in trauma. However it arrives, shame attaches itself to the things that make us human: our bodies, our curiosities, our sensuality, our need for connection. It teaches us that these things are dirty, selfish, or deviant. We internalize these ideas, often unconsciously, and build our identities around them.
When you’ve survived years of this shame, especially shame tied to sex and the body, it takes more than just positive affirmations or surface-level empowerment to heal. You have to unlearn. You have to question everything you were told. You have to feel the ache of loss. Not just of innocence or time, but of all the parts of you that silenced just to survive.
And then, slowly, you begin the process of reclaiming.
Sex positivity, at its core, is not about having a certain amount of sex, or dressing a certain way, or performing desire in a way that looks “liberated” on the outside. It’s about agency. It’s about recognizing your right to experience pleasure without punishment. It’s about tuning back into your own body, your own boundaries, your own wants without judgement, without performance, without shame.
For survivors of toxic shame, this reclamation is rarely linear. One moment you feel empowered, the next you’re questioning if you’re doing too much-or not enough. You might catch yourself using language that’s no longer aligned with your beliefs. You might get triggered in moments of intimacy. You might still freeze or dissociate. That’s okay. That’s apart of the healing. Sex positivity isn’t a destination you reach; it’s a relationship you rebuild within your body, with pleasure, with self-worth.
There’s a particular kind of grief that comes with realizing you were never actually “bad” for wanting what you wanted. That your curiosity didn’t make you impure. That your softness was never weakness. That the person you were before the shame, maybe a version of you who danced in your underwear, who felt sexy in solitude, who giggled about crushes and kissed freely, deserved to feel safe in her skin.
The truth is, that version of you still lives inside you. Maybe she’s quieter now, but she’s still there. Sex positivity after shame doesn’t mean you erase your past. It just means you integrate it. You let that younger self know she didn’t do anything wrong. You show her that pleasure can be sacred, that intimacy can be safe, and that vulnerability doesn’t have to come with a price.
In my own journey, I’ve found that healing requires softness, not force. I used to think I had to prove how unashamed I was, to others, to myself. I mistook visibility for empowerment. I chased experiences I wasn’t ready for, trying to outpace the shame that still lingered beneath the surface. The shame can’t be outrun. It has to be met. Gently. With honesty. With care.
There’s a difference between being sexually free and being per-formatively sexual. One is rooted in self-awareness; the other is rooted in seeking validation. When you begin to reclaim sex for yourself, you start asking new questions. What feels good to me? What turns me on? Not because someone else told me it should, but because my body actually responds? What makes me feel seen, cherished, safe?
And most importantly: Who am I when I’m not performing?
Sex positivity after toxic shame is about giving yourself permission to exist in full spectrum. To be soft and wild. To be curious and cautious. To be playful and serious. It’s about reclaiming your right to explore your sexuality without guilt, but also your right to say no without explanation. It’s about releasing the internalized narratives that said your worth was tied to how much you gave or how little you wanted.
There’s something powerful in owning your own story, and not in spite of the shame-but because of how deeply you’ve felt it and still chose to rise. Your shame was never yours to carry, and yet, you’ve carried it so gracefully. That grace deserves to be honored. Not by pretending the pain never happened, but by choosing to rewrite the ending.
Sometimes sex positivity after shame looks like finally looking at yourself in the mirror and not flinching. Sometimes it looks like asking for what you want in bed for the first time. Sometimes it’s letting yourself cry during intimacy because your body finally feels safe enough to release what it’s been holding onto. And sometimes, it’s just resting. Touching your own skin like it’s something precious. Whispering back to the parts of you that were once punished for simply being alive.
You don’t have to rush the healing. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not even to yourself. Sex positivity isn’t loud unless you want it to be. Sometimes it’s quiet. Gentle. Sacred. Yours.
If you’re reading this and feeling like you’re still in the middle of it-still unlearning, still questioning, still afraid, you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re becoming. And that becoming? That’s the most beautiful kind of power.
So let this be your reminder. You are allowed to want, to feel, to heal, and to be whole again. Not because someone gave you permission, but because it was always your birthright.
xo, Lana
Lanalefay 