believe a bereaved person has gotten over the death of their partner too quickly and is dating someone new before an ‘acceptable’ amount of time has passed.”
—Julia Samuel, in Grief Works: Stories of Life,
Death, and Surviving
Myths We Tell Ourselves
Sometimes the myths that hold us back are those we’ve internalized. We feel guilty because we’ve bought into beliefs that honestly don’t serve us anymore, if they ever did. For example:
Myth: Casual sex or sex with multiple partners is wrong and shameful.
Truth: You are an adult, fully capable of making your own decisions about what sex means to you, how you want to conduct your sex life, and with whom. There are myriad options for expressing our sexuality, and we can give ourselves permission for choosing the way that works for us now. Nothing you desire is wrong as long as it is consensual, safe, and honest. Choose your partners wisely and use safe sex protection every time.
Myth: Masturbation is wrong.
Truth: Masturbation is a wise choice for experiencing sexual release and all the good things that come with it—easier sleep, better mood, a lower likelihood of jumping into the wrong relationship out of sexual frustration. It’s a way to be sexual without involving anyone else. (See Chapter 4, Solo Sex.)
Myth: If I choose my next partner carefully, I don’t have to worry about sexually transmitted infections (STIs).
Truth: Use barrier protection always, with everyone. Please view my free “Safer Sex for Seniors with Joan Price” webinar on YouTube.
Myth: Nobody would want to have sex with me anyway.
Truth: That’s depression talking. You may see yourself as undesirable right now because you’re suffering too much to engage with another person. That’s valid—you’re not ready. But if you think no one would want you because you’re too old or not in shape, please question that age-shaming, body-shaming attitude. It will only hold you back.
Myth: We can only love once. I’m done now.
Truth: It may feel like you can only love once, but many of us have discovered that loving deeply and completely does not prevent us from loving again. It will feel different, but it will be equally real.
“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
―Anne Lamott
Your Takeaway
Which myths have interfered with you moving forward in your own way? Create your own response to people who try to advise or judge you in an unwelcome way.
My Own Struggle with Sex After Grief
“Yes, the first year is the hardest, except for, in their own way, all the others.”
—Gabrielle Birkner in Modern Loss: Candid Conversation about Grief. Beginners Welcome.
I’m a sex educator, author, blogger, public speaker. You’d think that with all I know about sex and how much I value it, I would have had an easy transition back into sex myself after Robert died. Not so! Even though I wrote about sex during that time, it took me months to feel sexual stirrings and begin pleasuring myself, and years to become sexual with a partner. Yes, years!
The last time Robert and I made love was three months before he died in August 2008. From the time Robert became too ill for sex through the first three months after his death, I felt no sex drive whatsoever and no sexual connection to my body. I couldn’t imagine wanting to have another man touch me, nor did I have any desire to touch myself. My collection of vibrators stayed in a drawer. My only sex fantasies were memories of Robert as a healthy, loving, and enthusiastic sex partner. These memories led to great, gulping tears, not arousal.
Five months after Robert’s death, I had a dream, which I recorded in my journal:
Jan. 5, 2009: I was with a new man, a stranger. He was behind me, his arms around my waist, and suddenly I could feel his erection through our clothes. I felt the stirrings of a sexual tingle, then I woke up and discovered I really was aroused! I sat up in bed, calling out, “I’m alive!”
I marveled at the time that my dormant sexuality was suddenly waking up. Amazingly, it would take three more years before I would welcome another human being into my body, and longer than that before I could do that joyfully. Along the way, I tried to date, have sex with a buddy, date, have sex with a former lover, date some more…but it was like a slow train that had its own schedule. Nothing I tried to do changed some mysterious, inner timetable.
Fritz (Not His Real Name)
Fritz, a handsome, smart, accomplished male friend, was my confidant and buddy during the worst of my grieving period, and our close connection remains. He had known Robert and felt protective and compassionate after Robert died. We engaged in a routine of frequent walks, dinners, and candid talks. We often talked about love and sex. I enjoyed his maleness and openness, and I found myself flirting with him one moment, and in the next breath telling him a memory of Robert, whom he greatly admired.
After months of this comforting, platonic friendship, and just a week after my “arousal dream,” a goodnight kiss turned into a lingering kiss, and yowza! My sexual electricity turned on and started buzzing my brain!
We took it slowly over months, sometimes letting our kisses and hands explore, sometimes not. We got to an “almost” stage, and he pulled back. I said yes. He said no. He didn’t want to risk sacrificing our close friendship if we became sexual together. I assured him that we would be even better friends with sex in the mix. After a few more truncated explorations, we stopped, despite my protestations that we could have both friendship and sex. He felt protective of my vulnerability and, I realize now, his own. We returned to being platonic friends who talked plenty about sex but didn’t explore it together.
I asked Fritz if he would be willing to share his perspective. He wrote this, and I’m grateful to him for his willingness to share it with you:
In Fritz’s Words
“Ah, yes, we could have, maybe should have, captured the moment, but there was risk. Though mere frivolity would be fine, we were too closely aligned not to expect a deeper emotional bond. Joan felt ready to reengage with love and life, yet her tears of loss were still present. It was early on, and Robert’s welcome shadow lingered over us.
“There was no question of our dear love and openness with one another. It was something to protect and cherish in its innocence and honesty. Would sex corrupt us? Was I a temporary reprieve? Replacement? Did this matter, as the immediacy of sexual gratification quickened? Would our sexual activity reengage Joan in life, moving her forward—or would she incur a destabilizing setback? Could I commit to the heightened responsibility for Joan’s emotional well-being which would clearly come with our lovemaking? Was I merely an opportunist, predatory and depraved? Could I expect a reciprocal level of support and responsible behavior
