Here’s something I’ve been carrying for years, something I’ve never really spoken about until now.

One of the hardest parts of intimacy with men for me is understanding what their actions mean.

I remember one session with M. where I was being massaged and he put his cock in my hand. I felt it there a couple of times, felt it growing hard, and I had no idea what to do. I didn’t know what that was supposed to be communicating to me. I didn’t feel permission to touch him, but part of me felt kind of violated. And yet I froze — I couldn’t say anything. It became this unspoken secret: we both knew it was happening, but neither of us named it.

I carried it silently, confused. Was I supposed to respond? If I moved my hand at all, was that an invitation for sex? Was I meant to take it as a sign that he was attracted to me? Or was I supposed to ignore it? I didn’t know. And I still don’t know. That’s the part of intimacy that feels impossible sometimes — not knowing how to interpret or respond, not even knowing what the rules are.

It’s not just that moment. Sometimes, in sessions, when things are getting erotic, he’ll slap my butt. And again, I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that. Part of me likes it — I like the heat of it, the boldness, the feeling that he’s turned on. But I also don’t know what it means. Is it dominance? Is it attraction? Is it just play? Does he still respect me when he does that?

That’s where I get stuck: the not-knowing. I start questioning myself, questioning him, questioning my place in all of it. There’s a fear that lurks underneath — a fear I’ve felt with other men too — that deep down, while they’re having sex with me, they hate me. That they’re angry. That they’re taking something out on me. And that thought terrifies me. Because all I’ve ever really wanted is love.

I want to be cared about. I want to be loved. And yet so many times, I’ve felt like men have wanted sex but not me. Like they like my body, but they don’t love my heart. That realization cuts so deeply it makes me wonder if something is wrong with me. Why can’t I be the kind of woman men love and care for? Or is there a man fit to care for and love me?

I hate that I’m like this. I hate that I carry so much confusion into intimacy. I hate that I can’t trust that people actually care about me, even when part of me wants so badly to believe they do. I hate that sex feels so scary sometimes. That I’m afraid it won’t feel good, or worse — that it will feel empty.

But even with all that heaviness, I keep praying. Praying for a breakthrough. Praying that something will shift. Praying that I’ll learn how to be more myself and less frozen. Praying that one day, I’ll feel love in sex instead of confusion.

I don’t know what the answer is. But I keep going. I keep praying.