What They Couldn’t Take: Reclaiming Your Body, Voice, and Pleasure After Sexual Abuse

By Nicole Schwartz, Trauma-Informed Recovery Coach

Sexual abuse doesn’t just violate the body — it breaks something much deeper. It interrupts the ability to feel safe in your own skin, to trust closeness, to understand touch without flinching. It turns something that should be rooted in care, love, and connection into something confusing, frightening, or even painful. For many survivors, sex becomes a site of tension — a collision of fear, shame, and a longing to feel whole again.

In the aftermath, it’s common to feel split in two. There’s the part of you that wants to reclaim your body, to experience intimacy in a way that feels safe and empowering. And then there’s the part that holds back — still trying to protect you from the memory of harm. That inner tug-of-war can be exhausting, heartbreaking, and often isolating.

But here’s the truth — healing is not only possible, it’s real. It doesn’t happen all at once, and it doesn’t look the same for everyone. But the process of coming home to your body — of learning that sex can be gentle, mutual, and even joyful — is one of the most powerful acts of reclamation a survivor can choose. It’s not about erasing the past. It’s about rewriting what’s possible for the future.

This journey is not about getting back to who you were “before.” It’s about becoming someone new — someone who feels grounded in their body again, who gets to say what feels right and what doesn’t, who no longer flinches at their own desire. It takes time, tenderness, and often help from others who can hold space for your truth. But this journey — this return to self — is one of the most radical and liberating paths a survivor can walk.

You are not broken. You are not too far gone. And you do not have to navigate this alone. Whether you’re just beginning to explore what safety looks like or are already moving toward something new, your story matters. And your relationship with sex — with yourself — is still yours to reclaim.

The Silent Aftermath: How Sexual Abuse Alters Intimacy

The wounds left behind by sexual abuse don’t always scream — they whisper. Quietly. Daily. In the way a survivor flinches at unexpected touch. In the way their body tenses during moments that should feel safe. In the way they look in the mirror and feel estranged from the person looking back.

These are not just psychological effects. They are deeply somatic — embedded in muscle memory, in breath, in heartbeat. Intimacy, which ideally stems from mutual care and consent, can feel foreign or even threatening. For some, it becomes easier to avoid touch altogether than risk feeling unsafe. For others, sex becomes something they endure rather than choose, performed out of fear of rejection, obligation, or just to “get it over with.” And then there are those who long for connection — who want to heal — but feel trapped in a body that remembers too much.

This is the silent aftermath. The world moves on. Survivors often don’t — at least not in the ways people expect. The trauma lingers in small, private moments: shutting down emotionally during physical closeness, feeling guilt after intimacy, or pretending everything is fine while quietly unraveling inside. These patterns aren’t weakness — they’re survival adaptations, developed to endure what should never have happened.

And yet, in the stillness of those moments, a question often emerges: Will I ever feel whole again? Will sex ever feel safe… or even good?

What isn’t talked about enough is the survivor who is ready — not necessarily to jump into something new, but to stop feeling hijacked by the past. The survivor who’s exhausted from being stuck in fear or shame, and who’s looking for a different way forward, even if they’re unsure what that looks like yet.

There’s no manual for this kind of healing. There is no formula. Healing from sexual trauma is not a straight line — it’s a spiral. Some days, you’ll feel strong. Others, you’ll feel like you’re starting from scratch. And that’s okay. The timeline belongs to you. The milestones belong to you. And every single step, even the smallest one, counts.

What matters is that your desire to reclaim your sexual self — even if buried under fear or doubt — is already a sign of strength. You are not broken for struggling. You are not alone for feeling confused. These reactions don’t mean you’re failing. They mean you’ve survived something unspeakable… and are still choosing to hope for more.

That, in itself, is a powerful beginning.

You Are Not Broken: Why Your Trauma Responses Make Perfect Sense

One of the most important — and often most overlooked — parts of healing after sexual trauma is learning to trust that your reactions make sense. They may feel confusing, even overwhelming, but they are not signs that something is wrong with you. They are the signals of your body doing exactly what it needed to do to survive.

When sex has been tied to harm, coercion, or fear, the brain learns to associate intimacy with danger. That’s not a weakness — that’s your nervous system trying to protect you. Freezing during physical closeness, zoning out, tensing up, or even feeling disgusted or ashamed — these are all common trauma responses. They’re not evidence of being broken. They’re evidence that your body remembers, and it’s still on guard.

There’s nothing shameful about this. In fact, it shows just how deeply your body was attuned to survival. But survival mode isn’t meant to last forever. Healing isn’t about pushing through or forcing yourself to “get over it.” It’s about slowly, gently teaching your body that safety is possible again. That the danger has passed. That now, you are in charge.

And here’s something that often goes unsaid: many survivors want to heal. They want to feel closeness, connection, and even desire again — but they just don’t know how. That in-between place — of wanting to reclaim your sexual self but feeling unsure or afraid — can feel like its own kind of grief. Like you’re standing in a doorway between the life you’ve had and the one you hope for, but you’re not sure how to cross through.

The truth is: there is no single roadmap. And you don’t have to rush. Healing happens in layers. And however long it takes — it’s okay. You set the pace. You decide what’s right for your body, your boundaries, your needs.

Coming Home to Yourself: Rebuilding a Relationship With Your Body

Before intimacy with a partner can feel safe, it often starts with something more private and powerful: reconnecting with your own body. For many survivors, that relationship was fractured long ago. Your body may feel foreign, unpredictable, or even unsafe — especially if it was once a site of pain. So the healing doesn’t begin with sexuality. It begins with safety. With tenderness. With noticing.

That reconnection might look like something simple: noticing how your chest rises and falls when you breathe. Wrapping yourself in a warm blanket and feeling the weight of it. Placing your hand on your heart during moments of overwhelm and reminding yourself, I am safe now. These acts may seem small — but they are radical. Because they are moments of choosing presence in a body that once felt like a place to escape.

Somatic practices — like trauma-informed yoga, slow stretching, grounding walks, or even just lying still and scanning for sensation — can help rebuild that lost trust. These aren’t about fixing anything. They’re about giving yourself permission to feel, to notice, to come back to yourself without judgment. You are not here to perform. You are here to reconnect.

Over time, as comfort and curiosity return, you may begin exploring what touch or sensation feels good — not for anyone else, but for you. This doesn’t need to be overtly sexual. It can be about noticing what brings calm, what brings comfort, or what sparks a feeling of aliveness again. Maybe it’s running your fingers through your hair. Maybe it’s massaging lotion into your skin slowly, attentively. Maybe it’s just learning how to stay present while placing your hand over your abdomen or chest.

The point is: you are in control. You get to decide what your body experiences, when, and how. And that’s not just healing — that’s power. Power you were never meant to lose.

Brave Conversations: Communicating Needs, Boundaries, and Desires

Talking about trauma with a partner isn’t just hard — it can feel terrifying. It means letting someone into the most vulnerable parts of your story, the ones you may still be trying to make sense of yourself. It means taking a risk: Will they understand? Will they be patient? Will I be safe if I speak my truth?

The right partner won’t have all the answers — but they’ll listen. They’ll respect what you’ve been through and be willing to learn how to love you well, in a way that feels safe, not pressured. They won’t push you to “just get over it.” They’ll want to know what safety looks like for you, and how to create that space together.

Communication doesn’t have to be perfectly worded or fully explained. You can start with small truths. You might say:

• “Sometimes my body reacts in ways I can’t control.”

• “I want to take things slow and check in often.”

• “It helps when we pause or use a code word if I feel overwhelmed.”

• “I want to enjoy being close to you, but some things still feel scary. I’m working on it.”

These kinds of conversations aren’t about laying out every detail of your trauma. They’re about making space for your needs to be known — without shame. And when your partner responds with patience, not pressure… with curiosity, not judgment… something incredible happens: intimacy stops being something to brace for and starts becoming something to build.

Boundaries are not barriers. They are the blueprint for healing. They are the way you teach someone how to love you safely. A boundary says, “I want connection — and here’s how to make it safe for me.” And when those boundaries are honored, it doesn’t just create physical safety — it creates emotional closeness. It tells your nervous system: This is different. You are safe now.

It’s okay to need reassurance. It’s okay to ask for slowness. It’s okay to change your mind. You are not “too much.” You are not broken for needing space. You are allowed to feel scared. You are allowed to feel desire. You are allowed to not know exactly what you want yet. What matters is that you give yourself permission to be where you are — and that you let someone love you in that space, not in spite of it, but with full respect for it.

The truth is, intimacy after trauma is not just about physical closeness. It’s about emotional safety, attunement, and consent at every step. It’s about knowing that you can speak up and still be loved. That your body is yours. That your voice matters. That you don’t have to hide your history in order to be held.

And when you experience that kind of connection — when your “no” is heard just as clearly as your “yes” — healing becomes not just possible, but profound.

When Setbacks Happen: Meet Yourself With Compassion

Healing from sexual trauma is not a straight line. You might feel empowered one day — safe, connected, even joyful — and then, without warning, a moment, a touch, or a memory pulls you under again. Suddenly, you’re flooded. Disconnected. Numb. Ashamed that you’re back in a place you thought you’d left behind.

But here’s the truth: setbacks are not failures. They’re part of the process. They’re not signs that you’re broken — they’re signs that you’re human, and that your nervous system is still learning what safety feels like.

You don’t have to start over. You don’t lose the healing you’ve already done. Every flashback, every difficult moment, every tear shed is still progress — because this time, you’re meeting it with awareness. This time, you’re not alone with it. This time, you know it’s a trauma response, not a reflection of who you are.

When setbacks happen, let softness be your response. Instead of asking, “What’s wrong with me?” try asking, “What do I need right now?” That might be stillness. It might be stepping away from touch. It might be reaching out to someone who reminds you you’re not alone.

You are not failing if you freeze.

You are not broken if you need to pause.

You are not weak for being triggered by something others might take for granted.

You are healing.

Setbacks don’t erase your strength — they prove it. You’re still here. You’re still showing up. And every single time you choose compassion over shame, you reclaim a piece of what was stolen.

This is the real work. The deep work. And you’re doing it.

You Don’t Have to Do This Alone: The Power of Therapy and Support

There’s heavy truth survivors often carry: even after the abuse ends, the effects can linger for years — in the body, the mind, the nervous system. That weight is real. And trying to carry it alone can feel like dragging invisible chains through every relationship, every touch, every moment where safety should live but doesn’t.

But here’s what you need to know: healing is not meant to be done alone. You deserve support. You deserve to have someone sit beside your story without flinching, to help you untangle the shame that was never yours to begin with.

Trauma-informed therapy can be a lifeline. Not all therapy is created equal, and for survivors of sexual abuse, working with someone who understands the deep intersection between trauma and the body is essential. These are not just “talk therapy” sessions — they are about restoring trust in yourself, step by step, with someone trained to walk beside you.

Many survivors find healing through modalities such as:

• EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing): A method that helps reprocess traumatic memories without reliving them, reducing their emotional intensity and power over you.

• Somatic Experiencing: A body-based approach that gently guides you toward noticing and releasing stored trauma in the nervous system — so the body can feel safe again.

• Internal Family Systems (IFS): A compassionate framework that helps you meet the wounded parts of yourself with understanding, not judgment, and begin to re-integrate your inner world.

• Sensorimotor Psychotherapy, Polyvagal Theory-based work, and trauma- informed CBT can also be helpful depending on your needs and how you best connect.

What do all of these approaches have in common? They center you. They meet you where you are, honor your boundaries, and move at your pace. They don’t force — they invite. They don’t pathologize — they understand.

Working with a skilled trauma-informed therapist can help you understand your triggers without shame, develop emotional regulation tools to feel more grounded, rebuild a sense of safety in your body — even when it’s felt unsafe for years — and explore your sexuality and identity on your own terms, without fear or pressure.

But therapy doesn’t have to be the only space for healing.

Community support is just as powerful. Whether it’s a virtual survivor support group, a trauma-informed yoga or movement class, or a retreat built around safe reconnection, healing alongside others who “get it” can be life-changing. There is something profoundly affirming in hearing, “Me too. You’re not alone.”

Sometimes it’s not about solutions — it’s about being witnessed. About not having to explain the exhaustion that comes from being in a body that remembers what you wish you could forget. About being able to say, “I’m struggling,” and having someone say, “I’ve been there — and there’s a way through.”

Support doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re choosing not to carry pain in silence anymore. It means you’re allowing yourself to be held in the same tenderness you offer others.

Let that be the new story: that strength isn’t about enduring everything by yourself. It’s about reaching for what you deserve — care, guidance, and healing that doesn’t demand perfection, just presence.

Reclaiming Pleasure: Yes, You Can Have a Healthy Sex Life

There is a myth — a deeply damaging one — that trauma permanently ruins your ability to enjoy sex. That if something was taken from you, it can never truly be reclaimed. That you’ll always flinch, always freeze, always feel broken. That sex, love, and connection will forever be tangled with pain.

That myth is cruel. And it’s false.

The truth is: you can have a healthy sex life. A joyful one. A safe, embodied, meaningful one. It may not look like what you see in movies. It may not arrive quickly or easily. But it is possible. And more than that — it is your right.

You don’t have to “get back to normal.” You get to create your own version of normal — one rooted in choice, safety, and self-trust. One where your yes is grounded, and your no is honored. One where pleasure isn’t something to fear or perform — it’s something to explore, gently and curiously, on your terms.

Healing sex after trauma isn’t about “fixing” what’s wrong. It’s about reclaiming what’s yours. It’s about remembering that your body is not a burden. It is not a crime scene. It is not too much. Your body is a place where love can return. Where joy can live again. Where you get to decide what happens and when.

Your sexuality doesn’t have to be a battlefield. It can become a journey of rediscovery — one where desire unfolds slowly, without judgment, and where every boundary you set becomes an act of empowerment.

You may take things slowly. You may need to pause. You may laugh, cry, or change your mind halfway through. That’s not dysfunction — that’s healing in motion. The people who love you won’t be confused by this. They’ll be honored to witness it.

Healthy sex after trauma might look like long conversations, deep eye contact, and soft hands. It might look like rituals of grounding before and after. It might look like touch that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with connection. It might mean rediscovering your own sensuality first — in solitude, in silence, in stillness.

But no matter what it looks like, it starts with one truth: you are not too damaged to love or be loved.

You are not broken. You are becoming.

And you deserve experiences that reflect your worth — not your wounds.

Final Reflection: Reclaiming What Was Always Yours — With Power

Sexual trauma tries to convince you that something has been taken forever — that your body, your trust, your pleasure, your voice are things of the past.

But they’re not gone. They’re waiting.

This journey — painful, slow, sacred — is not about forgetting what happened. It’s about taking back what was never theirs to keep. Your story didn’t end with the trauma. It began again the moment you decided to reclaim your life, moment by moment, breath by breath.

Healing doesn’t mean becoming who you were before. It means becoming someone new — someone who knows the depth of their own resilience. Someone who can say, “I was hurt… and I am healing.” Someone who chooses softness without losing strength. Who chooses boundaries without closing their heart. Who chooses themselves, again and again.

You do not need to be fully healed to be fully worthy.

You don’t need to feel ready to begin.

You just need to know you can start now.

Every step you take toward reclaiming your body, your pleasure, your voice — no matter how small — is a victory. Not for the world. Not for a partner. For you.

Your body is not ruined.

It is sacred.

It is yours.

And you deserve to live in it — not with fear, but with freedom.

You are not alone. Not now, not ever.

When You’re Ready, We’re Here to Walk with You

At The Kraft Group, we believe every survivor deserves support that’s trauma-informed, compassionate, and rooted in empowerment. Our specially trained therapists and recovery coaches work with clients every day who are reclaiming their sense of safety, body autonomy, and relationship with sex after abuse. If you’re ready to begin or deepen your healing journey, you don’t have to take the next step alone — we’re here to walk it with you.

Nicole Schwartz is a Trauma-Informed Recovery Coach at The Kraft Group, where she helps individuals navigate the long-term effects of trauma. She specializes in supporting survivors as they rebuild emotional safety, resilience, and connection with their bodies. Nicole is passionate about creating spaces where healing feels possible, and survivors feel seen, heard, and whole again.