SSA, Sexuality and Silence: Navigating the Impact of Early Sexualisation

Trigger Warning. This article contains discussions of sibling sexual abuse, early sexualisation, trauma, and the lack of comprehensive education on sexuality. Reader discretion is advised. If you are a survivor of sibling sexual abuse or sensitive to these topics, please proceed with caution or consider seeking support. See my Need Support page at www.aliceperle.com.au

As a survivor of sibling sexual abuse, I grappled with the enduring impact of early sexualisation in silence for far too long.

Reflecting on my healing journey and research, I couldn’t shake a nagging question:

Was I alone in noticing a significant gap in resources for young girls and teens navigating their burgeoning sexuality? Are they equipped to understand that intimacy and pleasure encompass much more than the physical act of sex?

From a young age, I found myself thrust into a world of confusion and shame. My innocence was shattered by the predatory actions of a sibling. Amidst the silence and secrecy that enveloped my adolescent and young adult life, there was a glaring absence of education on healthy relationships, boundaries, and sexual autonomy.

Instead, societal discourse often fixated on the mechanics of sex, leaving young people to piece together fragmented information. Sex education lacked depth, transitioning from vague allusions to reproduction in primary school to clinical discussions of anatomy in puberty. Beyond these cursory lessons, there was little guidance on self-awareness, empowerment, safety and pleasure.

It wasn’t until I embarked on my healing journey that I fully grasped the impact of early sexualisation on my experience of intimacy and pleasure.

The realisation hit me like a freight train in therapy, igniting a storm of self-doubt and introspection. Looking back, it’s clear that avenues for meaningful conversations about sexuality were nonexistent. Medical professionals never broached the subject during routine visits, and discussions within my family were stifled by shame and taboo.

I delayed addressing these issues only to have it raised gently by my therapist one day.

Here is a short extract from Resolve, Chapter 10: Uncomfortable Truths, sub-heading: Sexuality (p. 205):

I was fifty-five when I started therapy with Rose. It took many months of sessions before I could open up safely to this valuable conversation about how my childhood abuse had impacted my adult experience of sexuality.

Rose nonchalantly asked me a few questions in one of our afternoon sessions. She was setting up another deeper learning I was invited to delve into. Seemingly as an aside, Rose asked, ‘So… do you enjoy sex?’ I immediately responded, ‘Yes, all good. I enjoy sex.’ Rose had herself survived childhood sexual abuse at the hands of her stepfather. She was very aware of the repercussions abuse could have on life and family. She smiled, nodded, and stated, ‘That is so good, Alice, because it is often difficult for a woman who has been abused as a child to find a partner they can trust, who has the care and patience to work through this (the trauma we were discussing) with them in the bedroom.’

I felt I was meant to have something to say, but I had nothing. I just said, ‘Yes, interesting.’

Rose shared a few more pieces of information to complete the picture she was painting. Young Alice sat silently, twiddling her fingers, trying not to get in the way of hearing what adult me needed to take on board that day. My inner critic was sitting up, perched on my shoulder, back straight, scribbling notes down for later in case I missed something.

I didn’t give anything further away to Rose in that session, but I knew she’d opened another closed door for me to choose to walk through—or not.

That night, even if I wasn’t really thinking about anything, my mind whirred loudly! Rose’s revelation may have been a seemingly obvious repercussion of being abused sexually, but it was a new understanding for me to come to terms with.

I went to bed grumpy. I told Troy I was processing what I talked about with Rose today and wasn’t ready to talk with him about it yet. I needed to be alone with this myself first.

Lying in bed in the dark before Troy came in, I had an internal dialogue that the inner critic didn’t even try to butt in on:

‘So, I believe I heard that one possible leftover impact of Darryl’s sexual abuse was that it shocked and closed my ability to be fully open to intimacy. Sexualising me at eight years of age, long before any girl should, or is ready to be, led me to disassociate from the experience of having sex, to distance myself. I’d switch off, not on. I’d tense up and hide in my head instead of opening my heart’.

I could feel the rumble of my inner lioness’ roar rising inside me, and goosebumps appeared all over my body simultaneously. I was enraged at this new knowledge.

The seeding of this new realisation in that gentle conversation with Rose upset me deeply. It rocked me to my core, and I had to give myself plenty of time to allow it to settle on me. Questions spiralled out of control inside my head

‘What do I feel is good sex? What is pleasure? What was me being one hundred percent me in the bedroom? What was me being the abused me? What was anything? What if I’m sexually ruined forever? Darryl, YOU BASTARD! How dare you have done this to me?

At that moment, rage rose inside me, and I was not in the frame of mind to blame Darryl effectively, as I’d practiced some years earlier. I was distraught that my whole adult sexual experience might be false.

The questions to myself continued:

What is fake or real? Who Am I? What do I enjoy as the woman I am beneath the scared, abused, young Alice? Would I ever be 100 percent me?

A few days later, as we watched the sunset at the river’s edge, I spoke to Troy about it. I asked him to please listen and not give me any response right now; it was enough to share some of those thoughts and questions with him. As the weeks went on, we continued the conversation. He said he understood and let me know that we would find the answers together.

I still hadn’t come back to writing the memoir at that stage. I had other projects moving forward, completing higher-level certifications that supported my new business offerings. Then, unexpectedly, one day, I pulled my notebook and book-writing journal out of my filing cabinet, re-opened the last draft of the manuscript I’d been working on on my Mac, and resolved to tell the rest of the story.

Troy poked his head in the office door when he got home that afternoon from work and asked ‘What’s going on here? What’s spurred you on to get back to the book?’

I swung my chair around to stop looking at my computer screen for a moment and said:

‘The realisation that Darryl’s manipulation and sexualisation of that little girl who was me impacted my experience of sexuality and pleasure. He robbed me of my woman’s right to pleasure. That is just wrong! No one should ever have that natural, personal pleasure taken away by another person. Sibling sexual abuse must be stopped, and survivors like me need to know they are not alone. The book had a purpose, and I’m back on purpose!’

It had released the lioness within me, because she roared a roar that burned with rage, truth, and fury—no one has the right to take away any other person’s real sense of intimacy and completeness. No way! Not ever! There was work for me to get on with.

Alice Perle

While my relationship with Troy remained loving and fulfilling, I couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if open dialogue about sexuality had been encouraged earlier. The impact of sibling sexual abuse touched every aspect of my life, including my most intimate relationships.

Determined not to dismiss these concerns, I looked for where I could find support. Seeking guidance beyond traditional avenues, I signed up for a program called “My Voice, My Body, My Pleasure”. It was a program created and led by the insightful sex coach, Alexandra Skoeld, in Sydney. Despite the program’s primary focus not targeting trauma survivors, Alexandra’s teachings resonated deeply with me. It empowered me to reclaim agency over my body and desires.

The work I did with Alex is one of the four gifts I gave myself as I moved through my recovery.

I share this in Chapter 11: The Gifts of Self-Love, sub-heading Gift #4: Forget the old programs of pleasure. You will find that on pp. 240-246 of Resolve. I don’t want to share it in the blog. I trust you’ll understand.

What I am excited to share though is an extract from an interview between myself and Alexandra in April 2021. I invited Alexandra to speak about sexuality education, how she became a sex and intimacy coach, her experience of trauma, what is the most common question that people bring to coaching with her, and what is the most common concern. You will find the extract via this link to my YouTube channel.

Sadly, many young people continue to fumble along their sexual journeys in a void of misinformation and societal taboos.

In my opinion, there’s a real need for comprehensive education that transcends the physical mechanics of sex. Education that encompasses the holistic aspects of intimacy, pleasure, and self-actualisation.

Can we bridge this educational gap and model open dialogue on sexuality and intimacy? Imagine empowering the next generation to approach their relationships with confidence, respect and autonomy? I wonder what is possible. How can we take what we have experienced, move beyond the shadows of silence and shame, and lead the way to a more inclusive and empowering conversation about sexuality education?

Resolve was penned to break the silence surrounding sibling sexual abuse, serving as a beacon for open dialogue. Starting conversations about sibling sexual abuse and its impact on intimate relationships is going to take a collective effort from survivors, allies, professionals, and society as a whole.

Shared with love,

Alice Perle