Looking back on our first memories of discovering the concept of sex, how they shaped us and why they’re clouded in shame and stigma

When beginning to look for differences, one sometimes unexpectedly and beautifully comes across more similarities instead. Even with widely differing experiences surrounding the discovery of sex, we might find that one of the most important aspects of our lives, something that transcends political, geographical, physical and emotional boundaries, comes with an immense amount of stigma, taboo, and, more than anything, complexity. Four different people between the ages of 25-31 from different backgrounds (although all with a somewhat Western cultural influence), unearthed new and strange feelings surrounding the first discovery of sex and how that later developed throughout their teens. They all expressed one, overwhelming feeling from their childhood: sex was filled with shame, and those early, unexplained urges were secrets to take to the grave. The way we learned about sex might be more similar than we think – regardless of when, where and how, it presented a complex web of emotions, and as Clive, an Australian interviewee, put it: “it’s something that you really want but also something you’re afraid of, with all this societal drama built into it.”

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It has been proven that comprehensive sex education (CSE) leads to all sorts of benefits within society, like less sexually transmitted diseases (STIs), fewer cases of unintended pregnancy, and the promotion of gender equality. According to a report by Unesco, CSE, meaning “age-appropriate, culturally relevant approach to teaching about sexuality and relationships by providing scientifically accurate, realistic, non-judgemental information”, leads to increased sexual health and even translates to better equality and living standards in general. So it’s clear that early and proper awareness of sex is proven to be a positive influence – however, teaching is easier said than done, with existing taboos leading to difficulty in implementation that keeps up with the reality of our world. As an example, having sex in all forms as a readily available resource to everyone with access to the internet may come with difficulties. According to one study, 30% of teens learn about sex from porn.

All interviewees received Western education, offering an opportunity to deep-dive into the real structural difficulties of learning about sex as a young child in Western society, as well as how we relate to sex as adults. It’s not always black and white – one Belgian sex education web site came under fire in 2017 for displaying “explicit” drawings of sexual positions. The website defended the drawings, explaining that this information will be out there regardless, and it is better that it is presented in the context of safety, consent and health. This can be seen as a classic example of the sensitivity surrounding children and sexuality, including pleasure – those are two things that we rarely want to hear in the same sentence or even paragraph, with good reason. Ken, an interviewee who grew up in the UK state school system, suggests “masturbation education”, claiming that “right now we’re just teaching children how to be parents and how that happens, which is not something they need to know yet”. This seems like one of the overarching things we all experienced – at some point very early on, an urge appeared, that we only later realised was actually sexual (to an extent). It could have been the way your bike seat felt sort of nice, or the way things tingled between your legs when you saw a kiss on TV. We all know that CSE is imperative to our education system, but the issue of shame and taboo involved with early sex education is not an easy one to tackle from the ground up.

Clive, who had a very early exposure to the concept of sex, describes how his mum told him all about sex at the age of three (due to prompting questions from Clive). She also explained that sex was something people did for fun, not only to have kids. “I found it extremely uncomfortable… I remember having very clear memories of thinking that this conversation is just too hectic.. “ he recalls.

Are we still programmed to think that this is not a conversation we should be having? If so, how can that intuition reach us so early? Clive then went on to have sex education at a catholic school in Australia in connection to religion class as well as P.E, where most of it was quite scientific and taught in relation to marriage and long-term commitment to a partner. “The gold standard of contraception was abstinence”. Being taught about sex in connection to sin was something that made him feel conflicted. “I think part of my problem was that my parents had a quite progressive approach towards talking about sex and they were comfortable saying that this is something that people do for fun, because it feels good – I had that in my family life but the wider conversation around me was that is was a sinful thing and kind of this very taboo topic.”

Not only can it be difficult for comprehensive sex education to permeate those taboo ideas about sex – it can be difficult for it to challenge deep-rooted systems of gender and sexual inequality. The system is intersectional and goes both ways – Fran describes how “all we got as girls were talks on our periods. So I didn’t know what a clitoris was or anything like that.” at her international school in the Philippines. Similarly, Amanda (educated at a private school in the UK) describes separate education for boys and girls where they learned how the penis entered the vagina, then about female periods. She has a conflicting relationship to sexual liberation, mentioning that “looking back, I think I was actually quite sexualised as a child.”While she felt comfortable with sex and her body, the pressure from pop culture was apparent, with Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera presenting the ideal of womanhood at the time. “That all kind of ties into sexual liberation but also intense sexualisation. (…) A short school skirt was comfort for me – even now a long skirt makes me feel uncomfortable.”

Not surprisingly, Clive describes his learning experiences as perpetuating the oppression of women, but in an unexpected way: “I don’t know what it’s like to be taught about sex as a girl, but I think as a boy the messaging kind of frames you as a sort of future suspect, as someone who is likely to offend.” Similarly he found education about consent and rape deeply problematic and portrayed as something “bad people” did – although no one identifies themselves as a monster.  “What, then, are the sort of circumstances that cause “good boys” to find themselves in a situation where they could have committed some sort of sexual assault?” – Clive questions. It is quite clearly a system we buy into at an alarmingly early age, as Ken also describes “it was when I noticed that women found it attractive when a guy was a bit dominating that I started to value that in myself”.

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Although this article only delves into the experiences of four people – a wider conversation began, and they gave four different approaches to the wider sex education system, opening up a free space for reflection on how this shaped them and how they relate to it now. Being such a controversial topic, it’s easy to run into walls on how to talk about it, or what the best way to approach it is – and while there’s many different ways to teach about sex that have cultural, religious and political ties – removing the tie to shame might be the first step.

*The names of interviewees have been changed to protect their identity