In today's post, we are doing something a little different – we have a guest post! I was sipping coffee one morning at work when I got an email from someone with the subject heading being, “lichen sclerosus and trauma”. This email was inquiring whether I knew of any studies that explicitly investigated the relationship between trauma and lichen sclerosus. I responded that to the best of my knowledge, there wasn't much. At best, some papers briefly mention there could be a connection and leave it at that.
So when she expressed a desire to share her story and open up a dialogue for reflections on the connections between trauma and lichen sclerosus, I was all for it. As someone who also comes from a background of trauma, I definitely think this is an important topic. Today, Jen will be sharing her life story with trauma and lichen sclerosus.
Content/Trigger Warning: This blog post includes mentions of sexual abuse, emotional abuse, and religious abuse. Please do not continue reading if this doesn't feel supportive to your journey in this moment. Honor your body and where you are at.
Without further ado, here is Jen's story.
When I started noticing the first symptoms of LS in my early 30s, I was in the midst of a highly stressful situation. I had recently moved to join my husband in a new country and was struggling to settle in. My husband was dealing with his own serious stresses, and back home on the other side of the world my brother had just died suddenly in an accident, and my mom and sister were both facing life-threatening health issues.
In my late teens when I started studying psychology at university, I swore to myself I was going to heal from the traumas of my childhood – which included severe religious trauma, repeated sexual abuse, and childhood emotional neglect at home, among other things. I promised I would make a better life for myself as an adult. I left religion, confronted my parents, started therapy, became a successful psychologist, and read everything I could on how to be a functional, happy adult.
Then I found myself in a difficult marriage. It’s a long story, but religious expectations (even though I was no longer religious) played a huge role in my choosing to get married to a person I didn’t feel safe with in important ways. I suffered a lot, finally got the courage (and enough support) to leave, and promised myself again I would make a better life for myself.
You probably know where this is going, right? A few years later I remarried, and old patterns began to re-emerge. My husband’s struggles with his trauma intersected with my history, including my sexual trauma history, in ways that felt impossible to resolve.
At that time, I felt like my whole life, sexuality, and my female body were linked to abuse, neglect, or struggle. And it wasn’t just my sexual partners. It was my parents, the church, and the culture I grew up in. It was the men on the street, at the workplace, everywhere.
I felt like I had spent 30+ years trying to defend my basic body rights and trying to create a loving sexual relationship in contexts where someone else’s trauma was keeping me from feeling reliably safe. It seemed to me at that time that no matter how hard I had tried to protect myself and find safety, I kept ending up back where I started. I was exhausted and the female part of my body was refusing to continue to live in such conditions. As a psychologist, and as someone who knew about the mind-body connection to trauma, it was obvious my LS was literally my life story as told by my female body.
I was surprised to see that trauma was barely addressed in the genesis of and treatment considerations for LS. There’s usually a quick mention that it can be caused by sexual abuse in childhood, but the discussion goes no further. My own diagnosing doctor showed no interest in what I was going through emotionally, personally, or relationally, nor my history of sexual abuse. He gave me steroid cream and sent me on my way.
I searched online forums and found only discussions of treatments, oils, creams, and grief. No one was discussing trauma. Was I the only one?
That’s why I wanted to open up this discussion: to invite anyone else who feels their LS tells their body’s story of trauma to share their experience. I felt it might help someone to hear my story, and for others to be able to share theirs.
For completeness, I’ll mention here that not long before I started experiencing the first symptoms of LS, I also experienced a physical trauma to my vulva and vagina. It was a relatively minor injury, but in the context of everything else I’ve shared above, it was very emotionally upsetting. I include that because I have heard many women mention physical trauma to their labia or vagina, such as during childbirth or a gynecological exam, which seems to have preceded their first LS symptoms. I’m interested in all traumas, physical and emotional, which preceded and could be a factor in the genesis of LS symptoms.
As I have continued to heal from my trauma, my husband has found appropriate support for his own trauma healing, my LS has healed significantly. It seems like my body is expressing relief for being supported, and for finding and creating the safety it has needed all these years.
Thank you for reading my story.
I'm so humbled by Jen's vulnerability in sharing her story. We would love it if you left us a comment in the comment section below letting us know if anything resonated. What parts of Jen's story resonated? Have you suspected a connection between trauma and lichen sclerosus? Is this something you'd be curious to explore? Let us know! You can also message your comments to me personally.
*TLLC acknowledges that not folks with vulvar lichen sclerosus are women.
If you want to chat with me about dilators or Lichen Sclerosus, I can be reached at:
Instagram: @thelostlabiachronicles
Facebook: @TheLostLabiaChronicles
Email: lostlabiachronicles@gmail.com
Do you want more support in your journey with Lichen Sclerosus? Consider joining our Lichen Sclerosus Support Virtual Meetups. We meet bi-weekly, every other Saturday from 2-4 and 7-9 pm EST. These meetups are a safe space for you to share your story, cry, celebrate, vent, ask questions, and be a part of a community of support. Click the button below to sign up!
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