I want to specialise in sex therapy. Saying that feels bold, maybe even a little shocking, but it’s the truth. I’m sex positive, I love talking about it, and I know it’s the direction I want to go. But I didn’t always feel this way. My self-image and early experiences left me with a warped sense of desirability and intimacy, and for a long time, sex felt like something that belonged to other people. Over the last couple of years I’ve untangled a lot of those knots, became more open, and reached a place where I can speak about it without shame.

But here’s the strange part: even now, even as someone who feels confident talking about sex privately, I still hesitate when it comes to writing about it here. And that hesitation doesn’t really belong to me. It belongs to the taboo.

Because sex is everywhere, but talking about it is still taboo – especially if you’re a woman.

And that contradiction drives me mad. How can something be shoved in our faces constantly, sold to us, used to get clicks and views and sales, and yet the second we actually try to talk about it we’re made to feel like we’ve crossed some invisible line? How can it be plastered on posters, dripping out of every music video, and filling every corner of the internet, but when I – someone with actual thoughts and questions – sit down to write I feel like I need to apologise?

It’s wild. And it’s not just me. You can see it everywhere if you pay attention.

Men can brag about sex and it’s funny, entertaining, part of culture. It’s just lads being lads, it’s banter, it’s almost expected. But when women talk about sex it’s oversharing. Even when it’s thoughtful, reflective, not bragging at all it’s scandal. People start whispering. People start assuming.

And that’s the thing I can’t stand: women don’t get to exist in a middle space. You’re either a prude or a slut. Too quiet, and you’re boring. Too open, and you’re desperate. Where’s the box for ‘just human’? Where’s the space where we can be messy and curious and awkward and figuring it out like everyone else?

It doesn’t exist, because the taboo has never allowed it to.

And the internet has only doubled down on it. We’ve built this culture where sex is a performance. Where women can post thirst traps or OnlyFans content and it’s consumed at scale, but the moment they try to talk about sex – not show it, not perform it, but actually discuss it – they’re ripped apart. Called pick-me’s, called attention-seekers, called ‘too much’.

The body is allowed to be public property, but the voice? That still belongs in the private sphere.

And it seeps into everything. Even with friends, how often do we laugh sex off instead of actually talking about it? How often do we skim the surface because going deeper feels uncomfortable? How often do women censor themselves, not because they’re ashamed of their experience, but because they’re ashamed of how others will interpret their honesty?

That’s what the taboo does. It teaches us that honesty is dangerous.

And that danger doesn’t come from nowhere. We’ve all been socialised into it. Women learn young that their reputations hang in the balance. Too ‘easy’ ruins you. Too ‘frigid’ ruins you. Entire generations of girls grew up walking that impossible tightrope. And even now, when we’re supposed to be more liberated, that old shame still lingers. It just wears new clothes.

Because you know what happens the minute a woman talks openly about sex? People stop listening to what she’s actually saying. They start trying to decode it. They start assuming. They decide it must be about her sex life. They project. They gossip.

And in doing so, they prove the exact point she’s making: that sex is still treated as taboo, because we don’t know how to listen without turning it into spectacle.

And that’s exactly what I don’t want here. I don’t want people to read between the lines. I don’t want people to assume. I don’t want what I write to be twisted into a confession or story time. Because it’s not.

That’s not what I’m doing. And it’s not something I’ll ever do.

What I’m doing is trying to break the silence. Because silence is where shame grows.

Silence convinces you that you’re the only one who feels awkward, or the only one who doesn’t get it, or the only one who sometimes feels disconnected. Silence convinces you that you can’t ask questions, because no one else is asking them either. Silence tells you that if you were normal, you wouldn’t need to talk about this at all. And shame eats that silence up like oxygen.

And shame ruins people. It ruins connection. It ruins communication. It ruins self-esteem. Shame is the thing that keeps people locked up even with their own partners, afraid to admit what they like or what they don’t, afraid to say “I don’t know”, afraid to admit that sometimes it just doesn’t feel good. Shame convinces people to keep pretending, to keep smiling, to keep playing along. And that is so much more dangerous than honesty could ever be.

That’s why the taboo isn’t just annoying, it’s damaging. It stops people from being honest. It polices women’s voices. It makes something that should be human and natural feel like contraband. And honestly, I don’t want to live like that.

So maybe this is me drawing a line. Saying out loud that yes, sometimes this blog will talk about sex. Not because I’m trying to shock anyone. Not because I’m airing out my sex life. But because I want to practice breaking the silence. Because if I want to sit in a room one day as a therapist and help people talk about the things they’ve never admitted to anyone, I have to know how to sit with my own discomfort first.

Does it still make me cringe putting these words online? Absolutely. Do I still worry about what people might assume? Of course. But I also know the alternative – silence, censorship, pretending this topic doesn’t matter – helps no one.

So here’s the deal: I will write about sex. I will talk about taboo. I will reflect on the cultural double standards that keep women stuck. But I need you, if you’re reading this, to actually listen. To hear the words, not invent stories behind them. To understand that what I’m writing is not gossip, not a confession, not a scandal – it’s perspective. It’s reflection. It’s me noticing what’s broken and wanting better for our generation.

Because I think if we all stopped treating sex like taboo, if women could actually speak without being shoved into a box, if we could replace the silence with honesty – even awkward, clumsy honesty – we’d all feel a lot less alone.

Maybe the point isn’t to have it all figured out yet. Maybe the point is just to start saying it out loud awkwardly and honestly, and let the conversation build from there.

Because silence has never taught us much, but maybe openness can.

— Lilly x