Who Gave the Patriarchy a Microphone?: A Shame Detox for Your Search Bar
If you’ve ever Googled “why do I feel ashamed during sex?” or “how to stop overthinking pleasure,” congratulations—your search history already knows what the patriarchy hopes you never figure out.
Because shame and sexuality? They’ve been entangled for centuries. Weaponized by religion. Whitewashed by colonialism. Packaged by purity culture and sold as “virtue.” And whether you grew up clutching a promise ring or just internalized the idea that desire makes you “too much”—you’re not broken. You’ve just been mic’d up by a system that profits from your disconnection.
Let’s be clear: the shame you feel when pleasure starts to build? That’s not dysfunction. That’s social control. And it’s time to rip out the wires, smash the soundboard, and reclaim your own volume.
Welcome to your SEO-friendly, sass-fueled, neuroscience-backed shame detox. Let’s get louder.
The Lies We Inherited
Shame didn’t start with you—it started with systems that really needed us to shut up and sit pretty.
Before you ever felt ashamed of your desires, there were entire empires working overtime to make sure you would.
This isn’t just about your upbringing. It’s not even just about sex ed (although wow, that was a dumpster fire in a trench coat). This is about centuries of systems—religion, colonialism, white supremacy, patriarchy—that decided pleasure was dangerous… especially in the hands of anyone who wasn’t a cis, straight, able-bodied white dude with a God complex and control issues.
Let’s roll the shame tape, shall we?
Religion said: Pleasure is a sin
Unless you’re married.
Unless you’re procreating.
Unless it’s boring.
And quiet.
And preferably doesn’t involve clitoral stimulation (because obviously that’s where society drew the line).
What started as “modesty” quickly morphed into full-blown fear of the body. And guess what? That shame sticks—especially when it’s framed as salvation.
Colonialism said: Some bodies aren’t allowed pleasure
Indigenous, Black, Brown, queer, and disabled bodies were labeled deviant, dangerous, or disposable.
Pleasure was stripped, punished, or pathologized.
Colonizers didn’t just steal land—they stole sensuality, too. And they rewrote the rules to say only “civilized” bodies could be desirable. (Spoiler: “civilized” meant white and obedient.)
White supremacy said: Desire has a dress code
Thin. White. Cis. Able-bodied. Straight. That’s the default. Everyone else? Either fetishized, erased, or punished for wanting at all.
And if you didn’t fit the mold? You got the message loud and clear: your body wasn’t for pleasure. It was a problem to be fixed.
Purity culture said: Your worth is your virginity
Especially if you’re femme. Especially if you’re neurodivergent, disabled, or queer.
You weren’t supposed to want. You were supposed to wait. To shrink. To keep your legs closed and your “value” high.
This wasn’t protection—it was obedience training.
And the Creepy Uncle said: Nothing directly, but everything implicitly
The way he looked at you. The way others dismissed it. The shame that wasn’t said but got etched in your nervous system anyway.
This is where shame gets sticky—where silence becomes a weapon and your body starts to feel like the crime scene.
And all of that? Is still in the room when you try to touch yourself. When you say yes to someone. When you feel good and your brain says, “Am I allowed to?”
This is inherited. Encoded. Not inevitable.
Shame Isn’t Moral. It’s Neurological
Your brain isn’t broken—it’s just been trying to protect you from the patriarchy.
Let’s get one thing straight: shame isn’t proof that you’re bad.
It’s proof that your nervous system got trained by a world that was allergic to your autonomy.
Here’s what happens: you feel turned on. Then BAM—your brain hits the brakes like you just rear-ended a nun at a purity rally. That gut-punch of panic, self-consciousness, or sudden numbness? That’s not dysfunction. That’s conditioning.
Let’s break it down like a group chat after too many espresso martinis:
The Amygdala is Your Alarm System
This little nugget in your brain lights up like a Vegas strip sign anytime it senses danger.
Whether it’s a lion charging at you or your mom walking in on you humping a pillow at age nine—your amygdala doesn’t know the difference. It just screams “THREAT!” and fires the shame cannons.
The Prefrontal Cortex Peaces Out
That’s the part of your brain responsible for curiosity, creativity, and, oh yeah—pleasure.
When the amygdala’s having a meltdown, the prefrontal cortex says, “Not today, Satan,” and shuts the metaphorical bedroom door.
Translation? Sexy thoughts? Gone. Intrusive panic? Front and center.
Chronic Shame = Neural Short Circuiting
If you’ve been exposed to shame over and over (and over), your brain literally builds highways between arousal and danger.
Your body starts thinking: “Oh, we’re turned on? Cool cool cool… let’s panic and dissociate now.”
This is why so many folks (especially neurodivergent, trauma-surviving, or identity-marginalized folks) feel that sudden disconnect in the middle of sex, even when things are “good.”
It’s not about desire. It’s about survival mode.
But guess what? Your brain is neuroplastic, baby.
Which means those old shame scripts? They’re editable.
Every time you engage with pleasure on your own terms—with curiosity, consent, and a sense of safety—you’re literally retraining your nervous system.
Think of it like erotic exposure therapy. But with more lube and less shame.
I used to dissociate during sex—right when things were supposed to feel good. Not during the warm-up. Not when things felt off. No, it was the moment pleasure actually built—when the sensations got big and full and overwhelming in that almost there kind of way.
That’s when my body bailed.
I’d go from present to floating. From turned on to tuned out. Sometimes I didn’t even realize I’d left until I snapped back mid-moan, feeling like a ghost in my own skin.
For a long time, I thought that meant I was broken. Or frigid. Or just “not a sexual person.”
Nope. I was just conditioned to shut it down. My nervous system had learned that arousal wasn’t safe—it was exposure. It was risk. It was too much. And dissociation? Wasn’t failure. It was protection.
But here’s the plot twist: I didn’t stay stuck there.
With my current partner, something shifted. Not overnight. Not perfectly. But I finally felt safe enough to slow down. To be curious instead of performative. To treat arousal like a conversation, not a race.
And from a trauma-informed and neurodivergent lens? That meant deprogramming the shutdown reflex—not by pushing through, but by honoring it. By noticing when my body wanted to check out and giving it room to pause. To fidget. To stim. To breathe. To decide.
I had to rebuild trust with my own system.
Trust that I wouldn’t abandon myself.
Trust that pleasure didn’t mean pressure.
Trust that I could stay with sensation, even when it got intense, and still be safe.
It wasn’t magic. It was retraining.
Not to endure, but to receive.
Not to go numb, but to stay present when things feel really fucking good.
Rewriting the Script
You weren’t too much. The rules were too small.
Here’s the thing about shame scripts: they don’t just tell you what not to want.
They teach you who you’re allowed to be.
“Good.”
“Modest.”
“Polite.”
“Easy to love.”
And if you’ve ever felt confused about your desire… if you’ve ever wondered why pleasure gets tangled in guilt… if you’ve ever shrunk your needs down to bite-size to make someone else comfortable?
That wasn’t a personal failure.
That was a script.
Written without your body—or your joy—in mind.
These rules? They’re just dying to be broken.
Let’s name a few of the worst offenders:
“Desire makes you dangerous.”
“If it feels good, it’s probably wrong.”
“Needing too much makes you unlovable.”
“Your body is only worthy if it’s controlled, fixed, or small.”
“You can’t want unless someone else gives you permission.”
Burn it all down, babe. These aren't truths. They’re tools of compliance.
And you? Were never meant to be compliant.
From Control to Curiosity
Rewriting the script doesn’t mean becoming fearless or perfectly healed.
It means getting curious.
What do I feel when I stop trying to be palatable?
What does slow pleasure feel like in my body?
What do I want when no one’s watching?
What’s the smallest step toward joy that still feels safe?
Start there. Start small. Start messy.
Start real.
Your pleasure isn’t some distant reward for being good—it’s a breadcrumb trail back to yourself.
A Few New Scripts (That Actually Serve You):
“My pleasure is valid, even if it’s different.”
“Slowness is safety. Intensity is not a threat.”
“I get to stay with myself, even when it feels big.”
“I don’t owe anyone a neat label, a clean performance, or a climax on demand.”
“Feeling good isn’t selfish—it’s sacred.”
Let’s Burn the Old Script Together
Your pleasure isn’t a problem to fix. It’s a revolution to join.
If you’ve made it this far, congrats—you’ve already started unlearning. You’ve already started rewriting. And I don’t know about you, but I think that deserves a celebration, a slow exhale, and maybe a little solo pleasure sesh just to spite the patriarchy.
This week in the Untamed Ember community, we’re taking this even deeper:
A podcast episode that blends science, sarcasm, and spiritual arson
A printable worksheet to help you identify your shame scripts and replace them with affirming, erotic truths
Community threads to share your story, your rewrite, or your ragey “WTF” realizations in real time with other shame survivors and sensory rebels
✨ Whether you’re ready to rewrite your script in bold, glitter ink or just want to lurk quietly while others say the things you’re not ready to say out loud—we’ve got room for you.
So join us.
Because healing doesn’t have to be lonely.
And pleasure sure as hell shouldn’t be silent.
🎧 LISTEN: The Untamed Ember Podcast
📝 DOWNLOAD: This week’s worksheet: “Shame Scripts & Sensory Rewrites”
🔥 JOIN: The Ember Society
Let’s get real about sex, shame, and why your ex was probably the problem.
(And also why your nervous system deserves a standing ovation.)
