Sexuality Without Full Presence
On Disconnection, Bodily Participation, and the Slow Return to Oneself
A person can be physically present and still be somewhere else.
It can happen in a conversation. During a meal. In a close relationship. During touch. In sexuality.
The body participates, while the person does not feel fully present.
She may see herself from the outside. Her thoughts may disappear. Time becomes unclear. Her partner’s face grows distant. The body may continue to respond, yet the sense of being a whole and gathered self is gone.
In the conversations that formed the foundation of my doctoral dissertation, A Study of Shame, such experiences are described in several ways. Some say that they “disappear” from the situation. Others experience the mind and body as being in different places. Some may be physically close to another person while feeling entirely alone.
This is not necessarily an expression of a lack of love.
Nor is it always a sign that the person does not desire closeness.
It may be an old form of protection that is still doing its work.
The body remembers how it once had to remain while the person herself tried to escape.
Leaving Without Being Able to Go
When a child cannot escape from a violating situation, it may find another way to leave.
Attention shifts.
The gaze settles on the ceiling.
A crack in the wall becomes important.
A pattern is counted.
Thoughts move somewhere else.
The body becomes distant.
The child may experience the situation as though watching it from outside.
It is a strange form of escape. The body remains, while something within the person withdraws.
This can be a highly effective protection. When what is happening cannot be stopped, distance may make the experience more bearable.
The child does not escape the act.
But perhaps it escapes some of the presence within it.
What may later be interpreted as coldness, absence, or lack of reaction may therefore have been a way of surviving.
When the Protection Continues
The problem is that the body does not always know that the situation has ended.
The same disconnection may arise later, even within a safe relationship.
The partner is not the perpetrator.
The touch is wanted.
The door is not locked.
The person can say no.
Even so, the body reacts as though the old danger were still present.
It may happen quickly.
A tone of voice.
A particular touch.
A smell.
Darkness.
Light.
A bodily position.
The feeling of being watched.
Something in the present opens an old connection.
Suddenly, the person is no longer fully in the room.
This may be difficult to explain, both to herself and to her partner.
She was safe.
She wanted the closeness.
Why did she disappear?
The Body Continues Without the Whole Person
Sexuality is often understood as an expression of presence and mutuality.
Two people are present with one another.
They see, touch, and respond.
But for someone who carries experiences of violation, sexuality may become divided.
The body may respond while the person is emotionally absent.
She may go through with the act without truly participating.
She may say yes without knowing whether it is a yes.
She may focus on her partner’s needs and lose contact with her own.
She may wait for it to be over, even if she initiated the encounter.
This creates profound confusion.
From the outside, everything may appear voluntary.
From within, the person may feel that something old is repeating itself: the body does what is expected while the self withdraws.
It is possible to participate without full presence.
But when this happens repeatedly, sexuality may become a place where the person once again loses ownership of herself.
A Yes Without Contact with a No
People who learned early that their no had no power may later struggle to recognise the boundary before it has been crossed.
They may say yes because it is easier.
Because the partner wants it.
Because they do not want to disappoint.
Because they fear rejection.
Because they believe they ought to feel desire.
Because the body has already responded.
But a yes given without contact with the possibility of no is not always a wholehearted yes.
It may be adaptation.
It may be habit.
It may be a way of preserving the relationship.
Only afterwards may the person realise that she did not truly want what happened.
Then shame may come:
Why did I not stop it?
Why did I say yes?
Why did I let it continue?
But perhaps the question is wrongly framed.
She may not have had full access to her own no while the situation was unfolding.
Not because she lacked will, but because the body had learned that adaptation was safer than resistance.
Making Oneself Available Without Being Present
Some people learn early that the body is something they give others access to.
It may be a way of receiving care, preserving a relationship, or avoiding conflict.
Later, the same logic may continue:
My body exists for the other person.
My responsibility is to make sure my partner feels good.
My own reactions matter less.
It may look like devotion.
It may also be an old form of self-abandonment.
The person notices the other’s signals, but not her own.
She registers the partner’s desire, expectation, or disappointment.
She does not notice her own unease until it has become intense.
Sexuality may then become a place where she repeats a familiar position:
The other person is the subject.
I am the available body.
When the Partner Does Not Understand
For a partner, disconnection may be difficult to recognise.
The person may appear present.
She responds.
She moves.
She may even say that everything is fine.
Only later does she explain that she was actually gone.
The partner may feel guilty, rejected, or deceived.
Why did you not say anything?
How was I supposed to know?
These are understandable questions. But they must be asked without shifting responsibility onto the person who disconnected.
She may not have been able to give a clear signal because she did not fully understand what was happening herself.
The partner’s task is not to read minds.
But he or she can learn to notice changes:
The gaze becomes empty.
Breathing changes.
The body becomes passive.
Responses become mechanical.
The person stops taking initiative.
Contact disappears.
Then it may be right to stop and ask.
Not accusingly.
Not dramatically.
Just clearly:
Are you here with me now?
Shall we take a break?
What do you need?
Closeness That Does Not Require Completion
Many people carry an idea that sexuality should follow a particular course.
Once one has begun, one should continue.
Once the body has responded, the act should be completed.
Stopping midway may feel like rejection or failure.
For someone who disconnects easily, this can create a new form of pressure.
She continues because stopping feels more difficult than disappearing.
Safe sexuality must therefore allow incompletion.
Touch may begin and stop.
Closeness may change form.
A bodily response does not have to lead further.
A yes in one moment does not automatically apply to the next.
It must be possible to say:
I disappeared a little just now.
I need us to stop.
I only want to lie close to you.
I do not know what I want.
In this way, stopping is not a breakdown of closeness.
It becomes part of closeness.
The Difficult Return
Returning to the body may be uncomfortable.
The person who learned to protect herself through absence may feel more when she remains present.
Unease.
Tension.
Shame.
Grief.
Traces of memory.
Bodily reactions that seem incomprehensible.
Greater presence does not therefore always feel better at once.
Disconnection removed something.
When it becomes less powerful, what it protected against may also become clearer.
This must be respected.
The goal cannot be full presence at any cost.
Presence must come together with greater safety, stronger boundaries, and a real possibility of stopping.
Otherwise, the demand for presence becomes another way of being trapped in the body.
Being in the Body Without Being Abandoned to It
There is an idea that healing means “returning to the body.”
This is important, but it must not be made too simple.
The body can be a place of joy and belonging.
It can also be a place of memories, unease, and estrangement.
Returning therefore does not simply mean feeling more.
It means being able to feel within a context where what is felt can be tolerated and understood.
I feel the tension, but I am not alone.
I notice the fear, and we can stop.
I become distant, but I can say so.
I return at my own pace.
The body becomes safer when the person does not have to manage everything alone.
The Other Person’s Presence as an Anchor
A safe partner cannot remove the past.
But the partner’s way of being present may matter greatly.
Not by demanding contact.
Not by interpreting every absence as rejection.
Not by pressuring the person to explain while she is still trying to orient herself.
But by remaining calm and clear.
I am here.
We have stopped.
You do not have to do anything.
You decide what happens next.
Such words may help the person return to the present.
They make the relationship different from the earlier experience.
Then, the act continued regardless of what the child felt.
Now, the other person stops.
Then, the body had no effective boundary.
Now, the boundary has consequences.
Then, absence was necessary.
Now, presence may become possible.
Sexuality as Performance
Disconnection may also arise when sexuality becomes a performance.
The person tries to be attractive.
Responsive.
Relaxed.
Available.
She watches how she appears instead of noticing what she experiences.
Am I doing this correctly?
Is my partner satisfied?
Does my body look good?
Can he tell that I am uneasy?
This self-observation may create distance from the lived body.
The person sees herself from the outside.
She becomes both the one participating and the one evaluating the participation.
Shame turns sexuality into a stage.
Then presence becomes difficult.
For presence requires that, for a while, one can stop seeing oneself through the other person’s imagined gaze.
The Gaze That Gathers or Divides
Being seen may be both desired and dangerous.
A person wants to be seen by the one she loves.
At the same time, the gaze may awaken shame:
What do you see?
Do you see the body as I see it?
Do you see the history?
Do you see that I am disappearing?
Some prefer darkness because it reduces the feeling of being evaluated.
Others need to see their partner’s face in order to know who is present.
There is no correct solution for everyone.
What matters is that the gaze does not become a demand.
Closeness may develop in light or darkness, with open or closed eyes, with distance or touch.
The goal is not a particular form.
The goal is for the person to have a say in choosing the form.
When the Body Says Something the Person Does Not Yet Know
Sometimes the body notices the boundary before the mind does.
A sudden tension.
Nausea.
Numbness.
A need to pull away.
Tears without a clear reason.
This may be difficult, especially when the person wants to continue and experiences the body’s signal as an obstacle.
Why is my body ruining this again?
But the body does not have to be the enemy.
It may be trying to signal something that has not yet become clear.
The pace is too fast.
A touch resembles something old.
The person does not feel entirely free.
She needs more time.
Listening to the body does not mean obeying every signal uncritically.
It means taking the signal seriously enough to investigate it.
What is happening now?
What do I need?
Am I still present?
Discovering One’s Own Desire
For someone who has long adapted to others, the question “What do you want?” may be difficult.
She may know more easily what her partner wants.
Or what she ought to want.
Or what is usually expected.
Her own desire may be weak, changeable, or hidden behind unease.
Sexuality must then be allowed to begin before the act itself.
With attention.
Curiosity.
Time.
What feels safe?
What awakens interest?
What creates tension in a good way?
What do I not want?
What do I not yet know?
Discovering desire is not merely noticing what the body responds to.
It is experiencing oneself as a person with the right to want, choose, stop, and change one’s mind.
Presence Is Not a Duty
Presence itself can also become a performance.
Now I must remain in my body.
Now I must not disappear.
Now I must be fully present.
The person may then begin to monitor herself even more closely.
Every hint of distance becomes a failure.
But disconnection is not a moral failure.
It is a protective response.
The goal is not perfect and uninterrupted presence.
The goal is greater freedom of choice.
To notice that one is drifting away.
To be able to say it.
To be able to stop.
To be able to return.
To be able to choose distance without disappearing completely.
This is a more human form of healing than demanding that body and emotions always remain fully united.
From Completion to Encounter
Sexuality can be understood as something one does.
An act with a beginning and an end.
But it can also be understood as an encounter.
Then the first question is not whether the act is completed.
The question is whether both people are still present as persons.
The encounter ceases when one person is reduced to a body that carries out the act.
It may re-emerge when the other stops, looks, and asks:
Are you still here?
Is this still ours?
Within this small question lies an ethical difference.
Sexuality becomes more than bodily activity.
It becomes a form of mutual attention.
When Silence Means More Than One Thing
Silence in a sexual situation may mean calm.
Pleasure.
Uncertainty.
Fear.
Disconnection.
It is therefore dangerous to interpret silence automatically as consent.
At the same time, a person who struggles to put experience into words may find it difficult to explain everything while it is happening.
Safety may therefore require a simple language.
A word.
A sign.
A hand movement.
An agreement made in advance.
Red means stop.
Yellow means slower.
Silence means that we check in.
In this way, language may support the body when long explanations are unavailable.
Giving Sexuality Back Its Time
Abuse often disrupts the sense of time.
Past and present flow into one another.
What happened then becomes present now.
Safe sexuality must therefore be given time.
Time to feel.
Time to stop.
Time to change direction.
Time to understand what the body is trying to say.
Haste favours old strategies. When things move quickly, the person may not notice the boundary before disconnection has already occurred.
Slowness can be a form of self-determination.
Not slowness as a technique.
But as the right to let experience unfold at a pace the person herself can follow.
The Gathered Person
What does it mean to be gathered?
It does not mean that every thought, feeling, and bodily response must be unambiguous.
A person may be ambivalent and still be whole.
She may feel desire and uncertainty.
Closeness and fear.
Joy and grief at the same time.
Perhaps being gathered means that no part of the experience has to be abandoned for the encounter to continue.
The body is allowed to respond.
Fear is allowed to be felt.
The boundary is allowed to be expressed.
Desire is allowed to exist.
The history may be present without taking over everything.
The person no longer has to choose between being body or consciousness, between past or present.
She may gradually hold more of herself at the same time.
A Sentence for the Part That Disappears
Perhaps the part of the person that withdraws needs to hear:
You disappeared because it was once necessary.
You helped me through something I could not stop.
You do not need to be ashamed that you still come.
But now you can warn me.
We can stop.
We can look around.
We can find out who is here.
You do not need to carry me entirely away every time.
I can remain a little more.
And I can leave the situation physically if I need to.
Returning Without Being Pressured
The path back to fuller presence is rarely dramatic.
It may appear in small moments.
The person notices that she is becoming distant and says so.
The partner stops without becoming angry.
She opens her eyes and sees the room.
She feels her feet against the ground.
She chooses to continue.
Or she chooses to stop.
Both may be expressions of regained presence.
For presence does not mean always remaining.
It means that the person who stays or leaves is part of the choice.
Sexuality as a Distinct Part of Life
Abuse may turn sexuality into a continuation of the past.
Everything is interpreted through what happened.
Every response becomes a sign.
Every difficulty becomes a failure.
But sexuality may gradually become a distinct part of life.
Not forgetfulness.
Not a world without traces.
But an area in which new experiences are allowed to carry their own meaning.
This touch is happening now.
This person is not the other.
This yes may be withdrawn.
This no is heard.
This closeness belongs to us.
Sexuality then becomes not only the place where disconnection appears.
It may also become a place where the person practises being present without surrendering herself.
From Bodily Participation to Mutual Presence
A person can participate with the body without being fully present.
At one time, that may have been the only possibility.
But a life of intimacy cannot be built on continued absence.
The goal is not to force the person back into the body.
The goal is to make the body a place to which it is possible to return.
A place where boundaries have force.
Where signals are listened to.
Where the other person stops.
Where desire is not an obligation.
Where presence is not a performance.
Where sexuality is not merely completed, but shared.
Then body and person may slowly come closer together.
Not as a perfect unity without ambivalence.
But as a human being who is allowed to participate in her own life.
Sexuality without full presence may once have been a protection.
Sexuality with greater presence may become a reclamation.
Not only of the body.
But of the right to be there oneself when the body meets another human being.
Sexuality with greater presence may become a reclamation.
Not only of the body.
But of the right to be there oneself when the body meets another human being.
This essay was developed through a new reading of the focus-group discussions and in-depth interviews that formed the foundation of my doctoral dissertation, A Study of Shame (2009). The text is part of the series Conversations About Shame and was written in conversation with OpenAI/ChatGPT.
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