I just finished reading Fran Bushe’s memoir, My Broken Vagina, and wow. I’m almost at a loss for words. I had to wait 8 months for my copy to arrive by mail (from the UK to the US) but it was so worth it!
First off, if you aren’t familiar with Fran Bushe you can read a previous blog I wrote about her Vaginismus work here.
If you are familiar then you can jump right in to this review of Fran’s book detailing her fascinating journey with sex. Now I’ve read quite a few of these memoirs in the past year and a half, such as this one, but I must honestly say that Fran’s was my favorite.
It’s just a pure joy to take in. It’s unpredictable, wild, and never fails to make you laugh. Writing about Vaginismus with a sense of humor is a must, in my opinion, otherwise it would just be a giant rant, a terrible mopefest, and a downer to get through.
As a comedian, Fran is well aware of this, but she takes it a step further by not only making light of her situation, but adding little drawings, text conversations, and witty chapter titles. The effect is something more akin to watching a quirky indie flick about a manic pixie girl navigating an unsatisfying love life, like if 500 Days of Summer was told from her perspective instead of Tom’s.
Going into this book, I wasn’t aware that there would be quotes from outside parties about their own sex struggles woven into the story. Fran makes it a point to include people of all different preferences, sexualities, and ages so we get an overarching viewpoint of just how difficult sex is for folks everywhere.
I especially appreciated the “honest conversations about sex” from couples at the end of each chapter focusing on their partnered situations (and a few single people as well).
Maybe it’s just the ex-matchmaker in me, but I find it’s always nice to gain insight into other people’s relationship dynamics, particularly in terms of the bedroom. It’s really interesting to read how people flirt and play with one another to make sex less serious and more of a game between two consensual parties.
Fran’s story actually doesn’t start where many vaginismus stories begin: the first unsuccessful attempt at PIV sex, but in the present tense as she fakes enjoyment astride a partner.
She gives us access to her thoughts and spoken words around this sexual encounter, as she pretends to have the ride of her life and the book is littered with similar scenes, as Fran paints us a picture of how many years she’s spent putting the pleasure of men over her own. I personally can’t relate to this dilemma but I know many women can and see the value in spending a great deal of time putting the reader in this situation alongside her. It definitely helped me to understand why anyone would do this and how difficult it can be to break the habit of faking orgasms for the sake of the other person.
I AM familiar with faking orgasm to end a sexual encounter because it’s painful. Been there, done that, won the trophy.
We get a glimpse of teenage Fran as she goes back in time to her first failed attempt at losing her virginity to her high school sweetheart and how this ends up landing her in mentally abusive relationships again and again in her 20’s as she tries to prove herself worthy of love and acceptance.
I always feel that showing how emotional manipulation (Narcissism and gaslighting, for example) are just as real as physical abuse holds a large weight in this world.
We tend to overlook these types of abuse when in all actuality they are extremely powerful and can make the victim fearful of having an opinion, disagreeing with the oppressor, or taking up space at all.
It’s important to note that this disbelief in your words doesn’t just come from a partner, but can stem from doctors, “friends”, or family, too. Anyone can try to darken your light so you have to learn to build the strength to shut them down and stand up for yourself.
Something in this memoir that I instantly connected with was all of the amusing anecdotes about guys trying to convince Fran they can fix her and assuming her book is all about them. Whether carrying “the magic penis” or donning the phrase “I’ve done lots of research”, some dudes have it lodged in their heads that you just haven’t had the right dick yet and once you do you will be magically cured. They’re so confident of their abilities, the fact that they can hold back and be gentle, that they’re convinced they will blow you away with their mad sex skills.
This mindsight used to surprise me in my 20’s, but it doesn’t anymore. Cock holders be cocky. Watch out for this as it’s usually just an excuse to get you in bed and the guy ends up stunned that it doesn’t go how he expected.
Sex camp is where Fran truly finds herself, and not through the anticipated act of penetration.
She experiences desire like never before, dances freely, goes to workshops, a naked sauna, and the “Love Lounge”. She gets a sex education for females break down from her bunk mate the Dormitory Witch. She hooks up with Marc, a short-term lover whom she connects with over the course of 5 days. Mostly, she learns how her body works, and doesn’t work, and how to view herself in a more positive, uninhibited light. Her experience at the camp is heart warming, inspiring, and encouraging to the fellow hopeless feeling reader all in one.
Finally, Fran tells us how she comes into her own by showcasing her struggles on stage with her now famous play, Ad Libido, where she dons a dolphin costume (as seen below).
“Dolphins are the only other creatures who have sex for pleasure,” she explains, something I didn’t know, despite the fact that I am also currently reading a science heavy book on the evolutionary biology of sex.
Fran explains how audience members have been so moved by her show that they come up to her afterwards sharing similar struggles with sex. This is why the existence of shows like Ad Libido and books like My Broken Vagina are SO important in this universe. We all need proof that we’re not alone, suffering in silence. We are actually in this together.
Fran’s dedication of the book to her 16-year-old self is so endearing and the ending honestly made me tear up (yes, I have PMS right now that is probably helping that along). We all need to be reminded that we’re not broken (hence the creation and name of my blog) and Fran is right here telling us this repeatedly, that we deserve sex, and hugging us firmly like she learned at sex camp.
What I most identified with in Fran’s story was her advice in the final chapter, which is what I espouse often in this blog:
“Special doesn’t have to mean love, or that you are in a committed relationship or even that you have to light a single tealight. It means only having sex when you really want to have sex and only with people who you feel comfortable and safe with.”
So regardless of whether it’s a friends with benefits, long term partner, or something in between, sex should always be an act of trust and comfort between willing parties. Don’t fall prey to pressure to do something you don’t want, or act out a fantasy to appease the other person. Communicate, make jokes, and have fun.
For more in depth explanation on how to do so, read Fran’s book. It’s a quick read and a solid piece of literature, one I will surely come back to over the years while I work on my own overcoming story.
– Krista (33 years old, Houston, USA)
P.S. I invite you to check out my blog Chronicles Of A Broken Body.
