Laura Roscioli is a sex writer based in Melbourne. Her fortnightly column on Fashion Journal is here to make sex (and the conversations around it) more accessible and open-minded. She believes that the best learnings come from lived experience, and she’s here to share hers — and other people’s — with you. You can follow Laura on Instagram at @lauraroscioli.
Recently, I had a period sex experience that genuinely shocked me. As someone with endometriosis, I’ve almost subconsciously trained myself to avoid sex during my period. That week can swing from manageable discomfort to full-blown agony, depending on a whole mix of factors.
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Then there’s everything else: the hormonal symptoms like nausea, loss of appetite, dizziness, bloating, sore boobs, and that heavy, foggy kind of physical exhaustion that’s hard to explain unless you’ve felt it.
Is period sex ever sexy?
While I do my best to ride the chaos of fluctuating hormones, however they choose to show up that month, the experience is rarely, if ever, sexy. Most of the time, I’m simply trying to stay upright and make it through the day with my sanity intact.
All of this is to say: I usually steer clear of period sex. Not just because of the physical discomfort but because I just don’t feel like it. Emotionally. It’s as if my body is already screaming with signals – overstimulated, overwhelmed, vulnerable – and I need to be left alone, untouched.
I try to explain the feeling to my boyfriend. “It’s like all I can manage is to sit in a warm bath with calming oils and let the weight of being a woman pour out of me,” I’d tell him. He’s kind and understanding but he doesn’t really get it. And in those moments, I feel self-conscious. Dramatic, even. Both unsexy and too much, all at once.
Greta Durston, a naturopath who works extensively with endo patients, explains that this drop in desire is completely normal. “When we’re in pain, our brain focuses on what it needs in order to reduce that pain and feel safe,” she says. “The last thing on the priority list is sex, especially penetration.” And when symptoms are flaring, the goal shifts. “Things that make you feel sexy in one part of your cycle might be completely different in the next.”
But then, the other night, as I lay in bed clutching my lower stomach in quiet misery, I remembered something: a moment from about a year ago, when I had sex despite the endo pain and despite feeling completely unsexy. And to my surprise, it helped. Almost immediately.
I went from feeling bloated, heavy and sore to feeling relaxed, even turned on. I remember being struck by how something my mind didn’t want, my body clearly needed. I told myself to remember that moment, to call it back during future flare-ups. But of course, I’d forgotten, until just the other night.
So, despite feeling emotionally flat, physically tender and deeply unsexy, I decided to try again. I figured there was no harm in seeing if sex might help. I called on my boyfriend, who was more than happy to oblige. “Remember that time we had sex on my period and it actually helped with the pain and my whole mental state?” I asked him.
“Yep,” he said instantly, like he’d been waiting for the sequel.
I told him I wanted to try again, but asked that we take it slow, that he be gentle and mindful of how sensitive I was. Penetration in particular felt like it needed extra care. It wasn’t about pleasure in the usual sense, it was more about being present with my body, sinking into what it needs, how it feels internally, what it’s really telling me.
And again – to my delight! – the sex helped.
It made me feel present, relaxed and fulfilled. Like I’d just exhaled the most encompassing, full-body breath possible and I could breathe again. Like that feeling of slipping into soft, clean sheets after a warm shower. This led me to wonder: why does sex sometimes feel so wrong, but then work so damn well once I push past the initial resistance?
Unpacking the science
“During sex, and especially with orgasm, the body releases a whole cocktail of neurochemicals,” explains Durston. “Endorphins act as natural painkillers. Oxytocin, the ‘love hormone’, fosters trust and intimacy. Dopamine triggers pleasure and motivation, and serotonin helps regulate mood.”
There’s also a lesser-known connection between endometriosis and the endocannabinoid system, which helps regulate things like mood, pain and immune response. “People with endo tend to have reduced cannabinoid receptor expression and elevated levels of endocannabinoids, which may contribute to increased pain sensitivity,” Durston adds. “Sex and orgasm stimulate the release of endocannabinoids, which can provide some much-needed relief.”
So yes, the calm I felt afterward, the full-body exhale, the sense of lightness — it wasn’t all in my head. It was chemical, physical, real. Of course, this doesn’t mean sex always helps, or that it’s always even possible. The vaginal microbiome also plays a huge role in how sex feels when you’re living with endometriosis.
“Higher oestrogen, which is often present with endo, can increase glycogen production in the vagina,” Durston explains. “That can feed pathogenic bacteria or yeast, like thrush. There’s also a link between endo and more inflammatory vaginal microbiomes overall.”
This imbalance can lead to things like odour, discharge, or discomfort that not only feel physically unpleasant, but emotionally derailing too. “It might create shame,” she says, “or even fear of sex if it’s led to pain or recurrent infections in the past.”
Durston notes that sex itself can further disrupt vaginal pH, particularly when semen or external bacteria are introduced. “The ideal vaginal pH is between three point five and four point five, while semen is closer to seven. That shift can create an environment for opportunistic infections to thrive.”
In other words: sex might be relieving one symptom while unintentionally stirring up another.
Tuning into your body
So where does that leave us, the chronically bloated, wannabe-horny, wannabe-hopeful few, who feel better after sex, but have to wrestle with their bodies (and minds) to get there?
“I like to tell my clients to take the pressure off wanting sex,” Durston says. “Focus instead on the feeling you’re chasing, whether that’s relaxation, intimacy, or physical closeness.” That might mean a bath, a massage, or even watching something sexy with your partner. You don’t have to launch straight into penetration to benefit from the chemistry of connection.
For me, that looks like dropping into my body more. Treating it with curiosity. Not avoiding things due to societal messaging or as a bandaid for something bigger. It’s about relearning what my body wants and when. If it needs sex on a period, that’s okay with me. If it doesn’t always work, that’s okay too.
Desire, and the experiences we find within our bodies at different times of our lives or the month, are far from linear.
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This article Can period sex help relieve my endometriosis symptoms? appeared first on Fashion Journal.
2025-05-22 11:19:00
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