My knuckles were white as I gripped the hospital bed rail.
Then tears slipped down my face as my best friend and a nurse held my legs apart, while another nurse inserted gauze into my vagina to try and stop the bleeding.
Everyone always says you’ll remember the first time you have sex, but I’d thought it would be because of how awkward it would be. My first time featured a blood-stained bed, carpet, bathtub, and three different hospital rooms.
What happened that night wasn’t romantic or clumsy or “just part of growing up.” It was frightening, painful, and entirely preventable. And that’s why I’m sharing this—not for shock value, but because nobody warned me what could go wrong, or how to protect myself.
For weeks afterward, I replayed every moment in my head. I’d been nervous, inexperienced, and uninformed. I didn’t know what my body needed. I didn’t know what consent and communication were supposed to sound like. I didn’t know that pain or bleeding this severe was a sign to stop immediately—not “push through it.”
Most importantly, I didn’t know that sex isn’t supposed to hurt like that.
Doctors later explained that my injuries were the result of a combination of factors: lack of preparation, tension, too much pressure too quickly, and absolutely no guidance. One nurse told me gently, “This happens more often than you think. People just don’t talk about it.”
And she was right.
We grow up hearing jokes, warnings, myths, and mixed messages about sex—but not the real information that could keep us safe. We’re taught to be embarrassed instead of prepared.
So after my disastrous first time, I want to make sure others don’t have to go through the same thing. And that starts with this cautionary tale and a call for better, honest, shame-free sex education for all—because no one should enter their first sexual experience terrified, misinformed, or unaware of how their own body works.
Young people deserve to know:
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that open communication is essential
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that preparation and consent are non-negotiable
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that pain is a signal—not a challenge
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and that a healthy sexual experience should never leave someone in an emergency room
If sharing my story prevents even one person from experiencing the fear I felt that night, then the embarrassment and vulnerability of telling it will be worth it.
No one tells you how much you don’t know—until it’s too late. And that’s exactly why we need to talk about it.
