So. What Happens to Sex After Breast Cancer?

This part wasn't in the discharge paperwork...

I have not had breast cancer.

I want to say that first.

What I have done is spend the last nine years in fitting rooms with thousands of women who have.

Women after mastectomies. Women after reconstruction. Women with one breast. Women with no breasts. Women trying on a prosthesis for the first time. Women looking at themselves in a bra and deciding whether they recognize the person looking back.

And fitting rooms are very intimate places.

People talk.

The girls really talk...

We talk about bodies. Their partners. Whether they want to be touched. Whether they don’t. Whether something hurts. Maybe their partner is afraid to touch their chest. If they still feel sexy. If sex is the very last thing on their mind...

The surprising part to me is discovering that overwhelmingly intimacy after breast cancer can actually become something new. I want to share what has been shared with me in case it resonates with you.

First, you have to be allowed to feel however you feel.

Some women don’t want their partners anywhere near their chest after surgery.

Sometimes because of physical sensations. They’re tender. They’re healing. Something hurts.

Sometimes it’s emotional.

Their breasts were part of their sexual identity before cancer, and now they look different, feel different or aren’t there at all. Being seen can suddenly feel incredibly vulnerable. I've met women who have never looked at their own chestwalls in the mirror.

Sometimes they just don’t want to have sex.

I’ve heard women talk about their libido simply disappearing. I’ve heard women who were deeply self-conscious about how their bodies looked. I’ve also heard about partners who became hesitant because they were afraid of hurting them.

None of those feelings become easier because you ignore them or their possibility.

You can love your partner and not want to be touched.

You can be grateful to be alive and still be angry about your body or this fate.

You can be healing beautifully and still not feel sexy or beautiful or carefree or fun.

You can also look at your new body and think, Actually, I like this.

All of those things can exist. At the same time or different times. It can be confusing.

The important part is being honest about how you feel in the moment. Don't do anything you don't want to do.

Your breasts are not the only place intimacy lives.

This is something I wish we talked about more.

Breasts can be an important part of sex. But they aren’t the entirety of your sexuality.

Your body is much bigger than your chest.

If there are parts of your body that you don’t want touched right now, they don’t have to be touched.

Explore somewhere else...

Your neck. Your back. Your legs. Your hands. Your partner’s body.

There is a whole lot of real estate here. :)

And maybe what feels good now isn’t exactly what felt good before cancer and that’s okay.

You get to learn your body again.

So does your partner.

Also: lingerie is still yours.

At Cherry Blossom Intimates, we used to have lingerie parties.

And one of the things I loved about them was watching women remember that lingerie did not stop feeling good to them just because they’d had breast surgery.

No breasts?

Okay.

That doesn’t mean you can’t wear beautiful underwear, stockings, garter belts, bedroom heels.

It doesn’t mean you can’t wear a slip, a robe, a bodysuit or whatever else makes you look in the mirror and think, Yes!

Not everything you put on your body after breast cancer needs to solve a medical need.

Sometimes you get to wear something simply because it makes you feel sexy.

Intimacy doesn’t actually require sex.

Some of the most beautiful conversations I’ve had with women weren’t about getting their sex lives “back.”

They were about discovering other ways of being close.

I’ve talked with survivors who became much more intentional about spending time alone with their partners after cancer.

Some told me they reconnected spiritually.

Others explored breathwork and tantric practices and found a different kind of intimacy there.

Sometimes it was much simpler than that.

Time alone. Talking. Touching without the expectation that touching has to lead anywhere. Being close to another person without asking your body to perform. Sitting by a body of water and taking in peace all around your body...

Cancer can make so much of your body feel clinical.

With appointments, scans, surgery, people examining you, weighing you, placing drains and ports... Talking about your body like it’s a question they’re trying to solve.

There can be something powerful about experiencing your body again without an objective attached to it.

Your partner may need a little honesty, too.

I’ve heard this from the other side of the fitting-room conversations.

Sometimes a partner isn’t pulling away because they don’t find you attractive.

They’re scared.

They don’t know where they can touch you. They don’t know whether something hurts. They don’t want to make you uncomfortable. And because nobody says any of that out loud, both people can end up making assumptions about what the other person is feeling.

So talk.

Not so much because every conversation has to end with some beautiful climatic breakthrough...

It could just be...

I don’t want you to touch my chest/arms/hair right now

Or:

You can touch me here, but not here.

Or:

I’m nervous about you seeing me so let's turn down the lights and light candles...

Or even:

I don’t know what I want yet.

And your partner gets to talk, too.

Intimacy works better when neither person has to guess what's next.

Put your pleasure first.

I mean this a little differently than it probably sounds.

Listen to your body.

Pay attention to what feels good, comfortable and makes you relax, now. Or makes you tense up, what you’re curious about and what you’re absolutely not interested in.

When a woman begins to feel comfortable in her own body, the people around her often become more comfortable, too. 

Your partner can take cues from you.

That doesn’t mean you have to perform the act of confidence so your partner feels better.

Moreso the opposite.

Instead, you get to decide what feels good first.

Then you can invite somebody else into that space.

And maybe the goal isn’t getting your old sex life back.

This is probably the biggest thing I’ve learned from listening to women all these years.

We talk so much about “getting back” to things after cancer.

Getting back to work.

Getting back to normal.

Getting your body back.

Getting your sex life back...

But what if you just... don’t?

What if you build something different?

One of my favorite quotes is by Anais Nin,

"I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me."

I’ve listened to women talk about discovering things about their sexuality after breast cancer that they had never explored before. I’ve heard women describe deeper relationships with their partners that weren’t entirely about sex at all.

I’ve also heard women say they weren’t interested in any of that yet. All of that is fine.

There isn’t one enlightened way to do this.

There is just your body.

Your relationship.

Your pleasure.

Your boundaries...

 and your timing.

Then there's whatever you decide to explore next.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jasmine Jones is the founder of Myya and a Certified Mastectomy Fitter who has worked with thousands of women after breast surgery since 2017. Her perspective comes from nine years of candid conversations in fitting rooms with women navigating changing bodies, breast forms, reconstruction, relationships, sexuality and life after breast cancer.

Jasmine has not personally been diagnosed with breast cancer. She writes from what women have trusted her to hear.