𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐞𝐬

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥

I’ve said yes more times than I care to admit.

Not because I wanted it.

Not because my body was a full, resounding yes.

But because it was easier than the fight. Easier than explaining. Easier than hearing the sigh, the disappointment, the slow withdrawal of affection.

I thought it was normal...
to trade my body for peace.
To offer up intimacy like an apology.
To fake pleasure as a way to stay safe.

And I know I’m not alone.

Because when I sit with women, on couches, in coaching sessions, across dimly lit coffee shops, I hear it in their voices.

“I thought I wanted it.”
“I just didn’t want to start a fight.”
“I figured it was easier if I just went along with it.”

They say these things like confessions.

But what they’re really saying is: I was never taught the difference between compliance and consent.

And that’s the root of it, isn’t it?

We’ve been trained, conditioned, indoctrinated into believing that a woman who is willing is the same as a woman who is consenting.

But let me be clear:

Willingness is not consent.
Silence is not consent.
Survival is not consent.

Consent is a full-bodied yes. It is informed, embodied, present, and sovereign.

And you cannot give it (not fully) when you are disconnected from your own body.

Here’s the thing trauma does that no one talks about: it trains you to betray yourself.

It teaches you that your no is dangerous. That your boundaries are burdens. That love is earned by tolerating discomfort. That your body is not your own, it’s a bargaining chip.

And so, over time, we learn to say yes when we mean no.

We smile when our gut clenches.

We take the drink when our heart screams no.

We show up in bed, not because we want to, but because we don’t know how to leave. Or say no. Or exist in a world that gives us permission to feel safe without performing.

I used to drink before sex in my marriage, not to get drunk, but to disappear.
Just enough to take the edge off.
Just enough to soften my resistance.
Just enough to make myself "go along" with what I wasn't actually feeling ready for.

And I wasn’t alone in that.

Some of you reading this have been there too, numbing just enough to tolerate what your soul is rejecting. Silencing your body so you can keep the peace.

And if no one’s told you yet, I will:

That wasn’t your fault.
You were surviving.
You were performing yes, because no never felt like an option.

There’s a dangerous myth in our culture, one that’s been woven into romantic comedies, spiritual communities, even trauma-informed spaces and it’s this:

That if you don’t scream “no,” your yes must be valid.

But trauma doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes it freezes.
Sometimes it fawns.
Sometimes it smiles while dying inside.

That’s why sober sex and I don’t just mean substance-free, I mean awake, clear, conscious sex, is so powerful. Because when you’re not under the influence of wine, weed, social pressure, or deep-rooted shame… you can finally feel what your body is saying.

And sometimes, that message is: I’m not ready.

Sometimes it’s: I’m scared.

Sometimes it’s: I want connection, not sex.

When you’re sober (emotionally, mentally, spiritually) your yes gets honest.

Real consent is sacred.

To reclaim consent is to reclaim the sacredness of your body.
To say: I choose what happens here.
To say: I do not owe access to anyone, not even someone I love.
To say: My pleasure is not a performance for your approval.

That’s not selfish. That’s soulful.

Because true intimacy cannot exist in performance.
Not for long.

It withers.

The real thing? It grows in safety. In truth. In the space where you can say:

“I’m a maybe right now.”
“Can we pause?”
“I want to, but I don’t feel ready.”
“Let’s talk about what feels good and what doesn’t.”

That’s what conscious intimacy sounds like.

It’s not always sexy.
It’s not always cinematic.
But it’s real.

And when something is real, it has the power to transform you.

I’ve had clients come to me after years of “normal” sex. Relationships filled with wine-fueled nights, quiet resentments, and an inability to name what wasn’t working.

And when they finally step into sober, conscious, embodied intimacy...
something clicks.

One woman said, “I didn’t even know I had the right to want something different.”

Another told me, “I thought sex was just what I had to give to get love.”

A man once said, “I realize now I’ve never asked her what she really wants, because I never knew how to ask myself.”

This is what Sober Sex is about.

Not just abstaining from alcohol.

But unlearning the survival scripts.

Rewriting the definition of pleasure.

And reclaiming the kind of consent that starts with yourself.

This musing isn’t here to shame anyone who’s ever said yes when they meant no.

It’s here to name the thing.
To say what too many are too afraid to say.

That many of us (even those in loving relationships) are still operating from trauma, not truth.

We’re still overriding our signals.

We’re still performing pleasure.

And it’s time to stop.

It’s time to pause long enough to ask:

What does yes feel like in my body?
What does no sound like in my breath?
And who am I when I stop performing and start choosing?

Because your body is not here to perform.

She is here to speak.
To guide.
To open when she’s ready.
To close when she needs to.
To say yes only when it’s real.

You don’t have to prove your healing by being a “cool partner.”

You don’t have to say yes just because you love someone.

You don’t have to push through discomfort to be “easy to be with.”

Healing means learning that your truth matters more than keeping the peace.

It means knowing that you can be loved and still say no.

It means that consent isn’t about pleasing someone else, it’s about being at peace with yourself.

So if no one else gives you permission today, let this musing do it:

You are allowed to pause.
You are allowed to check in.
You are allowed to say yes only when it is full, free, embodied, and conscious.

Everything else is performance.

And you, my love, were made for more than that.

If this stirred something in you, you’re not alone.
Sober Sex: Embracing the Power of Intimacy Without Escape is now available on Kindle for FREE until July 12 and the paperback is discounted to $12.99 until August 1.

Inside the book, you’ll find:

Raw stories of real clients who reclaimed their yes

Journal prompts and exercises for exploring your own patterns

A compassionate, trauma-informed path back to true connection

Clarity on how substances and survival responses block real intimacy

Let this be your invitation to come home to yourself.

Grab your copy today and if it speaks to you, share it with someone else who needs it.

You’re not broken.
You’ve just been surviving.
But it’s time to choose something deeper.

Something real.

Something yours.

As always loving you from here,
Rene Schooler