Why can we feel Post-Sex Shame and Disgust—Understanding the Biology and Morality of Sex.

Photo by Maddi Bazzocco

My first time was in secondary school; however, since this seems to be starting as a confession, I had attempted it [unsuccessfully] in elementary school. I'm not sure if this is just a personal experience or if it can be explained by my biology—perhaps a case of high testosterone and an over-excited libido; who knows? Like all human behaviour, it is multifaceted, a combination of psychological and physiological processes that have sustained our species for a few hundred thousand years, as well as every other species that continues to exist today.

It was an unremarkable experience despite having ample time to anticipate when it would happen. I had been strategically flirting with a girl from my school who was beginning to earn a reputation as a sure thing. I was in the early stages of dating her sister, still at the phone call stage. For context, this was the rotary phone era, when we had extra-long cords that allowed us to sneak ourselves and the phone into a closet, away from prying ears. This was an earnest and secret endeavour for us teenagers. This fling was short-lived since she dumped me for my best friend, who, ironically, told me that her sister was a sure thing. He knew this first-hand. Hopefully, you're keeping track of the sisters thus far. To complicate matters further, they were fraternal twins—a blonde and a brunette.

It seems likely that some sibling [twin] rivalry existed between the sisters, as I don't think it was merely a coincidence that they were both attracted to my friend and me at different times. I won't delve further into psychologically profiling them, but as implied, one was willing to go all the way, while the other wasn't at that time—or at least not with me.

After a few weeks of testing the waters, I set a date for our "we don't know what we're doing but are driven to do it." The exciting day arrived one Sunday while I had the house all to myself. I had a waterbed (yes, that used to be a thing), and that is where we were going to complete our first act—well, at least my first. After hours of stumbling (and floating) around on my bed, I finished the act, and the curtains closed. There wasn't any applause from her or me; it was just an awkwardness that later turned into a flood of unexpected emotions.

Immediately afterward, I felt a sense of disgust. This feeling was primarily directed at her, but later, I would come to recognize it reflected how I felt about myself. When my family returned, I couldn't manage the intensity of my emotions and took my mother aside. I have always had a close relationship with my mom and believe I can tell her anything—even my darkest secrets. She has always been non-judgmental and a loving source of support. So yes, I shared everything with her. Furthermore, I expressed how much shame I felt and that I needed to confess to lighten my burden. It was a deeply emotional moment, tears and all.

Thankfully, this was not my last sexual experience. Although there was less stumbling during the act, it remained a profoundly meaningful experience. Let me explain further: I am describing the complexities of intimacy. As a natural act, it is, for an evolutionary biologist or a Darwinist, the most significant one; however, it carries a lot of baggage—at least it does for me.

I know there are different perspectives on the meaning of sex. Regardless, as vital as it is, it has moral boundaries applied to it, which may have been established prehistorically and certainly have been defined from one civilization to another. It's not just a simple act; unlike how chimpanzees perceive it—swinging from tree to tree for multiple rounds of one- to three-second engagements with various partners—they have not evolved towards our monogamous rituals. Instead, they prefer to continue practising polygynandrous mating in the Tree of Life.

Though I have not always acted in good faith in this regard, I have always felt that there seems to be something sacred about sex. Growing up in Western society, which has its moral roots in Christian ideology, whether or not you're a practicing Christian, has undoubtedly influenced me. While not overly religious, my upbringing connects me to Roman Catholicism. I also grew up in a traditional family; my parents were still married at this point, and both fulfilled their conventional roles as husband and wife. Naturally, this type of childhood would shape my beliefs and steer me away [through self-shaming] from uncommitted, self-gratifying, casual sex.

But I do think there is more than just cultural values that have shaped my sex views and why one-night stands never sat right with me, in retrospect, of course, since everything before the climax is narrowly focused on achieving the goal.

The question of post-sex shame and disgust has bewildered me probably since the aforementioned encounter on the waterbed. So, I have finally decided to put deep thought into why it has arisen in me and also hit the books to find out what psychologists and biologists have to say about it.

Why is it that some sexual encounters, especially those that are not bound in a committed relationship, can provoke such feelings of guilt and remorse?

Well, what about lying—not telling the truth or leaving out the truth? Secondly, what about intention?

Photo by Jametlyn

Often, when you pursue someone only for physical pleasure and to satisfy your desires, you do not express your true intentions. Even if you did communicate those intentions and received consent, it doesn't necessarily make it any easier for the person who consented after the act.

I have been on the other side of the fence as well. I would imagine that it is not common for men to be used for sex as it is for women, but I did have an experience that made me feel that way. Even though the woman, who was older than me and didn't lie about her intentions, still left me feeling unworthy—not the best feeling.

If you did not disclose your intentions, then you have withheld information, as your motives were self-serving and lacking a higher purpose, neglecting to consider the other person and their worth as a human being.

Now, what about deceitfulness? Lying is a tricky game, as it leads to a convoluted life. As Mark Twain famously said, "If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything." When you lie or conceal the truth, your entire being and future are dictated by that lie, whether you are aware of it or not. Eventually, the lie will be revealed, as reality operates that way, along with all the complications that ensue. The only people protected from lying who base their entire lives on falsehoods are psychopaths. According to the American Psychological Association, "Although severe psychopathy affects just about 1% of people, some research suggests that close to 30% of us have some level of psychopathic traits." Let's hope their first guess is correct.

Now for the double-edged sword: not only have you lied by omission, but you may have also deceived yourself, which I find even more guilt-inducing. For instance, if you have given in to satisfying your impulses—no prejudice intended, as I share the same impulses—then you have not stood on the highest ground possible; you have shortchanged yourself—and you know it.

Another universal truth of humanity is our need to aim high and our willingness to sacrifice to achieve our goals. When we are not in this state, many of us will, to varying degrees, experience self-disgust and shame. This aspect of humanity sets our species apart. It isn't limited to our beliefs; rather, it's ingrained in our biology, specifically within our dopaminergic reward system, which has evolved for long-term goal achievement when functioning optimally (aside from addictions).

If you know that your ultimate aim is to find a long-term partner with whom you can share your soul, yet you find yourself jumping from bed to bed or tree to tree, then you're not living your truth, and that will eventually come back to haunt you.

It's now more of a cliché, but there is validity in developing our "authentic self," which is described as one who feels "comfortable in their own skin" and radiates genuine confidence. Those who shy away from this important work and instead choose an easier, quicker, and softer path—something I have attempted and failed at miserably—will find life increasingly difficult, in and out of the bedroom.

This is understandable: individuals who have not constructed their lives on a solid foundation, much like a stack of Jenga blocks, are always on shaky ground, leading others to sense that something is off or untrustworthy about them. Conversely, this often leads to an imbalanced self, marked by uncertainty, anxiety, and depression. Why wouldn't it be so? The world is already a confusing place, and if you're unsure of who you are, navigating it becomes even more bewildering.

The guilt associated with lying, often considered a sin or a failure to meet one's moral aim, can be traced back to one's culture, religion, and upbringing; however, I believe it runs deeper than simply one's environment.

From an evolutionary perspective, one could argue that we strive to be truthful to others because we wouldn't want the same injustice to befall ourselves. We might be a collection of selfish genes lacking an innate moral compass, as the renowned evolutionary biologist and zoologist Richard Dawkins has theorized. I hope I am representing his views accurately here.

Nevertheless, if we wished to act entirely selfishly, for males—who have traditionally been the initiators of sex in our species—the objective would be to spread our genes as widely as possible. This has undoubtedly happened throughout history, as many individuals from the steppes of Asia can attest to being descendants of the great Genghis Khan, the leader of the Mongol Empire in the 12th century. Yet, even our physiology seems more attuned to monogamous relationships, as will be discussed.

If you've made it this far into the article and are seeking some relief from the complexities of sex, there is a plant medicine that has been widely used throughout the ages, which can temporarily free us from culpability.

This medicine takes the form of spirits—the ancient term for what we now call cocktails or alcoholic beverages. They can imbue you with a hedonistic streak, making everything I've mentioned so far seem meaningless. However, spirits are always brief, possessed entities, and the malaise is merely postponed, only to be felt tenfold once you soberingly return to reality. We refer to that as a biological hangover, accompanied by psychological regrets.

I must say that I do not feel disgust, shame or guilt after sex while I am in a committed relationship. I don't feel the urge to rush out of the house immediately after an intimate moment, which would surely be difficult for any partner to tolerate (can you imagine!). So, something is different in that reality. What I see is a vulnerable space where two people, through trust, can create a safe environment that is still full of adventure and ecstasy.

There is something so raw about sex, especially intercourse, but not limited only to it. There is the nakedness, which is something in itself that can bring about shame, even if not related to sex, and revealing yourself to your partner in this unguarded way is an act of trust. This assumes that you have a certain amount of honour for your body and its sacredness, worth more than several minutes of physical validation.

And what about responsibility? For women, the stakes are incredibly high; an unplanned pregnancy can present a profound crisis, particularly if it results from a one-night stand, potentially placing them in the position of raising a child alone or considering abortion. With these responsibilities underlying the act, there is ample opportunity for shame to develop for both parties.

So, is there any psychological validity to these post-sex experiences? Indeed, there is. It's called postcoital dysphoria (PCD), or "post-sex blues," and it's characterized by negative emotions such as sadness, irritability, or anxiety immediately following sexual activity; however, it is not currently recognized as a diagnosable mental health disorder in the DSM-5. It's been seen in men but studied mostly in women and can stem from mental health issues such as body image concerns, sexual trauma and other issues such as performance anxiety.

Now that we have touched upon the psychological implications of sex, let's explore the physiological systems involved in the most significant event of our species.

Before, during, and after sex, our bodies use chemical messengers to influence our emotions and subsequent behavior. One of these messengers is a hormone called oxytocin, often referred to as the "love hormone," which is associated with strengthening the bond between couples. It is also present during childbirth to enhance the bond a mother has with her child. At first glance, this may imply that nature selects for a pair bond between couples, as this hormone is released in both males and females.

Vasopressin is a hormone released particularly in men during sexual arousal and is associated with territorial and protective behaviours, making it more likely to prioritize long-term commitment. This again indicates that there is a biological motivation for a long-term mating strategy, specifically among men.

There are other neurotransmitters and hormones released during sex, such as endorphins—pain-relieving and feel-good hormones—serotonin, another feel-good neurotransmitter, and prolactin, a hormone released after orgasm that promotes relaxation and sleepiness. Dopamine, the reward-seeking neurotransmitter, is released both in pursuit of or anticipating sex and during orgasm.

Thus, the latter neurotransmitters and hormones can be seen as acting in opposition to long-term mating strategies. However, they can all be experienced with a single partner if both individuals are bonded and growing together.

In conclusion, I've experienced both casual encounters and committed relationships, and I find much more depth, meaning, and fulfillment in the latter. So, sorry, you won't catch me at a downtown Swinger Club or the Hedonism II resort in Jamaica. But that's just me—again, no prejudice.

I'm not denying the desire for sex and increasing sexual encounters with more and more people. There is undeniable evidence of this in our psychology and biology. However, paradoxically, we weren't designed for a hedonistic life focused on immediate, short-term gratification.

As humans, we have much greater potential, and if it isn't acknowledged, we will undoubtedly feel shame and disgust towards ourselves and project that onto others who had the unfortunate experience of a fleeting sexual encounter with us.

Living a self-serving life isn't something we can find long-term satisfaction in, derive meaning from, or, in my case, feel proud to discuss with my mother.

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All INCLUSIVE DIET—Finding Balance

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