‘Can I Be Pregnant Even Though I’m a Virgin?’: How OCD and Intrusive Thoughts Stole My Enjoyment of Sex

 By Alice Page

‘Your entire family will die if you don’t walk in a straight line.’ ‘You’re going to hurt someone.’ ‘You’ve left the oven on and the house will explode.’ ‘You’ve done something really inappropriate to that stranger who walked past you.’ Intrusive thoughts like this have plagued my mind since I was a teenager, weeding their way into every crevice of my brain. My mind became a stage on which my worst fears played out. As a young girl with little understanding of the complexities of mental health, I could not comprehend why my mind was torturing me with terrifying, irrational and untrue thoughts.

I tried to suppress them, pushing the thoughts into the deepest corners of my brain and letting them rot. It was only a matter of time before the floodgates eventually burst open and the hideous, intrusive waves consumed me once again. This cycle of fear, shame and confusion played on repeat for years. I was too scared to ask for help, convinced I was abnormal or damaged beyond repair.

When I met my first boyfriend at the age of 16, my intrusive thoughts morphed into a specific, unexpected and absurd manifestation: I became hellbent on the irrational belief that I was pregnant… despite being a virgin. Writing this at the age of 24, having undergone therapy and had time to heal from this phase of my life, I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of this obsession. However, having never been told that the human brain can torment itself with thoughts so mind-bogglingly illogical, this obsession felt like a truly terrifying reality.

The first time this irrational fear of pregnancy made its debut, my boyfriend and I were kissing, fully clothed, shrouded in nervous, excited energy. OCD stole the joy of this moment from me. Like the flip of a switch, a confusing and frightening thought lit up my prefrontal cortex. ‘Girl – You are pregnant.’ Somehow, by a miracle of nature, I sincerely believed that sperm had seeped through four layers of clothing, directly entered my vaginal canal, and planted itself happily in my uterus. I know what you’re thinking. Ever heard of the laws of physics? But if asked at that moment, I would have simply responded with a genuine faith in immaculate conception.

Humour is a coping mechanism I lean on sometimes, to remind myself that this fear is irrational and not grounded in truth. However, I will never forget the hours of mental anguish that erupted from this obsession. I remember falling to my bedroom floor, breath caught in the back of my throat, crying with fear that what my brain was telling me was true. It made no sense, yet it felt so real. My compulsions came in the form of rumination. Relentlessly, I replayed any sexual encounter I had for hours, questioning my every move. Did I take my pants off? Did I ask him to have sex with me? Did we accidentally have sex and I forgot?

These absurd thoughts stung like vinegar in a wound. My brain was slowly morphing into a cesspool of fear and confusion, and I was drowning in it. Having spent so many hours of my teenage years in this obsessive state, I’ve often wondered where it all stemmed from. Was it that pregnancy represented a loss of control? Or perhaps the internalised shame of engaging in a sexual relationship at 16? I’ll never truly know the trigger, but I knew for certain that pregnancy was deeply undesirable for me in this season of my life; I felt terrified at the prospect of being a young mother.

I carried the unrelenting fear that any sexual contact with a boy would result in pregnancy with me to university, stripping me of any ability to fully relax into and enjoy a sexual relationship. It was during my first year of studies that a turning point finally came. During a sleepover with my now closest girlfriends, I opened the floodgates I had tried so desperately to clamp shut, unspooling the obsessive thoughts that had held a tenacious grip over my life for years. To my surprise, I wasn’t told that I was insane. With such understanding and kindness, I was introduced to the idea that perhaps what I was suffering from was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I was lucky to meet a partner at university who I trusted, and who cared a great deal about my mental health. I decided to start therapy, refusing to allow my intrusive thoughts to steal the enjoyment of my new relationship. Of course, OCD is an unforgiving leach, unflinchingly sinking its teeth into the things we fear the most. My weekly therapy sessions did not prevent me from breaking down in tears after kissing or feeling on the verge of a panic attack during beautiful and intimate moments with my new partner. I felt drained and dazed from hours of rumination over every sexual encounter we shared, as I attempted to reassure myself that I could not be pregnant because we were fully clothed.

Why couldn’t I believe the countless tests that told me, plain as day, that I was not pregnant? My therapist explained that, for an OCD sufferer, rational thinking cannot counter deeply irrational thoughts. I read once that OCD is ‘the doubting disease.’ I can confirm that this title is well deserved, having experienced first-hand its debilitating skill in stealing the trust that exists within yourself. Therapy wasn't a quick fix, but it was the first phase of recovery.

Now, at 24, OCD no longer holds a tight grip over my life. Through years of support from my nearest and dearest, alongside CBT, my intrusive thoughts have settled into manageable, sporadic waves as opposed to the devastating tsunamis they once were in my teenage years. Reading stories online of women who’ve suffered similar experiences has helped me develop resilience to my irrational thoughts. I’m able to reassure myself that I can enjoy sexual relationships, without buckling at the thought that a single kiss will lead to an immaculate birth in nine months.

Having felt the sting of isolation and fear that comes with suffering in silence, it is my mission to open raw and honest conversations about OCD. By sharing my experiences, I hope to offer some reassurance to anyone suffering from unwanted – and oftentimes absurd – intrusive thoughts. If I had found an article like this when I was 16, it would have saved me years of mental anguish, shame and confusion. Even if you’re not specifically hung up on the prospect of sperm defying the laws of physics, whatever your irrational thoughts are, just know this: you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone.