Therapy Has Never Been Sexier

Today, seeking out sex therapy is less taboo than ever before; it’s become a more common intervention in addressing issues of sexual intimacy—and not just those related to trauma.

Scholars have observed that because sexual issues go beyond the physiological, psychology plays a crucial role in treating sexual health.

Virtual therapy sessions have also helped make sex therapy more approachable by “[building] a bridge to people who have reservations talking about sex in person,” notes science writer Kirsten Weir. Younger generations are embracing this intervention as a way to deepen experiences of intimacy. The United States Bureau of Labor Statistics projected demand for the profession to grow by 14% from 2021 to 2031.

Hollywood creators have been instrumental in this shift: Hulu’s Shrill, for example, is both entertaining and informative about women’s sexual health and body diversity. Netflix’s animated series Big Mouth wittily portrays the awkwardness of puberty, while Sex Education, a series about a teenager who runs an underground sex therapy clinic at his high school, has greatly shifted the conversation around sex. The therapists of Sex Education are everyday, relatable people who struggle with concerns similar to those of their clients. These characters challenge expectations that sex therapists are stoic clinicians who only analyze and diagnose patients.

Other forms of popular media are also destigmatizing sex therapy. Emily Nagoski, author of the book Come As You Are: The Surprising New Science That Will Transform Your Sex Life, and Esther Perel, host of the podcast Where Should We Begin?, help readers, listeners, and viewers navigate hard but needed conversations around sex.

While sexual wellness resources are accessible with a mere swipe of our fingers, traditional sex therapy may be a more useful option for those needing personal intervention—and it’s getting easier to find sex therapists who understand the unique challenges people with marginalized identities face.

A 2021 survey by Zippia, an online job-recruiting company, found an increase in diversity among sex therapists between 2010 and 2021: 64.1% of sex therapists are now women, with racial and age diversity also increasing in the past decade. These shifting demographics might also signal a shift in the focus of sex therapy, bringing more attention to concerns outside the white cisgender male experience, such as vaginal pain during penetrative sex and the orgasm gap.

But there are still limitations to who can access sex therapy. Some people are reluctant to pursue sex therapy for fear of being pathologized, or out of a belief that their sexual issues aren’t serious enough to warrant treatment. In a 2023 study by Zoe Sever and Laura M. Vowels, research participants “often didn’t view their sexual difficulties as severe enough to warrant intervention or treatment.”

There’s also a dearth of queer practitioners. According to a 2021 study by researchers at the Chicago School of Professional Psychology, “sex therapy is largely available to heterosexual couples with the financial means or health coverage to pay for sex therapy.” The study found that in several regions of the U.S., there is a need for sex therapy to go beyond a heteronormative, monogamous focus.

Ashley Lagrange, a nonbinary, fat, Black, Dominican American sex therapist who practices at the Expansive Group in New York City, is aware that there aren’t many queer-competent providers and that queer folks often end up exchanging sex advice with each other. “Sometimes we have to share lived-experience stories, because we’re not being taught [sexual wellness] in school,” says Lagrange.

But they also say sex therapy feels like an inevitability for queer, trans, Black, Indigenous, and people of color, who are in a constant process of unlearning social conventions and moving toward a sense of authenticity. Given this context, Lagrange says sex therapy works best when it “addresses the emotional and the somatic,” which allows both the therapist and client to challenge core beliefs and messages around promiscuity, sexual exploration, and radical vulnerability.

“Sex is also a practice in mindfulness—a way to be attuned to what feels good, what doesn’t, and [how] to communicate that,” they add. This type of treatment can be helpful to clients struggling to connect because “it shows you this whole picture of wellness, in a way that talk therapy doesn’t,” says Lagrange.

Lagrange also uses erotic mapping in their work, a method in which participants are asked to consider the settings and sensory experiences enjoyable to them in erotic experiences. “[Erotic mapping] asks you to think about the details. … What do you think would feel better: leather or feather? It also asks you to think about the sounds. But not just the sounds of the space, like ‘Do you like music or the rain?’ But also thinking about the difference between an orgasm that is joyous laughter versus, like, sobs,” says Lagrange. Erotic mapping allows their clients to personalize sexual exploration—whether they are solo, partnered, or in a group—in ways that clients often don’t find in conventional sex therapy spaces.

“I just really love seeing people create a deeper bond with themselves that is so personalized, that is individualized,” Lagrange says. “[A bond] that is free from shame … that is free from the constraints of what they’re supposed to think sex is. … It’s really liberating … to do the emotional and somatic work, and tie them together into something that can potentially lead to pleasure.” 

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Gabes Torres (she/siya) is a mental health practitioner, grassroots organizer, and writer based in the global South. Her clinical practice and research focus on collective and intergenerational trauma and healing methods, including the psychosomatic implications of imperialism, racism, climate catastrophes, and human rights violations. Her passion is elevating communities and models of collective flourishing.

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