Why I Still Talk About Herpes 10 Years Later
We all have moments in our lives that stand out among others. For some, they’re traditional milestones, like marriage, kids, job promotions, or purchasing a first home.
For others, they’re moments that change our perspective, and sometimes, our life course. Losing a loved one, a breakup that makes you question love’s existence, or a transformative trip abroad.
We all are a combination of moments and memories. For me, one that stands out is my herpes diagnosis.
It was June 2015, and I had just graduated from college. My confidence was soaring, and I, being 22, felt compelled to prove myself to the world. Failure wasn’t an option. I was determined to prove all of my doubters, haters, and non-believers wrong. My confidence seemed impenetrable. Until…
"This looks herpetic.”
My twelve years of Catholic school instilled fear in me about this moment. According to those teachings, my worth as a woman and person immediately dropped.
When I think back to my diagnosis, I see the nurse’s face with the closed lip smile. I hear her voice. I remember worrying about what to tell the guy I was sleeping with at the time. I remember telling friends. I remember the deep, indescribable pain of feeling like my life was over.
Suddenly, my dreams took a backseat.
This June marks ten years since my herpes diagnosis. Even though I don’t think about it every day, when I do reflect, the moments are visceral. The shame from those moments no longer keeps me down, but part of me can go back in time and sit with that version of myself to hold space with and for her.
Ten years later, that’s why I still share my story.
Lately, my social media presence has focused on my father’s sudden death. I’ve always used social media to highlight vulnerability and “harder” life conversations. While there are many who I know need my work and wisdom, there are just as many who react with hostility rather than compassion. The cruelty I faced sharing my herpes story prepared me, in some ways, for what I'd encounter grieving my father publicly.
When I first blogged about herpes, I was dragged on Twitter. Men found my LinkedIn searching for my high school and shamed my parents for my being a Catholic school failure. People on forums plastered cold sores on my face, saying they’d “Depasse on that.”
I’ve learned how bold, brazen, and heartless people can be online. Even through the loss of my father, I still find people trying to center themselves in my story, shame me for what they think I did or didn’t do right, and project their expectations and “shoulds” onto me.
Unfortunately, we live in a time where conversations about sexuality and sexual health seem to be moving backward rather than forward. While there are many working through stigma and shame (maybe that’s you!), looking to educate themselves to better their own sex lives and sexual health, many want to maintain that hierarchy of sexual purity and continue propelling myths about STIs forward.
This hierarchy tells people that STIs make you "dirty" and that certain STIs are “better” than others. It costs people their sense of worth, their relationships, and sometimes their health when shame and safety concerns prevent them from seeking medical and mental healthcare.
Ten years later, that’s why I still share my story.
This moment might not be one that stands out in your mind, but it might be a period of time that sticks out to you later in life. Whether you’re going through a herpes diagnosis, have been going through it, or are just trying to right the wrongs caused by your sex education experience, you are why I’m still talking about my herpes story ten years later.
My herpes story doesn’t define who I am, but it is a part of how I arrived here, how I found myself again, and how I decided I wouldn't let shame and stigma dictate my worth.