Stocksy
Dating someone new is always nerve-wracking, but it can become even more so when you have an STI. Of course, STIs are incredibly common: There are almost 20 million new STI diagnoses in the U.S. every year, and according to a CDC report that came out late last year, chlamydia, gonorrhea, and syphilis are on the rise for the first time since 2006.
Still, the stigmas associated with STIs remain—which means people who have one often worry about when to tell the person they're dating, how to bring it up, and whether it will end the potential relationship. We spoke with four women about the varied experiences they've had telling romantic partners about their STIs. Their stories show that there's no one right way to disclose this information to someone—and that, thankfully, it doesn't always have a huge impact on your relationship.
"Unfortunately, I didn't always tell partners when I should—before putting them at risk. As much as I'd prefer to not admit that I've risked someone's health, the truth is, I was terrified of the stigma—their reaction—and I didn't know how to disclose that kind of information to a new partner. That's why I work so hard on The STD Project and Positive Singles. At 16, I didn't have access to those kind of helpful resources, and I was ignorant about STIs and sexual health in general. I also know I'm not alone and that even good people make mistakes. But I feel like we cannot fix a problem if we do not first acknowledge that it exists, so that is why I am honest about not always ethically disclosing before putting someone at risk.
In the beginning, my disclosures were replete with drama and waterworks. I remember sobbing the first couple of times I told a new partner. I think the tears were a mixture of fear of what I believed would be their inevitable rejection (it never was as bad as I thought it would be) and shame. I had no idea that there were dating sites for people with STIs, and there were no resources walking you through how to tell a partner calmly and matter-of-factly—so I did it with theatrics. The good news is even my alligator tears didn't scare partners away, despite my approach being vastly different now.
It's probably surprising to some, I've never experienced rejection as a result of disclosing. I know this is not always the case and that rejection happens, but I feel like this should be a bit of an eye-opener about how little an STI can matter to a relationship overall. Partners have responded with, 'You mean that's it? That's all you had to tell me?' and 'I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant!' (As if that would have been worse news!) I've also gotten, 'Well, that doesn't change who you are, does it?'
Although disclosing never really gets easy or fun, per se, I've gotten much better at my approach and delivery. I honestly follow my own advice: I try to tell the person alone and in a quiet, comfortable environment. I'm honest and matter-of-fact about my STI. I give them some space to do their own research and to get back to me with questions. Then, finally—and this is the most important part—I know not to take their decision personally. Really, disclosing to a new partner is not just about what you have, what risk you are to them, and what could happen to them because of you—it's an opportunity to discuss sexual health as a whole: has your partner been tested—for what and when—what kind of risk-reduction methods would you like to use, are you engaging in sexual activities with other partners, what are your expectations for your (sexual) relationship, etc. And then, no matter what, if someone chooses not to pursue a relationship with you, it's not personal. You are not your infection. There will be someone who is interested (I am proof). Don't give up on yourself or forget your worth ever." —Jenelle Marie Davis, 33, founder of TheSTDProject.com and spokesperson for PositiveSingles.com
"I had already been with my partner when I went to Planned Parenthood to get some symptoms I was experiencing checked out: nerve pain in my butt and vulva, incredibly sore quadricep muscles, what I thought was an itchy ingrown hair that kept coming back in the same spot. I came home after being diagnosed and told him. The diagnosis was a relief in a lot of ways, So having a name for it was like an exhale. Like, 'OK, that's what that is.' I was incredibly lucky because my partner pulled me in for a hug, then told me he loved me and that the diagnosis didn't change a thing." —Britni de la Cretaz, 31
"When I received my herpes diagnosis, I was struck with fear and disbelief. I remember sitting there on the cold examination table in my hospital gown and feeling as if I had been sucker-punched. All the air left my body, and I couldn't speak as the doctor handed me a pamphlet on managing my outbreaks and informed me that this is a virus that I would have for the rest of my life. The rest of my life.
Those words echoed through my ears. It was nothing more than an occasional inconvenient skin rash, yet the fog of shame that clouded around me as the doctor handed me a prescription for Acyclovir was heavy and terrifying.
I felt like my life, as I had known it, was over. I was ruined. Would anyone ever want to have sex with me again, or would I simply wander the world carrying the heavy blaring burden of the scarlet H as a symbol of my sexual promiscuity?
I called my parter outside of the clinic as I paced back and forth in the intense Los Angeles summer heat. I needed to hear his voice, the voice of someone who loved me. I needed someone to comfort me and tell me it was all going to be all right—and yet I was terrified that I might lose the person I loved so dearly as I disclosed my diagnosis.
The phone rang, and I heard his voice. I cried into the phone. 'My love, I’m at the clinic and I just got some news. I’m feeling really scared right now.'
'What is it Maddie?'
'I...just found out that, um...I have herpes.' I was having a hard time breathing. The words I was speaking seemed still so surreal, like someone else’s story. Like someone else’s diagnosis, not mine.
'OK. It’s going to be OK. Just head home, and we will talk about it. Breathe, Maddie. Everything is going to be OK. I promise. I love you.'
I needed to hear those words. I needed to hear that confidence in his voice, that his love did not waver even in the face of this diagnosis.
It's been nine years since my first outbreak, and I’m happy to say I have plenty of hot sex and that I can talk openly about herpes as just another facet of who I am. Herpes is simply another part of my life. Just like my husband lives with asthma, I live with herpes." —Madison Young, 35, author
"I have genital herpes, type 1, so it's imperative that I always inform my sexual partners of this well before having any type of sex. I've disclosed several times since being diagnosed in spring 2014, but my favorite happened this past February. I had been dating this guy for a week or so, and since we met, I had been thinking of how and when to tell him about my STI. Typically, it's not good to disclose when you're about to have sex, so I knew that was out of the question. I settled for a night we had been cuddling in his bed. The conversation went like this:
Me: So, what's your STI status?
Him: Clean! But I'm totally willing to go take a test if you want me to.
Me: Can you not say 'clean'? People with STIs aren't dirty. I have herpes, and I'm not dirty.
Him: Oh, sh*t, really? I'm sorry I said that.
Me: It's OK. So, do you have any questions about herpes or anything? It's really prevalent, and it's difficult for women to pass it to men. I can tell you whatever you want to know!
Him: OK, thanks! I don't have any questions at the moment, but maybe later? Also, I want you to know that this doesn't change the way I feel about you.
Me: Good. Because it shouldn't.
I felt so confident during this disclosure (and I know he could tell). It was probably my best disclosure yet. We ended up dating for two months (and having a lot of sex)." —Lachrista Greco, 30, founder and CEO of Guerrilla Feminism
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Source: http://www.glamour.com/story/std-sti-disclosure
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