Je voulais te parler d’une patiente, Alice, qui m’a profondément marquée. Elle venait pour une consultation pédiatrique avec son bébé de deux mois, et en lui demandant comment elle allait, j’ai senti qu’un mal-être se cachait derrière ses mots. Lors d’un second rendez-vous, elle m’a confié qu’elle souffrait encore physiquement depuis l’accouchement, mais qu’elle avait déjà repris une vie sexuelle, non par envie, mais par culpabilité et pression implicite : "il faut bien faire un effort", m’a-t-elle dit. Elle prenait même des antidouleurs avant les rapports. J’ai été bouleversée. Ce qu’elle décrivait, c’était des rapports non désirés, mais qu’elle pensait « normaux ». Alors je lui ai dit cette phrase, lue lors d’une manif : « Céder n’est pas consentir ». Et je crois que cette phrase a résonné profondément en elle. On s’est vues, on a pleuré, on a parlé de body shaming, de charge mentale, de consentement. C'est fou ces phrases qui provoquent des révélations comme ça. Et toi, c’est quoi la dernière phrase qui t’a provoqué un déclic ? Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Bienvenue dans cette première interview de podcast ! Je suis ravie d'avoir interviewé Véronique de La Devèze. Elle a plein de casquettes Véronique; elle est photographe (allez voir son insta "cecinestpasuncaillou"), bénévole et militante à la maison de femmes, animatrice d'atelier d'écriture, écrivaine. On a parlé de connaissance de soi, de s'écouter, de la manière dont se passent les consultations médicales, de réappropriation des espaces et de son corps. Je vous souhaite que cette interview vous fasse autant de bien à écouter que j'ai pris de plaisir à l'enregistrer ! Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Je suis Julie ROSE, médecin généraliste passionnée par la santé sexuelle, et j’ai envie de faire évoluer mon podcast Sex and Roses. Après avoir lancé quelques épisodes en anglais (la « English Week »), je me lance maintenant dans un nouveau format : des interviews. J’ai envie de donner la parole à des personnes pour qui la santé sexuelle compte, sans que ce soit nécessairement leur métier : une libraire, un auteur, des militantes… mais aussi quelques professionnel·le·s de santé. L’idée, c’est de montrer des parcours variés, inspirants, et de faire du bien. Surtout dans le contexte géopolitique actuel. Les interviews dureront environ 30 minutes et sortiront un mardi sur deux, en alternance avec les épisodes habituels. => Si vous connaissez quelqu’un que je devrais absolument interviewer, vous pouvez m'envoyer un message sur Instagram : @sexandroses_podcast. N'hésitez pas à me suivre sur Insta. Merci du fond du cœur pour votre écoute, vos retours et vos encouragements. C’est grâce à vous que j’ai l’élan de lancer de nouveaux projets ! Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Aujourd’hui, je voulais te parler d’Eve. C'est une patiente de presque quarante ans, mère de trois enfants, qui en avait ras-le-bol de la contraception. Depuis sa vingtaine, elle a tout essayé : pilules avec effets secondaires en cascade, implant avec spottings constants, stérilet au cuivre qui lui a déclenché des règles ultra abondantes, puis les préservatifs — mais là, elle n’en peut plus. Elle pensait sérieusement à se faire ligaturer les trompes. Je l’ai écoutée, puis je lui ai juste posé une question : est-ce que c’est forcément à elle de porter cette charge contraceptive ? Elle a mis du temps à comprendre où je voulais en venir, puis a deviné : la vasectomie. Elle a ri, persuadée que son compagnon Vincent refuserait catégoriquement. Quelques semaines plus tard, elle revient, un peu gênée mais souriante : ils en ont parlé. Et surprise, Vincent était ouvert. Il a même pris rendez-vous avec moi pour en discuter. Comme quoi, parfois, il suffit juste… d’en parler. Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Depuis quelques mois, j’ai une interne, Manon, ma toute première. D’abord, elle m’observe en consultation, notamment quand je pose des questions sensibles sur la consommation de toxiques et les violences. Elle me confie que cette dernière question lui semble vertigineuse. Au fil du stage, elle prend ma place, mais hésite encore à la poser. Un jour, je lui raconte qu’une amie a apprécié que son médecin lui demande cette question. Je sens que ça la fait réfléchir. Quelques jours plus tard, en consultation, elle se lance enfin et demande à une patiente si elle a vécu des violences. Et la patiente répond oui. Manon accueille la réponse avec calme, pose les bonnes questions et instaure un climat de confiance. Après la consultation, elle réalise que ce n’était pas si insurmontable. Et moi, je suis fière : elle a osé. J’ai vu son évolution, et ça m’a appris des choses sur moi aussi. C’était un beau moment. Et vous, c’est quand la dernière fois que vous avez vu quelqu’un s’émanciper ? Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Camille came back to see me. She needed a sports certificate, but in the middle of the consultation, she opened up. She had read the books I recommended, explored her body, and finally started to enjoy self-pleasure. She smiled as she told me, “I really thought I’d never be able to do it.” She also met someone—a gentle guy. They kissed, shared intimacy, engaged in oral sex. But no penetration yet. “So, I guess I’m still a virgin,” she said hesitantly. I could tell the word weighed on her. We talked about what real sex means. Society conditions us to see it as penetration, but isn’t sex simply about pleasure, connection, and desire? I could see something clicking in her mind—like she needed someone to validate her experience as real, not just a prelude to something else. As we said goodbye, I saw a tear roll down her cheek. She thanked me, her voice breaking. But really, I told her, she should be thanking herself—she did all the work. When she left, I closed the door, let my own tear fall, and took a deep breath. And you—when was the last time you cried because something was beautiful? Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Léna came to see me for itching and increased discharge. A yeast infection—nothing unusual. But as she got dressed, she hesitated, then asked me for a referral to a gynecological surgeon. “For my vulva. You saw it, didn’t you?” At first, I didn’t understand. Then she spelled it out—she thought her labia were too big, ugly, horrible. She wanted surgery to be normal. When I asked what normal meant to her, she looked at me like I was clueless. “Like in movies. In porn.” I felt anger—not at her, but at the society that convinced a 23-year-old her body was something to be ashamed of. I explained how porn distorts reality, how the vulvas she sees are chosen for technical reasons, not because they’re better. I told her about Sex Education, The Vulva Gallery, the actual diversity of bodies. She admitted it was ruining her life, making her avoid cunnilingus, afraid of what partners might think—even though no one had ever actually said anything. I told her I wouldn’t refuse a referral, but she should know why she was doing it and for whom. She said she’d think about it. More and more patients are considering labiaplasty, shaped by impossible beauty standards. Léna’s sexuality is held back by an image of a body that doesn’t exist. And you—what’s holding you back? Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Sophie came to see me because she wasn’t feeling well—trouble sleeping, loss of appetite. She was coming out of a tough breakup. Her ex had left abruptly, moving far away to be with another woman. She wanted to erase him from her memory, even asking if hypnosis could make that happen. When I explained that acceptance doesn’t mean agreeing, just acknowledging reality, she pushed back. “No, I don’t accept,” she said. I had a feeling there was more beneath her pain, so I gently brought up different forms of violence—physical, verbal, financial, psychological, sexual. That’s when her entire demeanor changed. She broke down, sobbing, and said, “But I don’t want to file a complaint.” We had gone from “he was adorable” to “I don’t want to file a complaint” in minutes. I reassured her—no one was forcing her into anything. I told her about the hospital’s victim support unit, family planning services, and local resources. No pressure, just options. She left with contacts, a work note to take some time off, and a follow-up appointment in a few days. It wasn’t what she had come for, but I think, in the end, she felt heard. And I keep thinking about all the other Sophies out there who, one day, suddenly recognize the many faces of violence. And you—do you know a Sophie? Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Laura came to see me for a cat bite on her leg. It wasn’t looking great, so I prescribed antibiotics and asked her to come back in two days. While discussing a possible blood test for the infection, I brought up STI screening, suggesting we do both at once. She shrugged and agreed, but when I asked about unprotected sex, she laughed—completely unbothered. She admitted to having multiple partners but said she simply "doesn’t care" about using condoms. It wasn’t peer pressure—just her personal choice. Her detachment left me unsettled. When she returned for her follow-up, the wound was healing well. I cautiously reopened the conversation about STIs. She admitted she didn’t really grasp the risks and was content staying carefree. Despite my explanations, she remained firm—she would continue having unprotected sex. So, I proposed regular STI screenings every two months. She agreed. A small victory. I also suggested asking partners about their latest tests, but she wasn’t convinced. As she left, headphones back on, I felt a mix of failure, resignation, and reluctant acceptance. In medicine, we can’t force people to change, and that’s as it should be. But it’s tough to accept imperfect care. Laura seems confident, trauma-free, and intelligent—just completely indifferent to STI risks. Still, she keeps coming back. Maybe, in time, something will shift. Laura saw herself as untouchable. I saw myself as powerless. And together, we found a compromise. And you—how do you see the situation? Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Today, I want to tell you about my consultation with Camille. She’s 25, bright, kind, and just passed the bar exam—a future lawyer. She initially came in for knee pain, but our conversation took a completely different turn. Since she was the right age, I brought up cervical screening and enthusiastically explained the process. But when I mentioned that the test detects HPV, she hesitated before asking, “If I’ve never had sex, can I still have HPV?” That’s when I realized—I had assumed she was sexually active when, in fact, she wasn’t. Then, she burst into tears. She confided that she wanted to have sex, felt desire, but couldn’t take the leap. The longer she waited, the harder it seemed. She didn’t know her own body well, had never used tampons, and wasn’t comfortable with masturbation. I suspected vaginismus, though she had no history of trauma that she could recall. Sensing she was open to guidance, I showed her my 3D-printed vulva model and explained the basics of anatomy and pleasure. I recommended books and Instagram accounts about female sexuality, and she eagerly took notes—she’s very academic, after all. But she also carried deep shame, feeling like she was falling behind compared to her friends. I reassured her that there’s no “right” timeline, that her story is her own, and that she has the power to move forward at her own pace, with kindness toward herself. Before she left, she thanked me sincerely, and I could feel her gratitude. It was probably the most meaningful consultation of my week. Her name is Camille, and I hope she sees herself the way I see her—full of promise, just as she is. And you—how do you see Camille? Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.