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/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.