She Thought Something Was 'Wrong' with Her Body. A TV Show Helped Her Find the Answer (Exclusive)

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Karren Lovejoy had sensed something was wrong with her body since she was a teenager, but couldn't explain why
It wasn't until she watched Sex Education that she finally heard the word 'vaginismus' — and everything began to make sense
Now, with support from her husband and the Reddit community, Karren is sharing her story on TikTok to help others feel less aloneKarren Lovejoy never imagined her journey to intimacy would be shared with millions, but her candid TikTok confession about vaginismus has shattered the silence around a condition many women suffer through in isolation.
'So, I was a virgin until I got married,' she shares in her now-viral TikTok clip. 'And I'm probably thinking, 'Oh, you did this very noble thing of saving yourself for marriage.' No, not really. I just simply couldn't.'
She first realized something wasn't right when she tried to use a tampon as a teenager. 'It didn't feel like there was any way a tampon could go in there,' Karren tells PEOPLE. 'It just felt like it was blocked, like there was a wall.'
That same wall, both literal and emotional, returned years later when she attempted penetrative sex for the first time. 'I was just crossing my fingers that magically it would work,' she says. 'But in the back of my head, I knew it wouldn't.'
The emotional toll of those early experiences ran deep. 'It was confusing and frustrating, because I felt like something so easy and simple for everyone was not easy and simple for me,' she says.
'I just had this lingering feeling like something was wrong with me,' Karren continues. 'Like I was broken in a way that no one else seemed to be.'
After a second painful attempt at sex, Karren knew it wasn't something that would resolve on its own. Around that time, she watched the show Sex Education, where a character experienced vaginismus, and for the first time, she had a name for what she was experiencing.
'I was like, okay, I think I have a name for this thing, and I'm just gonna go to my gyno and see what's going on,' she recalls. 'I told her, 'I don't think I have a hole,' and she looked and said, 'Well, you do. It's just very small. You need to see a physical therapist because you have vaginismus.' '
Hearing a name for what had plagued her for so long was a revelation. 'It was the first time I felt like I wasn't imagining it,' Karren says.
Even before that appointment, Karren had already been trying to make sense of her body. 'I searched on Reddit and found the vaginismus thread, and I was like, okay, people are actually talking about it,' she says.
But in her everyday life, no one had heard of it. 'Not my mom, not my friends — it just wasn't something anyone was talking about,' she explains.
Karren's journey into pelvic floor therapy began soon after. 'I remember the first few sessions weren't even physical, they were more like talking therapy, which took me by surprise,' she says.
Her therapist focused on mindset and body connection before anything else. 'We did breathing exercises, stretches and movements that helped me realize I had never felt like my body was mine,' Karren explains.
For the first time, she learned that healing wasn't just about mechanics. 'I think I had been on autopilot for most of my life, and this was the first time I started to see that I could be one with my body,' she says.
Just as things began to improve, the COVID-19 pandemic interrupted her progress. 'When we had to switch to telehealth, it felt like starting from square one,' she shares.
Alone in her room, Karren tried to stay committed, but fear crept back in. 'I knew if I was left to my own devices, I would ignore my body again because it was scary,' she says.
The idea of penetration was still daunting. 'Even though I wanted it, deep down it just felt invasive and terrifying,' Karren says.
Eventually, encouraged by stories she read on Reddit, she bought a set of vaginal dilators. 'I had them for a year and didn't touch them,' she admits. 'The idea of putting something up there just didn't sit right with me.'
What finally pushed her forward was love — specifically, meeting her future husband. 'When we knew it was serious, I told him about the vaginismus,' she says. 'And he said, 'Okay, what do we have to do to fix it?' '
They began scheduling 'dilator meetings' while Karren was still in college. 'He'd be on the phone with me, playing calming Japanese onsen music,' she laughs. 'I would cry beforehand, but knowing he was there helped.'
Using the first dilator was a breakthrough. 'It was like, whoa…this is actually possible,' Karren says.
That support made all the difference. 'It meant a lot, because he didn't see it as something strange or shameful,' she says. 'He prioritized my needs over his, and that kind of patience is so rare. When your partner is gentle and understanding, it makes you feel safe enough to open up.'
Even so, the path wasn't painless. 'After months of using the dilators, I could finally put in a tampon, and I thought, 'Okay, I can do this,'' she says. 'Then I got married, and on our wedding night, I screamed bloody murder.'
That night wasn't a miracle moment, but a milestone. 'The pain was still there, but I wasn't alone anymore,' she says.
Karren's body had learned to associate sex with pain, and rewiring that response took time. 'I didn't look forward to it, because I just had a feeling like it was gonna hurt,' she says.
But the safety her husband created helped her slowly peel away the fear. 'That gentleness, that understanding — it helped bring down the walls,' Karren says. 'It just kept getting better and better.'
Now, sex feels different — not just physically, but emotionally. 'It feels empowering,' she says. 'I finally feel like I can experience intimacy the way people talk about it.'
Sharing that journey online wasn't an easy choice. 'I had already talked about it on YouTube, but TikTok was different. It spreads faster, and it's scarier,' Karren tells PEOPLE. For weeks, she delayed posting the video, unsure how it would be received. 'I kept feeling a nudge to just do it, and I'm so glad I did,' she says.
The flood of messages she received afterward was overwhelming. 'So many people DM'd me, saying they thought they were strange or broken,' Karren says. 'It reminded me how many of us are walking around feeling alone.'
She hopes her story helps dispel common myths about vaginismus. 'People think it means your vagina is just really tiny. That's not true,' she says. 'It's often more mental than physical.'
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There are other conditions that can mimic it, too, she points out. 'Like vulvodynia or a hymen that's blocking the entrance,' Karren says. 'So it's important to see a professional and not try to guess on your own.'
Karren also wants the medical community to catch up. 'Some gynecologists understood, and some just didn't,' she says. 'It felt very dismissive, like, 'Well, this is the tool we use…deal with it.' '
She believes the first step is simply talking about it. 'Once something has a name, it becomes easier to explain, easier to ask for help,' she says.
Today, Karren's relationship with her body is unrecognizable from where it began. 'It's significantly improved my confidence and my autonomy,' she says. 'I used to feel like I had no control over anything.'
That change has trickled into every part of her life. 'Now I know I can do hard things, advocate for myself, and speak up,' she says. 'I feel like I'm in control now.'
For those just starting their journey, she has one simple message: it is possible. 'I never thought I'd wear a tampon, let alone have sex,' Karren says. 'But it's possible.'
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