Consent, intimacy and learning to listen

Recent discussions about s*exual misconduct surrounding the Russell Brand case have made me think about consent and how well we really understand it.

Consent is a complex subject, with many nuances that are worth exploring, particularly when desire, vulnerability, expectations, power dynamics and emotions are involved.

I think consent should be a natural part of intimacy, something we feel comfortable talking about openly, even outside an intimate encounter. We can have conversations about what we enjoy, what makes us uncomfortable, what our boundaries are and how we like to communicate them. The more familiar we become with these conversations, the easier it may be to recognise and express our feelings when we're actually sharing an intimate moment with someone.

And consent extends far beyond sexuality. It is present in our everyday lives, in our ability to recognise when something feels right for us, when it doesn't, and when we're simply unsure. How often do we say yes because we don't want to disappoint someone, because we feel obliged, or because saying no seems too uncomfortable?

Imagine someone agreeing to s*ex because they don't want to disappoint their partner or someone who eventually agrees because the other person keeps insisting, and giving in feels easier than continuing to refuse.

They may have said yes, but was it a decision they made freely?

Of course, we sometimes choose intimacy even when we aren't initially in the mood, and that can be a perfectly valid choice. What matters is that we genuinely feel free to decide, without pressure or fear of the other person's reaction.

Something I've come to understand more recently is that people don't always respond to uncomfortable situations by saying no. Some freeze, others become quiet, withdraw or try to please the other person because they feel frightened or overwhelmed. These reactions can happen automatically, and a lack of physical or verbal resistance doesn't necessarily mean consent.

Agreeing to one thing doesn't mean agreeing to everything, either. A kiss isn't an invitation for s*ex, and being naked with someone doesn't mean that every part of their body is available to be touched. We can also change our minds at any moment, even about something we were enjoying a few minutes earlier, and we don't need to justify that decision.

I think this is where paying attention to one another becomes so important.

Consent is a shared responsibility, although two people may not always have the same awareness of their own boundaries or the confidence to communicate them. One person might be more experienced, more comfortable speaking openly or simply more familiar with the subject. When that's the case, I think they have an opportunity to bring greater care into the experience, to start a conversation, to check in and to make sure the other person feels genuinely comfortable. Someone's uncertainty, inexperience or difficulty expressing a boundary should never be taken advantage of.

There are also situations where consent becomes more complicated because of an imbalance of power. A boss, therapist or influential public figure may hold a position that makes it difficult for someone to refuse, even without an explicit threat. In some professional relationships, s*exual involvement is inappropriate regardless of apparent agreement.

Alcohol and drugs can also affect our ability to make decisions. Someone who is unconscious, asleep or too intoxicated to understand what is happening cannot consent.

Someone once explained this to me in a way that stayed with me: you wouldn't enter into an important business agreement with someone who was drunk because you couldn't trust their judgement in that moment. Why would we treat a decision involving their body and intimacy with any less care?

I've also heard people say that asking for consent takes away the spontaneity of intimacy, but I don't think it has to. A gentle "Does this feel good?", "Would you like me to continue?" or "Is this okay?" can be a beautiful part of an intimate exchange.

We can pay attention to someone's body language, their enthusiasm and the way they respond to our touch, although these things aren't always easy to interpret. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is simply ask.

And the answer might be yes, no, or maybe.

I think we should make more room for that maybe, for the moments when someone needs a little time to understand what they're feeling, without being hurried towards a decision. Uncertainty isn't permission to continue, and there is nothing wrong with slowing down or stopping altogether. (Maybe is not a yes).

Another important part of consent is learning how to receive a no.

Rejection can hurt, particularly when we're feeling vulnerable ourselves, but we can learn to sit with that disappointment without making the other person feel guilty or responsible for it. We can respect someone's decision without becoming cold, resentful or trying to persuade them to change their mind.

And perhaps we can begin practising all of this in much smaller ways, in our ordinary interactions with people. Noticing when we agree to things we don't really want, becoming more comfortable expressing our preferences, and paying attention when someone else seems hesitant or uncomfortable. We can also help children develop a sense of bodily autonomy and respect for other people's boundaries from an early age.

I'm certainly no expert in consent, and the more I learn, the more I realise how subtle and interesting the subject is. One resource I find particularly valuable is the Wheel of Consent, developed by Dr Betty Martin, which offers a structured way of exploring touch, choice, boundaries and the different dynamics of giving and receiving.

But we don't need to understand every nuance before we begin. We can start simply, by becoming more curious about our own yes, no and maybe, and by checking in with the people around us.

I sometimes wonder whether we become so focused on our own desires that we forget to remain curious about the person in front of us. What feels wonderful to one person may feel uncomfortable to another, and what someone enjoyed yesterday may not be what they want today.

I'd love for us to make conversations about consent feel ordinary and welcome, something that naturally belongs in our understanding of intimacy and in the way we relate to one another.

There is something so beautiful about being with someone who is interested in how you feel, who gives you room to express yourself and who cares about your experience as much as their own.

Love,

Rosie x