I Have a Master’s in Human Sexuality, So Why Don’t I Talk About Sex with My Veterans?

For those who may not know, in May 2024, I earned my Master of Education in Human Sexuality from Widener University, a milestone that deepened my commitment to helping others talk openly about this often-silent topic. Yet, I find it somewhat ironic that in my work with veterans, active duty, & their families, conversations about sexuality rarely happen. When they do, it’s usually in the context of the sexually harmful or exploitative.

More often, the topic never surfaces at all, sometimes because I’m a woman, sometimes because I’m not a survivor, but most commonly because I’m a “civilian.” These otherizing labels create a subtle yet significant wall between me and the person sitting across from me.

It’s only with time, trust, and a bit of boldness that conversations about sex begin to surface. In those moments, I often find myself seen as a “jack of all trades, master of none," tasked with untangling the complexities of human intimacy. Within a single session, I’m expected to identify the cause, understand the context, and offer solutions to someone’s most personal questions and concerns about sexuality. Now, how realistic is that?

Especially within a culture where discussions about sexuality can challenge deeply held ideas about masculinity, femininity, and what’s considered “normal”? Likewise, when privacy is limited, and stigma often runs deep, vulnerability around sexual identity or functioning can feel almost impossible.

Many veterans carry unspoken messages from their time in service, that personal needs should be suppressed, that emotional or physical struggles signal weakness, or that sexual concerns aren’t “real problems.” For LGBTQ+ service members, survivors of MST, or those navigating intimacy after injury or deployment, these cultural norms don’t just silence the conversation; they can reinforce shame, isolation, and disconnection from self and partner.

If I'm being honest, many therapists and social workers hesitate to initiate conversations about sexuality, even when we understand its relevance. Part of this stems from our training. Most graduate programs devote limited time to sexual health, pleasure, or sexual functioning, and even less to how these topics intersect with trauma, culture, and identity. Without a framework or language for these discussions, avoidance can feel safer than stumbling through unfamiliar territory.

Then there’s the emotional side. Talking about sex requires comfort with discomfort, both with our clients’ and our own. For clinicians, bringing up sexuality can trigger personal insecurities, cultural conditioning, or fears of crossing professional boundaries. Some worry about misinterpreting intent or opening a door they won’t know how to close. When working with military populations, those fears can multiply. The power dynamics, cultural expectations, and history of institutional mistrust between veterans and civilian providers can make these conversations even more delicate. Clinicians might worry about offending, overstepping, or appearing unqualified to understand the military experience.

Yet in avoiding the topic, we risk reinforcing the very stigma we hope to dismantle. Silence, even well-intentioned, can communicate discomfort, and people can pick up on that quickly. As a clinician, my role is not to fix someone's sexuality; it would be pretentious to think I could, degree or not. Nonetheless, it is my role to make human sexuality speakable. To encourage my military clients, who are trained to endure rather than express, how to integrate identity, body, and emotion in ways that support long-term healing & personal liberation, one awkward conversation at a time.