The man I was dating publicly shamed my sex preferences after we broke up. I learned to stand up for what I want.

Ansgar Schwarz – EyeEm/Getty Images My ex’s and my differences when it came to sex and intimacy pushed me to seek professional advice.   We had been dating for two months before we went on a date to a sex workshop. After we broke up, he published an article calling me a manipulative sex addict.

  My date bounced his leg for the entirety of our 90-minute couples’ workshop at a SoHo sex boutique. As the teachers discussed communication and lubrication, he squeezed my hand. After the lesson, he fled to the restroom.

  I was unsure how to react. Raised in a strict Irish-Catholic family in the Midwest, I’d worked hard to emerge from my sheltered past. As a 33-year-old dancer-turned-lawyer, I’d been dating the handsome writer — who was almost 20 years my senior at the time — for two months.

While his intellect and humor kept me intrigued on dates and in his frequent emails, his performance in bed left me wanting, despite the fact that he’d been having sex longer than I had been alive. Our sex preferences weren’t alignedMany times over the preceding weeks, he had asked to be exclusive. I tried to help our sex life without telling him directly that I struggled, because I was worried that I’d hurt him.

I coaxed him to tell me what he wanted to do to me in bed, so I could be more mentally engaged. But talking dirty wasn’t his forte. I sent him a spicy email, and his reply was, “Er, uh, um, having a difficult time putting words together into coherent sentences.

” I gave him a coupon book of sex acts that left him uninspired. I needed professional help.  Four days after our workshop — in the middle of a stressful workday — he dumped me via email.

 He left a voicemail, too, then emailed again saying I had hurt his feelings because I hadn’t responded to a message. I felt an unexpected relief that our relationship was over.  The following week he sent me a massive bouquet of roses with a card that read: “I miss you.

I’m sorry. Second chance?” Given his plea, I suggested meeting in Central Park.  We broke up again”You need to work on your intimacy issues.

You keep bailing,” he snapped as we walked. “But, you dumped me,” I replied calmly.  “You dumped me back,” he shouted.

I felt like a child being reprimanded. “If you’re not happy, then we shouldn’t date. It’s been only eight weeks! No hard feelings.

We just aren’t the right fit,” I finally said.  He stormed off. He sent emails about the “Walk of Doom,” saying I’d used the walk to break up with him.

He told me to print his messages and bring them to a therapist ASAP to work on my “insanity. ” In the following weeks, he sent more emails. One warned about an explosion in my neighborhood.

Another was about a show we’d seen winning a Tony Award. In another, he apologized for having said mean things to me.  Months passed.

I checked his website, curious if he had yet published the book he’d been writing. Instead, I spotted a new article he’d written in a major magazine and gasped. A photo of a leather-clad woman in heels with a whip stood commanding my computer screen.

The author lamented about a manipulative sex addict, whose physical demands ruined his dreams of their happily ever after. The woman’s career, hobbies, and name left no doubt in my mind who she was: me! My fingers flew, typing an email to the man I’d briefly dated. But then, I paused.

I could continue to be his villain, but shame would not be part of my sexuality. I had to learn to be open to pleasure and see my body as beautiful, not something to be punished for.  I hit delete.

I was the hero in my own life.  Read the original article on Insider.