The No. 1 question I'm asked: "But...is it normal?" The answer is yes.

I can’t tell you how many times I hear some version of that question. 

“But Bella… is that like… normal?” 

Or, “Can you just tell me if something is wrong with me?” 

It’s one of the most common things people ask me. 

So let’s talk about “normal.” 

First of all… what the fuck does that even mean? 

One person’s “normal” doesn’t define anything, especially when it comes to sex and intimacy. In the world of sex and eroticism, almost anything can be someone’s normal (of course, as long as it’s grounded in consent, safety, and mutual willingness). 

So when you find yourself questioning something… your desire, your body, your relationship, your fantasies… what’s actually happening there? 

Because it’s usually not about “normal.” 

It’s about comparison. 

We live in a world where we are constantly, consciously and unconsciously, measuring ourselves against something. Other people. Other relationships. Other bodies. Other sex lives. 

We’re looking for a reference point. 

Something that reassures us- “I’m okay. I’m normal. Nothing is wrong with me.” And the truth is, most of us were never given a real foundation to answer that for ourselves. 

We were never actually taught about sex. Not in a way that reflects how complex, layered, and deeply human it is. 

Not about pleasure. 

Not about desire. 

Not about how to communicate what feels good or what doesn’t. 

Not about how to navigate discomfort, mismatched needs, or difficult conversations. Not about solo sex. Not about partnered sex. Not about the emotional reality of intimacy. 

So of course we look outside of ourselves. 

We absorb it from what’s around us-

Conversations with friends. 

Social media. 

The way sex is portrayed in movies and TV shows. 

What we see in porn. 

Even the stories we read. 

Over time, it becomes our baseline for what’s “normal.” 

And when we live there, constantly comparing, constantly searching for something outside of us to confirm that we’re okay, we actually start to lose contact with what’s happening inside of us. 

Instead of understanding what’s showing up in our own bodies, our reactions, our desires, and our discomfort, we bypass it. 

We leave ourselves. 

And we start adopting someone else’s expectations, someone else’s version of what’s “right,” as if it’s our own. 

Even when it doesn’t actually fit. 

That’s where these beliefs start to take shape: 

“If they were attracted to me, they would initiate.” 

“Sex should be easy.” 

“If we were compatible, this would feel natural.” 

“If I have to ask for it, it’s not genuine.” 

But those aren’t truths. 

They’re interpretations. 

Stories built on incomplete information, comparison, and a lack of real guidance. They’re shaped by culture, shame, stress, trauma, hormones, relationships, timing, and context. 

And when you don’t have a grounded understanding of your own experience, those stories can start to feel like facts. 

So instead of asking, “Is this normal?” a more useful question might be: 

“Where did I learn this should be different?” 

“What am I actually feeling here?” 

“What is my body trying to tell me?” 

“What do I need, want, or not understand yet?” 

Because the goal isn’t to fit yourself into some external version of “normal.”

It’s to stay connected to yourself long enough to understand what’s actually true for you.