"I'm trying to practice consent but it feels cringe"

First of all, thank you for being so real about this. I get what you're saying, and to be honest, I’ve felt this same tension and awkwardness in my own sexual encounters — overthinking every move, wanting to be respectful and sexy, but instead ending up in my head.

A lot of people want sex and consent to flow naturally, but human intimacy is far more complex. It’s emotional. It’s layered. It’s full of uncertainty. And yeah, sometimes it’s awkward.

I think part of that awkwardness comes from how consent has been framed as this non-negotiable necessity — which it absolutely is — but we’re often taught to think about it in a really black-and-white way: “No means no” and “Yes means yes.” While those are important foundations, they can give the impression that consent is a one-time verbal checkpoint. Like there’s a script: ask a question, get a response, proceed.

On top of that, many of us have grown up believing that “good sex” is supposed to be effortless and spontaneous, like in the movies where no one talks and everything just magically works. But in real life, people are full of contradictions. You can want something and still feel really nervous. You can be turned on and still need reassurance. You can be in the middle of things and suddenly realize that you’ve changed your mind. Real sex isn’t always smooth sailing. It’s full of weird sounds, uncomfortable pauses, miscommunications, and little moments of “wait, what’s happening?” Consent isn’t separate from that — it’s part of it, and full of nuance.

I don’t always know what I want when it comes to sex, and I have to figure it out as I go. There’s a lot of vulnerability in that, and that’s okay. A big part of practicing consent is being able to show up as your whole, present self in each moment (even if that self is unsure or anxious). It also means making space for your partner to do the same.

When two (or more) people are navigating their own boundaries, desires, and emotions all at once, of course it’s going to feel a little messy. But that doesn’t mean you’re doing sex or consent wrong.

One thing that helped shift my perspective was seeing consent less as a contract or a one-time permission slip, and more as a practice — something active, ongoing, imperfect, and deeply human. It’s a skill you build and grow over time — not just with your partner(s), but with yourself.
It’s not about checking a box — it’s about being present, curious, and communicative, even if that communication is a little weird at first.

So with all of this in mind, here’s the definition of consent I’ve landed on:

Consent is a practice that involves navigating your own desires, body, and boundaries, as well as navigating your partner’s — and communicating to figure out what feels good together.

The more we think of consent as a practice or a mindset, the less pressure there is to say the “right” thing. You don’t have to sit down on the edge of the bed and have a full debrief of your sexual history, boundaries, and preferences before anything happens — although you totally can if that feels good for you! Practicing consent doesn’t always look like a formal conversation. Sometimes it’s about entering the moment with the understanding that you and your partner bring different wants, needs, and boundaries to the table (or bed), and are open to discovering them together.

When that kind of mutual care and respect is the baseline, you can stay connected and communicate as you go. For example, if you're kissing and decide to put your hand on their thigh, you can ask, “Do you like it when I touch you like that?” or “Is this okay?” or “What do you want right now?” These check-ins can be playful, curious, and sexy. And now consent is part of the experience — not an interruption to it.

This is also where nonverbal communication becomes powerful. Our bodies communicate too. Eye contact, leaning in, guiding someone’s hand, pulling your partner closer, moaning, relaxing into touch — these are all ways we can express a yes without words. Just as importantly, there are cues that communicate a no, like freezing, pulling away, tensing up, or going silent.

Paying attention to someone’s body language isn’t the same as assuming or guessing what someone wants based on how their body responds. That can lead to misunderstanding, especially when you factor in arousal non-concordance (when the body responds physically — like getting wet or hard — even if the mind isn’t on board). Instead, it’s about noticing the ways people express comfort, discomfort, pleasure, and desire. Does your partner seem present? Are they moving toward you or pulling away? Are they initiating or engaging in touch? These things don’t replace asking or checking in, but they do add to the fuller picture. Consent lives in that energy exchange.

It’s funny because I used to think I was “doing” consent wrong.

I thought if we didn’t pause for a formal yes/no conversation, I must be missing something. But when I think back, it’s not like we were skipping anything — we just didn’t realize we were already in a feedback loop. We were tuned into each other, reading the energy, asking things mid-moment, adjusting based on how it felt. That’s consent!

Still, mistakes can happen. Boundaries can get crossed, even when intentions are good. This is a huge missing piece in most consent education. A big part of practicing consent is being able to recognize when you’ve misread a signal or made a misstep, take accountability, and commit to doing better. It also means respecting if your partner sets a boundary in response to that. That’s the nuance I’m talking about. And I want to give a lot of credit here to consent educator Sarah Casper (@comprehensiveconsent), whose work helped shape how I now think and talk about consent.

Here are a few things that might help consent feel less awkward:

• Reframe it: Consent isn’t a checkbox — it’s an ongoing conversation and a shared experience.
• Stay present: Tune into your partner’s responses — not just their words, but their energy, body language, and tone.
• Explore your own desires: Get to know what you like through solo pleasure so you can share it with more confidence and clarity.
• Name the awkwardness: It’s totally okay to say, “Hey, I know this might sound a little awkward, but I want to make sure you’re feeling good.”
• Check in afterwards: Talk about what felt good and what could be different next time.
• Give yourself grace: You’re learning. Consent is a skill, not a performance.

I love that you’re having these conversations with your friends. That means you’re already on the right path and probably practicing consent in more ways than you even realize. You’ve got this!