It’s likely that most men haven’t considered offering an apology to their penis, though perhaps they should.

In the early days of my profession as a sex coach, I frequently encountered a recurring theme: men criticizing their own bodies—particularly their penis—for not meeting their expectations.

Too slow. Too quick. Not firm enough. Not dependable enough.

I often thought to myself: You wouldn’t speak to a friend this harshly, especially one who has been there during some of the most significant experiences of your life. A companion who has been a part of creating children and one you rely on for stress relief, connection, and intimacy with your partner.

This led me to introduce an unusual task for my clients: compose a letter to your penis.

Not a humorous or sarcastic note, but a sincere one. A letter that conveys gratitude and acknowledges everything it has done for them.

For a while, this worked, until one client changed how I understood the exercise entirely.

He was a widower in his 60s who had just sent his youngest daughter off to college. After years of grief and caretaking, he finally felt ready to date again. But when it came time to actually putting himself back out there, his confidence evaporated.

Caitlin V is a popular sex and relationship coach. She has encouraged men to write a letter to their penis

Men often berate their bodies for not performing exactly the way they expect it to

The week after I gave him the letter assignment, he showed up to our session empty-handed.

He told me he couldn’t write it.

Not because he didn’t care – but because gratitude felt premature. What he really needed to do, he said, was apologize.

What followed was one of the most emotionally honest moments I’ve ever witnessed in my work. His letter wasn’t flowery or sexual. It was direct and raw. 

He apologized for the pressure. For the resentment. For the years of treating his body like a machine that had failed him instead of a part of himself that had survived loss, stress, and change.

It showed me that by jumping straight to gratitude, I’d skipped the most important step.

When I later began writing my book, Harder, Better, Stronger, Longer, I didn’t expect this exercise to raise eyebrows. I assumed it would be one of the quieter tools – private, effective, almost unremarkable. 

Instead, it’s the one people keep asking me about, usually with a laugh at first, followed by a pause that tells me something uncomfortable just clicked.

Caitlin encouraged her clients to first apologize then thank their penis for its loyal service

Sexual dysfunction – including erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, and delayed ejaculation – is at an all-time high

Most of us are taught to relate to our bodies as tools of performance. We measure them by output and reliability – how much they can lift, how long they can last, whether they show up on command. When they don’t, we label them as broken or failing.

Psychologists call this a performance-based self-worth system. In plain terms, it means we tie our sense of worth to how well our bodies ‘work.’ And nowhere is that relationship more intense – or more unforgiving – than in the way men relate to their genitals.

Get up on demand. Stay up exactly as long as required. Finish at precisely the right moment – not too soon, not too late.

And yet, despite all that pressure, sexual dysfunction is at an all-time high. Erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, delayed ejaculation – these issues are becoming more common, not less. Ironically, the harder men try to control performance, the more elusive it becomes.

There’s a reason for this. When a man feels pressure to perform, his body activates its stress response. That’s useful if you’re running from danger. It’s terrible if you’re trying to get aroused. Stress and erections are biological opposites.

In other words, your penis isn’t a machine that needs more force. It’s more like a relationship that’s been neglected.

And just like in any relationship, sometimes the thing standing between you and connection isn’t effort – it’s repair.

That’s where the apology comes in.

Your penis isn’t a machine that needs more force; it’s more like a relationship that’s been neglected, says Caitlin

I don’t give my clients a script, but I do give them a simple structure. A good apology – whether to a partner, a friend, or yes, even your own body – has a few core elements:

You name the impact.

You take responsibility (without excuses or the word ‘but’).

And you say how you’ll try to do better going forward.

For some men, that means admitting they’ve spent years wishing their penis were bigger, thicker, or different. Acknowledging embarrassment about foreskin, circumcision scars, or comparison. Apologizing for using sex as stress management rather than connection. For only paying attention when they needed something.

The key isn’t just writing it down – it’s actually feeling it. The grief, frustration, shame, even sadness that comes with realizing how harshly you’ve treated a part of yourself.

That’s the uncomfortable part. It’s also the transformative one.

Once that’s done, then gratitude becomes accessible. Not forced or performative, but genuine. Gratitude shifts the body out of stress and into a state that supports arousal, pleasure, and connection.

Ironically, the harder men try to control performance, the more elusive it becomes

This is where men remember firsts. Meaningful moments. Long relationships. Private jokes. Shared pleasure. Even if someone has never had partnered sex, there is still a lifetime of experiences to acknowledge.

And yes, you can include hopes for the future too.

One client of mine had grown up in a strict religious environment, and only upon writing his letter did he realize the baseline of shame and disgust that had formed his relationship to his penis. 

After writing the letter he was able to experience desire without guilt for the first time, breaking free of one of the remaining tendrils of his former faith.

Another client discovered through the letter writing process how much he resented his body for aging and needing care, and how that resentment had kept him from experiencing intimacy. 

This awareness allowed him to forgive himself, grieve the things he had lost, and start fresh with a new partner in his late sixties.

A particularly driven and ambitious client revealed through this process that he was basically incapable of generating kindness towards himself, as he’d believed relentless self-criticism was the secret to his success. The letter revealed how that same inner voice had made intimacy with his partner nearly impossible. 

For the first time, he saw that kindness toward himself didn’t threaten his ambition, it actually allowed for deeper connection and a more balanced life.

Just like in any relationship, sometimes the thing standing between you and connection isn’t effort – it’s repair, she says

I should be clear: these letters are private. I don’t read them. They aren’t meant to be shared. This is personal work, and your relationship with your body doesn’t require an audience.

Some men keep the letter. Others burn it, bury it, or destroy it. The outcome matters far less than the act of writing itself. The value is in slowing down long enough to repair a relationship most men don’t realize they’re in conflict with.

It may sound unorthodox. But so is spending decades resenting a part of your body that’s been with you through every high point and heartbreak – doing its best under impossible expectations.

Writing a letter is easier than fighting your nervous system. And apologizing is often the first step toward peace.

So write it. He’s earned it.

Caitlin V is a certified sex coach and the author of Harder, Better, Stronger, Longer: Science, Skills, and Secrets for the Best Sex of Your Life, published by Hay House, January 27 and available to preorder. She also hosts HBO Max’s Good Sex.