I must have been only seven or eight years old when my mother slid open the frosted glass shower door, catching me as I explored my clitoris in the privacy of the tub. Her eyes flew open wide and she gasped as if it were the most horrific thing she had ever happened upon. She snatched me by my arm until I stood naked on the blue bath mat, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. I’m certain it must have stung at least a little when the palm of her hand connected with my wet thigh two, maybe three times, but what I remember from that moment were her words; the judgement on her brow. She scolded me, pointing her manicured finger at my face while saying I was to never EVER touch my privates again, that doing so was a sin and God would know if I did. The ‘God card’ is funny when I think about it now, because my mother is and always has been about as religious as my shoe.
My mother never spoke of that incident again, and it was her reaction that sparked the feeling that something was wrong with me for my sexual urges. It didn’t stop me from evolving into a very sexual creature, but the feeling of defectiveness plagued me for thirty-something years. I don’t ever want either of my children to feel the sex or self-pleasure they choose is shameful and dirty. So the Saturday morning my teenage daughter sat cross-legged on the center of the kitchen island while I made coffee, I let out a breath and went for it.
“If you haven’t looked at yourself with a mirror, you need to,” I said as I leaned against the counter across from her, drinking coffee from my pink ‘Queen of Everything’ mug. “And don’t think it’s weird to do so, because it’s not.”
She nodded, surprisingly not mortified that her mother had just suggested she examine the reflection of her most intimate parts, so I took that as a green light to continue the conversation. From there, I slid gracefully into masturbation, making sure she understood it’s perfectly natural and something she should never let anyone make her feel ashamed of.
“Look at it this way, if you don’t know what you like or don’t like, how are you going to tell someone else when that time comes?”
“True. Do we have waffles?”
And just like that, she took control, closing the topic without so much as a pregnant pause. I smiled inwardly, proud of the girl who is like me in ways she has yet to realize.
My daughter is sixteen and the relationship I have with her is the polar opposite of the one I had with my mother when I was her age. Hell, the one I still have. I’ve worked hard to make sure she knows she can come to me with ANYTHING without fear of judgement. I don’t break a sweat or dance awkwardly around topics that make most parents, I assume, terribly uncomfortable. I talk openly with her about sex and safety, pubic hair options and the pros and cons of it, slut-shaming, BDSM, and the newest feather to my sex-positive parenting cap, masturbation. Some of my friends are horrified by the words that pass between mother and child, saying they would never talk with their children about such things. They judge me a little, but that’s okay because I know my kids will be equipped with the knowledge they need, and I’m pretty sure that makes me the best mom ever.
So mine are 9 and 5 and boys so it’s different but not really. Clearly we’re not at that level yet but SSir did come home the other day to a conversation between myself and the 9yo in which we were discussing using “penis” and “testicles” instead of wiener and nuts. I am uncomfortable because I’m not used to actually speaking the words but I try hard never to appear disconcerted because I want to be able to have these convos with the boys, unlike my mother who refused to discuss sex with me. Ever. In that same discussion I learned that he and his friends are still relatively innocent because they don’t have any slang for a woman/girls vagina. I think he was mildly shocked to discover that we had anything down there to begin with, lol. Stay innocent for a few more years, my child.
Learning to disregard our parents is sometime our best defense, and offense toward becoming our true selves.
Some of the stories I have heard about a person’s introduction to masturbation makes my heart bleed and my tears flow.
Deni
You are an amazing mom! I was raised in a religious family, that eroded in great flaming discord, my father’s possessions spread across the front lawn, when my mother decided to embrace her long-subdued inner-nymph and divorced my sweet, never said a bad word against anyone dad (even, I recently learned when she called his home in Kansas and played a recording she made of her screwing a current boytoy, nor when she got the code for his gated community when he returned home to Arizona with his lovely new wife, to take nude photos of herself in their front yard–during the day-in a gated community- the type where there are many conservative stay at home mamas peering out their windows and watching the train wreck that was my mother’s self-shot naked photo session- photos she included in the card to my dad & stepmom in that year’s Christmas card.)
So, the sexual messages and rules at home went to God-will-be-furious-if-you touch-yourself to my mother buying things she ought not to have for my younger sister, her friends and boyfriends, and for the short time I continued living with her, inviting a homeless punk I met that day at a coffee shop to move in with us, and sharing how to go about losing my virginity to him. Any other men brought to the house were pounced upon by my pretty much constantly depressed, drunk and drugged mom. Women I was interested in that came home with me were ignored.
Many years later after I became a mom to my first daughter, my mother tried to play the slut card on me and proclaimed to anyone that would listen that she would do a much better job raising my daughter. I released long silent judgement in a loud, long laugh, stopped speaking to her, moved out of state, had my second daughter, moved back, but only after I researched the laws about grandparent rights, because she is still a depressed addict (as I was for a time-hence her threats) and made sure there was no way my girls would end up in her care, even if I died.
Now, moving on from my whacky, messed up growth and obliteration of any talk of safe sex, self pleasure, the very important and real reason to teach children- regardless of gender- how to say no to sexual advances and how to defend themselves if “no” is not respected, after experiencing wonderful sex and horrific rape, being slut shamed and almost losing my first daughter in divorce court, where the judge determined I was an unfit mom because I was sexually active outside my marriage- an arrangement agreed upon prior to marriage by my second husband, but one he became unhappy with.
I have told my eldest at 8 what is appropriate for now- mainly that her discovery at 6 of self pleasure is perfectly normal and wonderful, but needs to be done in her bedroom, and what to do if anyone other than parents or a doctor in my presence needs to see her private parts. I am glad she has learned how to explore on her own, and I am doing my damnedest to raise her and her 3-year old sister in a healthy, happy, loving home. As you did with your teenage daughter, I will be more open when they are older.
One of my primary goals as a mother is to provide an example of what a happy, respectful loving, sexual relationship looks like, and to teach them how to be strong, passionate women who go after all they want in life and unlike me, will never end up believing that any other person’s happiness comes before their own or at their expense. They are much too young to know mama was raped- I doubt this is something I will share until they are adults, but I will help teach them the many ways to respect and defend their bodies. At times I am scared about the possible threats in any of our daughters’ futures, but I know that the best way to teach them, love them and care for my two beloved daughters is to show them the wonderful possibilities in life, not the danger lurking behind corners. I want them to be empowered and powerful, not scared of the shadows and bad guys. Thank you for being an amazing mama and sharing your stories. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Fellow best mom ever. Well done. I take the same approach with my daughters. Hadn’t thought about letting them know about the mirror… But good advice after a girlfriend showed me a medical montage of pussies. They come in all shapes and sizes, and whichever one we have is okay. Mine looks completely different after 3 kids- and I love it. The longer flap gives my lover something to chew on (probably save that one for if/when my daughters embark on starting a family… Like in 20 more years). Keep those juices flowing!