Moms Masturbate Too, You Know

If women masturbating is taboo, then the notion of a mother masturbating is either dismissed as an aberration, or more likely, just not considered. But becoming a mother doesn’t end our personal relationships with our vulvas.

Despite a recent Kinsey report that points out that 85% of women masturbate, this popular form of self-love is missing in our cultural narrative around sex—especially if you are a mother.

Most genres of western pop culture are as comfortable showing a woman masturbating as they are in articulating the notion that many women actually really enjoy receiving oral sex. There are some exceptions, like those porn moments when a woman masturbates for the gaze of the “topless plumber,” or the occasional innuendoed reference to masturbation where everyone is supposed to understand this as a metaphorical nod to self-discovery.

But, outside of the manufactured moments of pornography, female masturbation is rarely acceptable fodder for pop culture, least of all is it a go-ahead daily activity for the ladies. In sharp contrast, men and masturbation are an almost expected coupling, underlined by jokes, memorable moments in film, and superstition.

If women masturbating is taboo, then the notion of a mother masturbating is either dismissed as an aberration, or more likely, just not considered. As many writers and thinkers have explored, birthing and mothering a child renders most mothers as unsexed—as if through birth they empty themselves of all sexual agency. No one wants to think about mothers having sex of any kind, not even if they are having it by themselves. “Your Mama” jokes are effective because mothers, in the experience of bearing and rearing their offspring, become removed from most sexual conversations—to the detriment of themselves and to the detriment of our cultural comfort around all things sexy-sex.

Mothers, in all variations of their potential existence in and out of the home, are depicted as exhausted, headached, slacked jean-wearing, faceless beings, without time for sex lives that extend beyond the assumed urge to produce a second, third, or fourth child.

The truth is, most women masturbate. Some of us talk about it, increasingly so after the age of 25, and with an honesty that leads to a sharing of resources, sources, and realities. Although hormones, body changes, and the evolving demands of carrying, birthing, and then raising another human being all lead to fluctuations in desire for any sexual play—even with ourselves—becoming a mother doesn’t end our personal relationships with our vulvas.

In fact, I could map and navigate my mothering through my relationship with self-love. Despite the lack of involvement my vagina had with my son’s birth, it was still an experience of rediscovery when, after finally surfacing from the initial months of soul-sucking self-sacrifice that was his newborn months, I ventured tentatively beneath the elastic waist of my panties. It was fast, awkward, and marred by the tugging thoughts of what else I could be doing. It wasn’t the deep body satisfaction of before, but it was a “me time” that I craved, it was the self-love that I knew I needed to rediscover. It was my body, this new body, and it was reminding me that I was full of humanity outside of my abilities to mother.

And as my baby became less dependent on me, as he slept for more than two hours at a time, and I in turn was able to feel more regulated and in the world, my relationship with masturbation deepened. Taking time for myself, to be present with my body and masturbation, it became an expression, and not only of my agency as a sexual being; it was a political act of separating myself from the needs of my child, and refocusing my energy toward my own being. It was me, feeding my own desires.

By carving out moments of self pleasure and play, I was reclaiming a body from the countless hours of breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and baby wearing that I had willingly and lovingly shared with my child. In my bed, while he slept in a room away from me, through masturbation, I was able to reclaim the agency of my body, my mind, and my desire.

No longer a baby, my kid is well beyond needing my body with any real sense of urgency, beyond the odd knee scrape that can really only be soothed by “emergency mama kisses.” In balanced measure, I have celebrated the gradual return of my own body from the matrix of motherhood.

Yet, masturbation remains political, it continues to play a role in my relationship to mothering. Although there is no broadcasting of my personal pleasuring, in maintaining a sense of self that insists on finding the time to be my full sexual self, I remain open and aware of the sexual world that my child will one day inhabit. By mentally refusing to relegate myself to the theatrical wings of where mothers are supposed to go with our stretch marks, cesarean scars, and scattered brains, my body (and all of its needs) becomes a role model of one that isn’t to be silenced.

Kinsey or no Kinsey, not every mother masturbates. We don’t all feel safe enough to explore our sexual selves, and some of us simply don’t enjoy masturbation, but it is a large part of a sexual dialogue that we aren’t having. I am not suggesting that we join forces to crowdfund a sex-positive film that celebrates mothers who masturbate, but I do think we need to change the culture that erases this reality and replace it with an open and inclusive dialogue.

Lyndsay Kirkham is a writer and an editor at a small publishing house in Toronto. Her words can be found in Rabble, on CBC, Natural Parents Network, The F Word, Kiss Machine, the Bunch Family, Parenting Dish and on her own blog: Syndications. Her book, Feminist Parenting, is set for a Spring 2015 release. She likes cats, robots, and teaching adults how to tie their shoes. You can also find her on Twitter. 

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