That contradiction shaped how many of us learned—or didn’t learn—our bodies.
As a young girl, I remember quietly trying to figure things out on my own. I would go into people’s bathrooms, open cabinets, and look through products trying to understand what could help me smell “better.”
A nosey ass kid. Lol.
But looking back, I realize I wasn’t just being nosey.
I was searching for answers.
No one really explained my body to me. When I got my cycle, I wasn’t fully prepared for the changes happening to me—new scents, new moisture, new insecurities. So like many young girls, I started trying to “fix” my body before I ever learned it.
That confusion followed me into my teenage years. I used feminine sprays and heavily scented products thinking they would make me “cleaner,” not realizing some of those products were disrupting my body more than helping it.
What became clear to me was that this affected how I experienced touch.
There were moments in my adult life where I struggled with being fully open to intimacy because I didn’t fully feel comfortable in my own body yet.
That’s something we don’t talk about enough:
how hygiene, confidence, and touch are deeply connected.
As a sexologist, one thing I’ve learned is that many people are disconnected from their bodies long before they ever experience healthy intimacy with someone else.
A lot of us were taught presentation before body literacy.
Especially Black millennials.
We learned how to look acceptable to the world, but not always how to understand our bodies without shame.
And this conversation is not just about women.
Many men were never taught body literacy either.
A lot of men grew up hearing conversations about performance, masculinity, and sex—but not enough about hygiene, body awareness, emotional intimacy, or learning how to safely connect with their own bodies without shame.
Many were taught to suppress softness, curiosity, and vulnerability.
So while women were often taught shame around their bodies, many men were taught disconnection from theirs.
And for many of us, conversations about self-touch were met with silence, discomfort, or embarrassment instead of education.
That’s part of why National Masturbation Month matters to me.
Not because I think conversations about self-touch should be vulgar or performative but because body awareness is a part of sexual health.
National Masturbation Month became nationally recognized after Dr. Joycelyn Elders, the first Black U.S. Surgeon General, publicly stated that masturbation should be acknowledged as a normal part of human sexuality and sexual health education.
The backlash against her was enormous.
What became clear to me was how deeply shame shaped the conversation around our bodies.
Because what does it mean when a Black woman speaks openly about sexual health education and the country responds with outrage?
What does that say about the shame many of us inherited around our bodies?
As I grow in this work, I understand why her words mattered, besides the fact that I have decided to be sacredly defiant lol...there is more...
Touch, hygiene, pleasure, anatomy, and self-awareness are all connected.
When people are taught to fear or disconnect from their bodies, it can impact confidence, intimacy, communication, and even health.
That realization became part of the reason I entered the field of sexology.
Not just to talk about pleasure but to assist those who can relate in building healthier, more informed relationships with their bodies.
Especially people who grew up learning in silence like I did.
Over time, I started becoming more intentional about the products I used, the foods I ate, and the ways I cared for my body. I stopped trying to mask myself and started learning myself.
I began paying attention to my body differently.
My body became the blueprint the Creator gave me… and my fingers became the paintbrush.
With every stroke, I was learning.
I learned the skin on my toes.
The spaces between them.
My legs.
My breasts.
My hands.
My vulva.
My vagina.
My backside.
I learned where tension sat in my body.
What felt comforting.
What felt unfamiliar.
What made me pull away.
What made me soften.
What became clear to me was that body literacy can completely change your relationship with touch.
Because masturbation, to me, is not just about touching genitals.
It can be about familiarity.
Awareness.
Curiosity.
Presence.
It can be about finally feeling connected to your own body instead of ashamed of it.
And I truly hope one day I can help more people in my community experience that kind of connection with themselves.
Women and men both deserve opportunities to understand their bodies outside of shame, secrecy, or performance.
Because when people understand their bodies, they often begin approaching touch, intimacy, pleasure, and even hygiene differently.
With more compassion.
With more confidence.
With less fear.
What became clear to me was that hygiene stopped being about perfection and became about relationship.
I became more familiar with my body.
More comfortable with touch.
More aware of what was normal for me.
And that relationship made intimacy feel less fearful and more informed.
I’m grateful we had a woman like Dr. Joycelyn Elders willing to speak openly about these conversations even when the world rejected her reasoning and her perspective around masturbation and sexual health education.
Because many of us needed those conversations more than people realized.
For many people, self-touch is not just about pleasure.
Sometimes it begins with curiosity.
With learning.
With reconnecting.
With finally feeling safe enough to understand your own body without shame.
And for those of us who grew up without those conversations, that journey can be deeply healing.
Happy National Masturbation Month.