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.