Are You Allowed to Be a Mother and Also Love Sex?
Confessions of a ‘slut-mom’, and how I learned to embrace myself as a whole woman
I don’t write a lot of articles about parenting—for the simple reason that I do write a lot about sex. As taught by society, I think; who’d want to read parenting advice from someone who also offers tips on how to perform the hottest cunnilingus?
I would—I’d love that! But, then again, I often feel like a minority: I’m a mom who loves sex. I’m someone who makes space for and takes deep pleasure in her own sexual expression and fulfillment. I’m a mother who also feels unabashedly sexual—clearly not all the time, but I know how to turn it on—and I do!
Mothers aren’t supposed to behave like that!
But I do it anyway.
I do it with the ingrained knowing that I’m being bad. I’m doing something wrong. And I keep it on the DL, to blend in with the other moms on the playground.
—What do you write about? they ask. —Ehhmmm, feminism, mental health…stuff…
I keep all the stuff neatly tucked away around the other mothers who know to be decent; the ones who have accepted that motherhood robs us of our sexuality, who knows that the act that makes the Madonna erases the Whore.
Sure, we’ll still have sex postpartum—with our one chosen partner, behind closed doors—but, we know better than to allude to it outside of that. We do it to satisfy basic human needs—mostly his—and occasionally to procreate some more.
When in breeding-mode, we sync our fertility apps with our partners so they know when it’s time to come home from work to plant their seed whilst we’re propped up in optimal conception position. Post-coitus, we throw our legs up against the wall to let gravity do its job while gobbling down handfuls of fertility-boosting superfoods. Sounds hot as hell, right?
This is also the only time we talk to other moms about sex, and we discuss spawning with the same allure as we do the process of making homemade, organic baby food; strictly scientifically and goal-oriented.
In addition to this, we’re repeatedly told that women have lower sex drives than men; that it’s something we do, reluctantly, to fulfill our wifely duties. If we really can’t be bothered, we’ll cop a headache. Other times we let them: Go for it, honey, just try not to wake me up too much, momma’s gotta rest. Don’t forget the lube! Then, adopting savasana, also called corpse-pose, we offer ourselves as human fleshlights. Nothing spells sexy like a hot dead-lay, amirite?
In the end, children satisfy a woman’s need for intimacy, and thus, post motherhood, she is just that: A mom. A picture-perfect, virtuous, mother-goddess with an Instagram account to prove it: Here, look at my always-laughing, well-dressed children playing with all-wooden Montessori toys, and our wholesome brunches with buckwheat pancakes and child-friendly green smoothies. FYI, nobody spills, or poops, ever!
I’m being fictitious on purpose, because, guess what, this image is a farse—and I’m only one of your many proofs!
Still, it’s an image we subscribe to, perpetuate and reiterate, again and again. Just look at the cartoon above. Can you count how many varieties of this you’ve seen? I can’t.
With these stereotypes etched into my cerebellum, I can barely begin to describe the shame and guilt I felt when, as the mother of a barely two-year-old, I separated from a toxic relationship and launched into a full-on sexual awakening.
At the same time, I laughed at the irony of how now — as a solo parent in her thirties, basically chained to my apartment each night due to the circumstances— I was single for the first time ever and full of fire and excitement to explore.
Instead of doing it the right way, and getting that out of my system in my early twenties like all the other appropriate mothers out there, I happened to start loving sex, a lot more, after becoming a mother. I had it all twisted!
To top it all off, I wasn’t merely dating and having sex with the odd match; I ventured into the BDSM scene, I started going to sex parties, I performed at sexy storytelling competitions, I became a sex and erotica writer. Sex, through a variety of avenues, took up a substantial part of my life. I guess you could say, I became a total slut!
But, here I was, and there was no stopping me, because, as much as I felt like I was doing something wrong, nothing had ever felt more right.
My own mother’s words, which she repeated each time I expressed my frustration with single motherhood kept ringing in my head:
— As a mom, you always have to put yourself last. It’s just how it is, Ena. Deal with it!
Screw that! Why can’t I be a whole woman? Why can’t I be a good mother while giving space for my own needs? I decided I’d live to prove that it was possible.
Thanks to my above-average independent and outgoing child, and a solid network of great people mixed with a ton of determination and a bit of scheduling wizardry, I found ways to get help with childcare and sleepovers, allowing me to venture down this newfound path to do just that.
I feel obligated to mention, although it should go without saying, that my personal escapades never happened at the cost of the comfort and safety of my daughter. She remains my number one priority and always will be.
Because guess what? It is possible to be a good, nurturing mother and a woman with a healthy and adventuresome sex life!
I wasn't always convinced of this either, so I don’t blame you if you’re skeptical too. I used to look in the mirror, point, and tell myself what an indecent mother I was. I felt horrendous—like I was committing the severest of atrocities.
I was sure that if anyone found me out, I’d be chased naked down the street by a mob yelling, shame, shame — like Cersei in Game of Thrones. So, I kept my business hidden.
Simultaneously, I didn’t actually believe this to be true. I sensed I’d been sold a lie, so I fought it and I carried on.
When my daughter stayed with her friends and the parents asked me what I was doing, I was just going to a small, private birthday party or something else innocent-sounding. Lord forbid they knew what I was actually doing.
No one else does this kind of nasty, perverted stuff!
This is untrue as well.
After I joined the BDSM scene and started meeting other sex-positive people, I discovered I wasn’t alone. I remember finding this amazing woman who was a bit of a Fetlife celebrity. Her photos, depicting her, a petite lady in her forties, naked with her legs spread for the camera, sporting ball gags, and latex hoods, made me gasp.
Wow, this woman looks like her entire life revolves around sex, I thought. But then, I found out that she was, in fact, a mother of four with a full-time job, and this was merely one side of her.
My discovery amazed me, and soon I found many, many others.
My best friend and neighbor who I met in the BDSM scene, is one. She’s also a wonderful mother of two, a student and teacher, who happened to be in an open marriage.
The model and photographer I discovered who makes the most mind-blowing naked art: The mother of two with a regular job.
The sex therapist and pro-domme who taught the squirting workshop I went to a few weeks ago: We ended up bonding over having daughters the same age.
I could list countless other examples like these, and I keep running into them: Women, who happen to be mothers, who also happen to love sex. Women like me!
Despite finding many that didn’t judge me the slightest, just as I didn't judge them, I kept doubting myself, beating myself up, and fearing the scrutiny of fellow parents if they only knew. Sure, there were people like me in the sex-positive communities, but did regular women with children love sex too? I assumed not.
But then, slowly, as I started making peace with myself and my own sexuality, I started doing something risky. One day when I picked up my daughter after a sleepover, I met two other mothers in the sandbox, and instead of lying about where I’d been the night before, I told them the truth: I’d gone to KitKat (a somewhat mainstream kink and sex-oriented techno club in Berlin).
Instead of the judgmental reactions I had expected, they were curious and excited, asking me what I wore, and telling me they hadn’t been but wanted to go, even suggesting we all go together sometime. Wow!
When I shared my sex writing with another mother, she responded by showing me the boudoir shots she did with a photographer as part of an art project and then went onto sharing intimate details about hers and her husband’s sex life. Interesting!
The more I opened up and shared with other mothers, the more they opened up in return, about their longings, their own losses of self, and their own fears of judgment. Instead of scrutiny and contempt, I met understanding and sympathy.
Turns out, the harshest voices had been those playing in my own head.
Slowly daring to share, in safe environments, has led me to understand that the perceived judgment from others only causes us to judge and restrain ourselves exponentially. But, once we start to crack the lid, we often find that others are boiling over too—with suppressed needs, lusts, wants, and desires.
What’s causing us to keep those lids shut are the lies we’ve been told, that have been passed down through generations and thousands of years of patriarchy.
And, if I may add, rarely will a man have his fatherhood questioned if he pursues personal fulfillment, sexual or otherwise.
I think back now, to the beginning of my journey and the time I was headed to a sex party that I had arranged with my girlfriends. I remember the feelings of shame and repentance as I read and sung my daughter to sleep, because disguised by my grey sweatpants and a cotton shirt was strappy, lacy open-crotch lingerie. As I tucked her in, kissed her cheeks before handing the keys to my trusted babysitter to prance out in knee-high boots, I thought, what kind of mother behaves like this?
My answer was different then, but I know now: The kind of mother who does this is someone who has the sense and courage to prioritize herself too—without neglecting her child(ren). She’s someone who dares to acknowledge that when she’s happy and fulfilled, she can be an even better parent. She knows that by becoming a martyr to motherhood, she’ll eventually become bitter and thus doing everyone a disservice.
It continues to be one of my main missions to prove that we all, regardless of who we are, should be allowed—and most importantly must allow ourselves—to be full, whole beings. Don’t let the critics, and especially those in your own head, stop you from living in your truth!
