I’m a Mom and I’m Sexual. Deal With It.

Mothers are expected to deny our sexuality. I refuse to.

Candlelight flickers from the tea lights placed around the rim of the bathtub by my boyfriend. Steam rises from the water as I slip my naked body inside. This is just another Saturday night for us.

As we soak in the tub, I lose track of time. Finally, we move to the bed. There, we pleasure each other for upwards of an hour. We both climax and then fall into a deep sleep.

It’s my one night off a week away from my kids, and I want to enjoy it. My two sons are back home at my apartment with my ex. This is all I get — one night. On that one night a week, I want to feel beautiful. I want romance. I want to feel loved. I want pleasure.

I still want all these things even as a mother. I still have a libido. I still need to be stroked and satisfied. Being a mom hasn’t changed that. I’m still a human being.

Sex is natural. I only became a mother by having sex. The Virgin Mary may have gotten pregnant by divine intervention, but I actually had to have sex with a man to become pregnant with my sons.

That sex was messy. I won’t call it dirty, but it was definitely messy. It required getting naked and touching private parts that oozed moisture. It required tissues becoming erect and thrusting movements and moaning sounds and the exchange of bodily fluids. It required ejaculation.

It was a big damn mess.

But that doesn’t mean sex is dirty — and it doesn’t mean I’m dirty for wanting sex. It also doesn’t make me a bad mother for still desiring sex at this stage in my life. I would argue that having a healthy, adult sex life makes me a better mother. I’m calmer, happier, more satisfied.

I don’t mean just physically satisfied either. I’m also more satisfied mentally and emotionally. Like having a well-lubed car is good for a driver, having a well-lubed body is good for me.

Asking a mother to deny her sexuality is not simply uncomfortable for a woman. Asking her to pretend she’s not sexual anymore denies her of her humanity.

Society Shames Mothers Who Are Sexual

Still, in our society, some people have trouble coming to terms with the fact that a woman doesn’t become asexual when she becomes a mother.

According to Rachel Khona in her article on Scary Mommy called Can Motherhood and Sexuality Coexist?:

“…If a mother openly embraces her sexuality, she is perceived as being someone of loose morals, and even worse, not a good mother. The message? Motherhood and sexuality cannot coexist.

I refuse to believe that motherhood and a woman’s sexuality have to be mutually exclusive.

Asking a mother to deny her sexuality is not simply uncomfortable for a woman. Asking her to pretend she’s not sexual anymore denies her of her humanity.

I shouldn’t have to make the choice between being a good mom and getting off.

Yes, motherhood and sexuality can coexist.

The Madonna/whore dichotomy is about control and when women are expected to choose an archetype, no one wins.

I Refuse to Distance Myself From My Sexuality

Dating after I left my husband, I listened to quite a few men complain about how the sex dried up after their wives had children. With the way mothers are expected to be asexual in our society, what did these men expect?

The Madonna/whore dichotomy is about control and when women are expected to choose an archetype, no one wins. A woman has to negate her humanity and men don’t get the outcome they want either. Expecting women to appear celibate after they become mothers, but “just slutty for you” is too much to ask. If a mother feels shamed for being sexual, she’s not going to magically be slutty in the bedroom “just for you.”

I refuse to distance myself from my sexuality now that I’m a mother. I prefer Latifah Miles’ take on mothers and sex, which she described in her essay for Romper entitled I’m A Mom & I Like Having Casual Sex — So What?:

“I decided some time ago that I was unwilling to choose between society’s expectations of me as a parent and my own happiness. If I did, it’d be fighting a losing battle. Our society strips women of their individual identity and womanhood as soon as we become moms, and I’m not willing to trade one in for the other.”

I also reject the idea that I must strip myself not only of my identity but of my womanhood just to be seen as a good mother.

I was grossed out when I found The Joy of Sex in my parents’ bedroom. I was grossed out but not traumatized.

I Also Had to Accept My Parents Had Sex

I can’t deny I still have qualms about being a mother who is so openly sexual. Yes, I worry about my sons finding my writing. Yes, I worry about the effect my writing will have on them. Yes, I worry about embarrassing them. Yes, I’m afraid they’ll learn about sex before they’re ready by reading one of my posts. So I’m doing my best to protect them, but I won’t be able to protect them forever. And so I ask:

Is it so bad that my sons learn that I’m a sexual creature?

Yes, I’m their mother, but I’m also a human with a sexual history. Like many children growing up, I also had to come to terms that my own parents had sex. Yes, I was also disturbed when I learned that my father actually had to penetrate my mother to create me. Sure, I preferred to believe that after that single night of passion, my parents proceeded to sleep side by side every night without ever touching each other again.

But that’s not realistic. Yes, I later found my dad’s condoms in his drawer and was horrified. I was horrified but not irreparably damaged. Yes, I was also grossed out when I found The Joy of Sex in my parents’ bedroom. I was grossed out but not traumatized.

I ultimately had to accept that my parents were still sexual creatures just like my sons will have to accept this about me. As a grown-up, I think kids should be more concerned if their parents aren’t having sex.

I’m not trying to shame anyone here. If you’re a mom and you don’t like sex, or you simply don’t currently want to have it, or you want to have it but you don’t have a current sexual partner — that’s okay.

That’s the difference. I’m not trying to push my agenda on anyone else.

And I ask for the same in return: I want to be able to be sexual as a mother without shame and without this shining badly on my parenting skills.

It feels too dishonest to pretend that I’m something that I’m not. I’m a mom, but I’m also a woman with a sex drive.

I’ve Held Myself Back by Denying the Real Me

Because I used to be so fearful about hurting my children with my sex writing, for years I tried to stop writing about sexual topics.

Just this morning I opened the document of a story I wrote five years ago about feeling ashamed about having worked as a dominatrix. This was an essay that I wrote that I was never successful in selling, probably because it was so depressing. Who wants to read about me feeling ashamed about what I perceived to be “bad” decisions in my life. I’ve grown since, and I no longer believe this. I explored my sexuality and I no longer have any doubt that this was the right decision for me.

In that same document, I found close to a dozen ideas I’d jotted down about other sexual subjects I wanted to write about, but never brought to fruition. I was still trying to protect people: my family, my kids, my husband, myself.

I was trying to do this because family members had found some of my writing, and the consensus was that I was going to hurt my children by writing about these “terrible” things that I’d done in my past.

But in not writing about what I deeply wanted to write about, I believe I held myself back professionally. I never stopped wanting to write about these subjects. I was just too scared of exposing myself. I should have just gotten on with it. I would have been farther along in my writing career.

I’ve just had to accept that I’m a writer who explores herself by writing about herself. Writing helps me organize my thoughts and my arguments.

I feel the need to have these arguments in place because it’s so easy to shame a mother who writes about sex or who is openly sexual.

I have to push back against society’s beliefs because I simply can’t deny who I am anymore. It feels too dishonest to pretend I’m something that I’m not. I’m a mom, but I’m also a woman with a sex drive. It’s my right as a human to explore my sexuality. By exploring myself — and more importantly, by fully accepting who I am — I’ve become a better person. As a better person I’m a better mom — and that’s good for my kids. Period.