It's Saturday afternoon, and I'm doing my usual mum-life loop of returning random items of clothing and toys from around the house to their rightful owners. As I walk past our bedroom, arms full with a basket of clean washing, I hear it: a familiar rustle, followed by the rhythmic shuffle of our bed sheets. My husband's breath deepens and then a few unmistakable groans — it can only mean one thing.
I don't stop, I don't even flinch, I am completely fine with it. In fact, in that moment, I'm grateful it doesn't involve me.
But it wasn't always that way.
For a long while, I hated the fact he was masturbating, especially when I was right there in the same house. Sex without me felt like a complete rejection. It was personal. My mind would spin as crazy thoughts raced through my head; who was he thinking of? Was our sex life really that bad? Was I not enough any more?
The shame hit hard, the quiet shame you don't tell your friends about. I wasn't fulfilling my man sexually. I was failing in the game of having it all.
Yes, over the last 10 years our sex life had shifted. But wasn't that a predictable side effect of years of broken sleep and the constant demands of toddlers on my part and the heavy burden of being the only one bringing home the bacon for him? That aside, I thought things were good.
Watch: What's sex after having kids look like? Post continues after video.
When we did get it on, things were great, we would time-travel for a short moment to a playful, pleasure-filled place where it was just us. It definitely wasn't as often as it used to be, but it was regular enough. And, honestly, where we were right now, masturbation had been the furthest thing from my mind.
Was I wrong? Had our life in the suburbs really led to this? Him rubbing one out while I got lost in household chores. I found joy in organising the kids' bedrooms, while he found joy in himself?
The truth is, motherhood hasn't changed me that much, it had just made me prioritise things differently.
But why did his masturbation feel so shameful to me, and why wasn't I doing it too?
I used to, and I loved it! It was playful and empowering. I had toys and time. It was the perfect activity to drift off to sleep with, or ease me into a relaxing Saturday morning. I allowed my mind to wander back to a time when Saturday mornings were mine.
A time for hair masks and skin care, shaving my legs and smoothing my body down with moisturiser. Time for me, not because I had to, not even for vanity, but because I wanted to take care of myself. I'd lay in bed and let my imagination wander.
I'd fantasise about men I'd met and some I hadn't. I knew what my body liked and how to make it move with pleasure. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed either; I was proud of my body.
That's when it hit me: masturbation has nothing to do with your partner or how satisfied you are in your relationship. It's about your own body and your own needs. After all, you are flying solo.
It's a flutter of pleasure for no one's benefit but your own.
So screw the shame — it's beautiful!
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With all these thoughts of masturbation, it made me realise something else — it had been a long time since I'd truly given myself any kind of attention. When was the last time I 'dug for oysters'? So to speak.
When was the last time I enjoyed my own body? I can't even blame our busy schedule or the kids on this one. Self-pleasure isn't a request from anyone else. It's simply a little bit of me time that ultimately feels great. And one I was missing.
If masturbation is the ultimate expression of self-love, it's no wonder it rarely makes an appearance on my to-do list these days. I barely have time to scratch my head, let alone.... anything else. The truth is, these days, I'm terrible at prioritising myself in any way.
I race out the door bare-faced, hair not brushed and thrown up in a bun, after spending all my time in the morning taking care of everyone else's needs. I've even been known to do the school run in my pyjamas. Had I really allowed myself to downgrade all self-appreciation?
But now I wonder, how do I start? Can I really just down tools from cleaning up the never-ending assault course of small plastic toys to 'flick the bean'? Should I just shut the door one Saturday morning to do what feels good?
Why not? He certainly does.
Masturbation is, and always has been, a natural part of adult life, whether you're in a relationship or not. It's a completely healthy urge that teaches us how to carve out time for ourselves, especially when we're pulled in so many different directions these days.
It also reminds us how to appreciate our evolving bodies. As I travel through my forties, this is something I could definitely use some help with. My body is changing, and sometimes I need a minute to catch up. Self-love reminds me how magnificent it truly is. How can I expect anyone else to fulfil my needs, or even be turned on by my body, if I'm not?
It's time to prioritise feeling great about ourselves again in every way.
The only problem is, now that my husband knows what I'm doing when I shut the door, he's desperately trying to join in.
Feature Image: Getty.
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