What I Discoverd About My Feminity When I Masturbated Almost Every Day for a Month
My preoccupation with daily self-love arose during my early 30s. I was newly single after 11 years in a relationship.
I was enduring the particularly evil type of heartbreak that afflicts people who still love their partners—ex-partners—but have to leave them because the person in question struggles with addiction. Addiction is a truly hateful disease, and after 11 years of loving a good man who continued to actively use, I took the self-immolating step of leaving him.
My Journey to Self-Love Was Fueled by Self-Doubt
I was looking for any way possible to transform my body from a site of pain (heartbreak causes aggressive inflammatory responses in the human body; it is called heartache for a reason) and revulsion (nothing makes you hate yourself more than someone saying, “I want to use drugs more than I want you,”) into a place of pleasure.
To be honest, I would have settled for mild discomfort.
Masturbating was difficult because my heartache only compounded the relentless social messaging of shame surrounding my female body: disgust with the way I look and smell, how my hair looks, the size or shape of each part of me.
Being vocal about self-pleasure is the only thing more shameful than being a woman. Living in a society that is obsessed with women in porn, but silent on women’s pleasure, is extremely damaging.
Despite all of these things, I hoped that the practice of staunch, resolute wanking might help to undo some of that damage.
I approached this quest keenly aware of the oft-cited orgasm gap, where only 65 percent of heterosexual women report climaxing every time they have sex compared to 95 percent of heterosexual men. (Shout out to the queer women of the world—doing the lord’s work with and for each other with much better odds!) I took strength from the data, which showed solo self-love has a much higher success rate for women. I was also desperate, so I was going to do it anyway.
Being vocal about self-pleasure is the only thing more shameful than being a woman.
The Sex-periment Begins
During my one-month wankathon, I let Michelle Obama be one of my self-love guiding lights. I recalled her wise reminder at regular intervals: “We need to do a better job of putting ourselves higher on our own to-do list.” I put myself right at the very top of my own to-do list and got to work.
Day 1: The first day was difficult. I felt silly and embarrassed. I thought the experiment was stupid, and I thought I was stupid for trying to feel good at all when my grief was killing me. I channeled this energy and had a kind of angry, stupid wank. The fact that it was successful and I really did feel better afterward helped me realize that successful masturbation doesn’t require a very sexy frame of mind or a turn-on. It can be used as a deliberate strategy to change your state, like exercise or music or drugs.
Day 4: In my search for any kind of guidance on how to survive the heartbreak I was caving under, I started reading about witchcraft and ancient folkloric rituals. Notorious witch and pleasure maven Doreen Valiente spoke to me through this passage in her book, The Charge of the Goddess: “Let my worship be within the heart that rejoices, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals. Therefore, let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.”
I liked that. I found it comforting and powerful. On day four, I recited this charge aloud whilst I ran my self-love gauntlet; I made myself laugh a bit because I felt like I was casting a spell, but the laughter was kind and playful, not mocking and ashamed. And then, I had an orgasm, so…
Day 7: Not going to lie, I started getting a bit sick of it by the end of the first week. My period was due, and while the period-horn is real, pre-period un-horn is also a thing. I wanted everything to fuck off, including myself. I did it anyway because masturbation is known to reduce pain and welcome sleep, and I was deeply interested in being asleep.
Day 14: This was a really fun one. I took it to the bathroom and got a leg up on the sink; through the huge wall mirror, I could have a good look at what was happening there. I felt that familiar wave of disgust at seeing myself, but then, I remembered a lesson from my years of studying sociology: Your first thought reflects the culture that you were raised in, and your second thought reflects the kind of person you are.
I looked myself in the eye in the mirror and gave myself a little friendly smile, and then, I carried on with my duties. It was mega. I felt triumphant afterward for not letting that poisonous little voice, which is not natural or inherent to me, win the day. It felt like a wank against the patriarchy, which is totally my kind of thing.
Day 20: Day 20 was the first day that I missed, and it continued on for a few days. It was the day I got news that a family member had died suddenly. I was devastated, distraught with grief and shock. My body was doing its best to protect me from the overwhelming enormity of those feelings by going completely numb. I learned that desperate grief can make me disassociate and that disassociation is incompatible with pleasure. I didn’t even cry a lot that day; I just stared a lot and got through the day as best as I could.
Day 24: I took up the mantle again on day 24, and coming back to my body felt like a kind of homecoming. I found so much comfort and relief in my own touch and the remembrance of feeling good. I was still sad, but I wasn’t only sad; that felt like an important milestone.
Day 27: My sister sent me a vibrator in the post because she is a legend. We were living in different countries at the time, so the package had to go through customs, and she had to declare the contents on the box, which was obviously hilarious. The little bullet vibrator was encased in the rainbow flag of our people (the queers), which also made me glad. Honestly, I don’t love most vibrators; I find them to be too much. But this was a welcome variation since I had not been using toys for 26 days. With this new toy, it was all over very quickly, so I did it twice. You know, diligence and whatnot.
Day 30: The final day of my onanistic undertaking was completed with a theatrical flourish. I set up a full spa night, complete with both a face and foot mask. I lit a candle and made the evening last for as long as I could bear. It was a really nice change to what was sometimes a more perfunctory execution of a task. Day 30 felt romantic, something I don’t think had ever felt about myself before. It was a fulfilling, relaxing end to a month geared toward self-love.
My sister sent me a vibrator in the post because she is a legend.
Here’s What I Learned
It’s really cool and handy (sorry) that masturbation and orgasm are so good for our health. The benefits are pretty astonishing for something available for free and at a moment’s notice.
At the end of the month of masturbation, I did feel less desolate and pulverized than I did at the beginning. Some of that was thanks to the passing of time, but I am certain that some of it was also down to my commitment to spending time with myself in that very specific way.
There is something powerful about deciding to prioritize pleasure in our own lives. Something about a ritual of touching, noticing, and feeling your body makes self-abandonment in other areas of your life more difficult.
Masturbation is not a cure-all—but if it is safe and appropriate for you to do, I highly recommend a lovely little wank to lift the spirits.
