The Hardest Conversation

I am a single mother of two young girls. I have always been an outside-of-the-box thinker, and the circumstances of my daughters’ early lives and the personalities that began to emerge from them pushed my alternative outlooks to their limits. They are both highly sensitive and engaged in everything that is going on around them. I have had to learn to be vulnerable and authentic instead of pretending that parents come fully equipped knowing what to always say and do, which ironically often includes glossing over the most difficult topics or questions. The more I struggle to navigate the ever-challenging dialogue with my girls around sex and sexuality, the more I contemplate the shortcomings of our collective social and cultural methodologies in this space, both with our children and with each other. This piece aims to share some of my experiences, observations, and learnings.

These stories are difficult to share because I know what feelings have come up for me during these conversations with my children. I have frequent discussions with both of my children about the clinical, practical, and emotional aspects of sex and sexuality (prompted by them). It is always uncomfortable for me. Meanwhile, my girls ask questions with unselfconscious and shameless abandon. I would argue that this is exactly the desired dynamic for conversations of this nature.

By sharing my story here, I do not intend to suggest that I have developed some sort of correct formula or framework. I suggest only that I have learned a great deal about myself and my children through my willingness to stay uncomfortable. As portions of this article may feel striking, off-putting, or judgement-provoking, I invite a willingness to explore within ourselves what messages beneath may be seeking their way to the surface.

Since my oldest daughter was born, she has always required a great deal of physical touch. She was a baby who would stop sleeping immediately if I was not touching her in some way. This was not sleep training or new mommy naiveté — this was just how she was. There were no strollers or cribs, only wraps and carriers. It was constant. No big deal, right? After all, one of five love languages is physical touch.

But this physical nature in her has persisted. One day when she was five, while I was changing she came into my room and said, “mommy, you are so beautiful, I just have to touch you.” She approached me and caressed me with a very natural, sensual indulgence. Not my birthing parts, but stomach, waist, chest. She was beaming with love, smiling eyes glittering up at me. For a moment, I was paralyzed. “Is this appropriate?” I thought. “Should she be enjoying this so much? Is this when I start to teach her about the limits of what’s okay when it comes to physical touch?” What I ultimately determined was that there wasn’t a single element of the scene that necessitated limit-setting or justified my anxiety. It was pure and innocent love and nothing more. I began to ponder my own perceptions of the role of physicality in a loving relationship, the natural and uncontainable worship of someone’s physical body simply because it was theirs. I am still struck by the intensity of this moment and others like it that have transpired with her over the years.

Fast forward to her at age 7. It was Columbus Day and during a classroom activity where the group sat in a circle to share the types of new frontiers they’d like to explore; my daughter’s answer was “I want to explore my body”. Though we laughed at the story, I was again struck by my daughter’s not only comfort, but also deep desire to explore her own physical body. Why haven’t I ever felt such curiosity?

A few months later, the same daughter and I were standing in our kitchen. She said, “I want to tell you something.” I immediately gave her my full attention. Her sister felt the important energy of the moment and swept in, rapt at my side. “What is it?” I asked. “I think I’m gay,” she said. Mind racing with the myriad ways in which I might respond, I realized this was a make or break moment. Gay or not, her sense of safety to share this depth of self-reflection with me now and forever was worth more than anything and I panicked with the need to preserve it. “Wow,” I spoke slowly and calmly, looking into her eyes. “I am so honored that you would share something so personal with me. Thank you. I love you.” After a pause, I asked, “Do you need anything? Do you have questions?” She pondered for a moment, eyes distant while she considered. “I don’t think so,” she said dismissively. I remarked simply, “please let me know if that changes, I am here to support you.” She nodded.

Her 5-year-old sister walked over to her and supportively put her arm around her shoulders and said, “I think you’re gay, too.” Then tossing her hair back with a gentle shake, she fiercely said, “but I know I’m not!” We all laughed together while I stood there wondering who the hell these kids were standing in my kitchen. Did they really understand what they had each said? Did they get their own inadvertent jokes? What on earth am I up against? I was scared to death that this was already too much, that I needed to just drop the hammer, back pedal and shame us all, saying this is all wrong, inappropriate, too young. Anything to make this discomfort stop! But again, I tracked back to the more important understanding that above all else she had shared something sacred with me and I always, always, always want that door open. Especially when it’s about love and sex.

I spent most of the rest of that day thinking about the significance of this expression she had made. It was as if I could hear society in one ear, and my unconditional, limitless parental love in the other. The temptation to explain to her that she’s too young to know, too young to be thinking about these things, to not box herself in with a label, to avoid sharing this with others so she isn’t judged, abused, or shamed and so much more. But then I wondered, why is she too young? Whether we like it or not, children have their own sexuality and it includes an organic, profound, and uninhibited curiosity. Why are we so deeply afraid of what answers they will find if we allow them to explore it? These answers become the sprouts of that which lives at the core of our vitality and is for so many of us the most significant and impactful aspect of our lifelong human experience! These truths are how we come to know and understand ourselves and our relationships, and how we express and experience love. How much of what we experience has been tempered by the filters of what isn’t discussed, what is taboo, shamed, and that which what we are taught must be kept secret?

There are so many shame messages in our culture around physicality and sexuality. This includes everything from kinks and phelias, which I believe would be infinitely less dangerous were people able to share, explore, and understand them, to aspects such as adolescent math class erections or holding onto virginity. It’s paralyzing to try to interpret what society expects from us, and impossible to find a cultural sense of safe haven that suggests: This is okay, it is part of being human and we are all uniquely human in this way. Let’s try to understand the non-understandable together. Why? How have we distorted our paths to this naturally developing understanding so gravely?

How often are we faced with the cliché where media (any) of a sexual nature is labeled as inappropriate for children of certain ages, while the same children play violent video games or watch violent programming? Why is violence a more acceptable part of our reality than our sexuality? In what ways would our individual and collective world be different without this impact on our development?

I ask these questions of myself because I believe, as with any systematic social or cultural pattern, we each bear a role of responsibility in creating a shift. As I share more about my conversations with my daughters, I can tell you that my own discomfort has been profound. As I have reflected on how they may integrate as sexually empowered and dynamic beings, my discomfort has grown. The only actionable intervention I have found is to look within and explore my own stories and do the most uncomfortable thing of all — take a risk that the line I am walking is a healthy one. Each family, each parent or caregiver, and each child is different. This is a conversation for which I am committed to being alert, self-aware, grounded, vulnerable, and intuitive. That’s all I can be sure of.

Now my girls are 8 and 10 and we are literally swimming (I’ll explain in a minute) in sexual waters. My 10-year-old often leads the discussion as she has a strong and fiery sexual nature. She has found resonance with the label of pansexual vs gay as she states that it feels “more true because I just want to love everyone.” Whether she truly understands the complexities of physical intimacies with varied genders is of little doubt — she doesn’t. But what I have begun to realize through our many big conversations is that for her, at age 10, there is little distinction between heart-felt, compassionate love and physical touch. To her, it is a fundamental truth that they are one and the same. I have to pause on that thought and process it every single time it occurs to me. What if this was the truth we were teaching our children?

For Christmas this past year, this same daughter received a “dance pole” that she had been so desperately wanting. She was beside herself with excitement. Her first move? Don the perfect outfit, complete with animated dinosaur mask and 4' red panda costume tail, and spin to her heart’s content! Watching this unfold was amazing. Not for a minute was the pole about “stripping” or sexualizing herself as an object to be ogled. It was about celebration, deep physical experience, and freedom. I asked her how she felt and she said, “I feel so sexy and it is the most amazing feeling in the world. I feel free.” On the surface — cringe-worthy at best, I know. In context and in truth — she was simply experiencing her body in a way that was profoundly impactful and she felt it in all of her being. I have no concept of how to create that feeling in myself, and I can’t even imagine where I would begin. What kind of wisdom and intelligence is this that has been suppressed in me?

Another thought-provoking moment came more recently, when the three of us were swimming at a local beach on a particularly tumultuous day. The waves were pounding and noisy and as usual, my oldest was diving, flipping, riding, dancing and singing in the waves. Also as usual, several folks nearby commented on her bravery, skills, and obvious enjoyment. When we were leaving the beach, my oldest asked, “is there such a thing as ocean-sexual? What’s it called?” How interesting, I thought and said “I suppose there is. We can name it ourselves if we want. What resonates?” We brainstormed but couldn’t find anything that felt just right. I then asked, “are you feeling ocean-sexual today?” She laughed deeply and said, “Yes! I just felt so good everywhere in my body and so in touch with every part of the waves.” Again, a perspective of sexuality that leaves me questioning just how much I’m missing with such a simple understanding of my own with its limited dimensions!

Then one night, during bed time, my 10-year-old daughter randomly stated that she was feeling more clear on her understanding of sex. Choking at the thought, I nodded and asked if she had questions. “No.” So I asked her what she knew, and she explained in plain clinical details the necessary bits. After a bit of silence, she said, “Actually, I do have a question. Is there anything sexier than sex?” My mind reeled at how to answer, so I gave myself time to think by complimenting the thoughtful nature of the question. Then it occurred to me. I said, “If we think about sex like a rainbow, a spectrum, red is one end where sex is about the physical parts, it feels good, there is attraction, we want the physical parts of it, just want to feel that part, that’s sex. But the purple end…” I intentionally lowered and softened my voice with its own hint of sensuality for impact, “the purple end is where there is so much connection with someone. We know them, they know us. We feel seen and safe with them. The relationship has been built over time and we are being our authentic selves and have true vulnerability. We know in all of our cells that we really, truly love them and they truly love us. Just touching their hand gives us butterflies and chills. Can you imagine that feeling?” I could feel her little body vibrating with appreciation and excitement at my description. “Yes!” “That is a thing that is so much sexier than sex,” I emphasized. She sighed with satisfaction and said, “Oh yes, that makes so much sense.” Smiling, she snuggled herself into sleep.

These are just a few examples of what I imagine (and with trepidation hope) will be many more of the hardest conversations. As much as I am self-aware enough to do so, I approach them with curiosity, what I imagine is the appropriate level of honesty, and a willingness to be the uncomfortable one in the conversation. Like the rest of the parents and caregivers out there, I can’t righteously claim that I’ve done something “correctly” or that I know with certainty what I am doing. What I do know, is that there is something infinitely inspiring for me that has come with this approach and that I continue to be awe-struck by what my children teach me when I see them as whole humans — pure and intuitive, love-centered and free, honest and full of hope. I don’t know what I will say the next time I am put on the spot, but I do know I will probably feel ill-equipped, they will hopefully feel seen and loved, and I will be left to contemplate whatever remarkable perspective these girls have gifted to me.