Masturbation is still shrouded in shame despite the fact its been proven be positive for our wellbeing. Photo / 123RF
OPINION:
Contains sexual themes
It’s been almost a decade since my first sex column was published.
At the time I wrote it, there was an abundance of advice online about positions and oral techniques and frequency and duration, but none of it felt...relatable.
No one was openly talking about sex in a vulnerable way, and I wanted to tackle that, as well as dismantle my own shame around sexual pleasure.
As someone who grew up in the Catholic church not knowing the meaning of the word “masturbation”, enjoying my body felt grimy and not like something I was entitled to do.
When my hand began curiously venturing beneath the duvet at night, I wondered if I was a deviant – depraved and sordid and not like the other kids at school. It was a silent self-flagellation that would go on to taint my relationship with sex well into adulthood.
Eight years on from that first column, I’m still unpacking the damage our cultural shame around sex does to all of us.
We see examples of it everywhere; from the construct of “sex addiction” (a faux diagnosis not supported by the DSM – the leading manual for assessment and diagnosis of mental disorders) to the anti-porn movement, and a pervasive definition of “healthy sex” rooted in heteronormativity and morality.
Sexual behaviours that don’t conform to this status quo continue to be pathologised and stigmatised, perpetuating fallacies about how pleasure should look. The rise of “No Nut November”, a movement encouraging abstinence from masturbation with the promise of myriad health benefits, exemplifies this.
Though none of the claims proponents of No Nut November make – including increased testosterone in men and improved mental clarity – are backed up by research literature, the pledge to forgo solo sex for a month has gained significant traction since it first appeared as a concept on Urban Dictionary in 2011.
As November approaches and online forums on the topic swell with evangelists exchanging memes about No Nutters levitating and gaining psychic powers, it’s easy to write the challenge off as another frivolous internet craze.
But while the trend might be new and seemingly inane, the sex-phobia underlying it isn’t.
One Reddit post insists, “If you can’t pass No Nut November, you’re addicted”, with a Redditer chiming in, “Personally I know that I am addicted to masturbation...I am getting better, but erotic material is too easy to come by and I do fall off the horse some times.”
These theories aren’t based in science, but a puritanical desire to police sexuality which exists outside a hetero, marital, vanilla model.
Contrary to what No Nutters claim, there’s a growing body of research to suggest regular solo sex is not only positive for our wellbeing (with lowered cortisol, muscle relaxation and endorphin release among its benefits), abstaining from it can be detrimental to prostate health.
A 2016 study of the masturbation habits of over 30,000 men across an 18-year period found male participants who got off most often had a 20 per cent lower chance of prostate cancer compared to those who masturbated least.
This, unsurprisingly, is a fact No Nut advocates carefully avoid, focusing instead on unproven assertions, like the suggestion frequent masturbation is actually “compulsive sexual behaviour” – a belief also promoted by the like-minded “No Fap” group, whose website says it’s “a secular community-centred sexual health platform designed to help you overcome porn addiction, porn overuse, and compulsive sexual behaviour.”
In truth, movements like No Nut and No Fap don’t resolve stress around sex, they create it.
Research published in the journal Clinical Psychological Science confirms religious or moral disapproval of pornography – NOT frequency of porn consumption or masturbation – are the most influential factors in a person determining they have an “addiction” or problem behaviour around sex.
Stories about “vibrator dependency” and the directive people with vulvas need to train themselves out of getting off alone with sex toys to avoid “ruining” partnered sex perpetuate sexual shame among women, too, contributing to the idea we’re “broken” if we can’t climax via penetrative hetero sex.
And this ideology remains prevalent despite there being no credible studies to substantiate it. (To the contrary, a paper published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine found regular vibrator use was associated with improved sexual function.)
Almost 10 years after I wrote my first sex column, it’s clear we still have a lot of unpacking to do around our collective relationship with sex.
For most of us, the road to repairing that relationship isn’t via abstinence or an internet trend promising impossible results. It’s through no longer pathologising normal human sexual behaviour, more comprehensive pleasure-centred sex education, and untethering ourselves from the shame that got us here in the first place.