What I Learned From Four Years of Writing About Female Sexuality
Things turned out very differently than I expected…
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I threw out the pack of condoms in my bathroom cabinet today. They hadn’t even expired yet, but the moment I saw them during my tidying, I grabbed them and hurled them into the garbage bin.
I will not be needing them, thank you very much.
It seems pretty wild to say that. Four years ago today, I published my very first story here about dating and sex. It had taken me six whole months to get up the courage to do it — and on June 9, 2019, I finally hit the publish button.
Folks, I was so proud. It was an act of liberation for me that probably surpasses almost anything else I’ve ever done.
Yes, I wanted to help women become more sexually liberated. But honestly, it was my own desire for sexual liberation that was at the heart of my drive to become Yael Wolfe and explore this part of myself.
Did it work? Am I more sexually liberated, four years later?
It’s hard to answer that question with a yes or no. But I’ll remind you of the fact that I just threw out a package of unexpired condoms today. That should give you a clue.
When I think back to that fateful June day in 2019, I don’t remember much about the trepidation or excitement I experienced. Honestly, what comes up for me is grief. I feel so sorry for that woman.
She had no idea what was in store for her.
Who was 2019 Yael? I would describe her as hopeful. Happy. Energetic. Hell, I’d even say she was optimistic — compared to 2023 Yael, at least. And one last thing: woefully naïve. Embarrassingly naïve.
I knew there was sexism and misogyny lurking in the dark corners of the world. I’d just weathered a breakup in which my partner left me for a younger woman and on his way out the door, called me a “daughter of Eve” who’d corrupted him with my sexual desire. That level of sexism and misogyny had been a regular visitor in my life since I was a teenager.
But somehow, I had convinced myself that it was just a handful of men who perpetuated it. I bought into the myth that I just picked bad boyfriends. And bosses…
