A monthly column about sexuality, womanhood, and power by Rahima Rice.
Early in my mommy life, I began to join groups. A support group for single parents. The PTA at my kid’s school. A support and social group for Black moms. A community group advocating for school resources. I was active in all these groups while I worked full-time and pursued a master’s degree. People would often marvel at my ability to be so involved while also turning out creative projects. How did I have this happy, healthy kid when I was seemingly too busy to focus on her? How was my house intact when I spent so many hours writing? To put it plainly, it was because I wasn’t having sex. Cloaked in a ton of wit, I would often tell people if I had a mate I’d be having too much sex to be in all these groups.
For the first three years of my daughter’s life, I didn’t date, didn’t really go out, and wasn’t having sex. Much of this was a purposeful decision. I had also stopped drinking until she was around two. Parenting alone heaped an extra amount of responsibility on my plate. I thought if I wasn’t the most extra version of myself our lives would be in disarray. I was determined to not live up to the “single mom” stereotype of needing lots of handouts, and drowning my sorrows in substances. I was laser-focused. But, then I met a cute guy I just had to have. He was finer than fine, as I like to say of those who truly embody it. After three years I was ready to revive my loins and deal with whatever lack of focus came with it. He also worked full-time, was in grad school, and unfortunately, lived some distance away. So, finding time to satisfy this renewed desire was tricky, but we made it work. Even though the relationship didn’t work, I was excited to have this piece of myself back. An active sex life had always been important to me, so I was ready to consistently have one again.