The Things We Were Taught About Being ‘Clean Down There

“You don’t stick your fingers up to wash the insides of your vagina?”

I was on the phone with a friend when she asked me this question.

I confidently said no.

You see, there is apparently a way of washing the vagina.

And I found this out in boarding school when I noticed how the other girls cleaned their vaginas and talked about how their mothers passed on this practice.

At that time, I felt truly neglected.

My mother had left me with a relative to raise and she had not taught me this traditional way girls were taught to clean their genitalia.

Years later, I would be grateful that this practice was not handed to me.

Somehow, in my own wisdom, I was cleaning myself how health professionals have and are continuing to advise women to do.

So I was confident answering no to my friend without feeling like I was doing something wrong.

The thing with cultural practices is that you inherit them without asking the question why.

And many of you, like me, grew up disconnected from the most intimate and possibly one of the cleanest parts of your body.

Growing up, you were bombarded with messages on how unclean the vagina was and several times, especially in my culture, it was referred to as a wound.

I witnessed many market women selling ointments to women and girls to use to kill the “wound” within the vagina.

And I saw many girls use this ointment – and up to now, I couldn’t possibly tell you what was in them.

So I asked why.

Why was this part of a woman’s body seen and described as being so dirty and smelly?

Why had you inherited these words about your body?

Why were you expected to clean the vagina in a certain way?

Why was your vagina expected to smell like a bed of roses?

And the answer?

Men.

The answer was never really about cleanliness at all — you were taught your body was something to be kept ready for someone else.

So you lived your life afraid to even touch your own genitals unless it is to clean it to please another person.

You want to smell nice – for a sexual partner.

You want to be tight – for a sexual partner.

You want to be smooth – for a sexual partner.

You buy products and eat watermelon and pineapples – because apparently it makes the vagina smell and taste nice.

You may not even check if a penis, hand or mouth of a partner is clean enough for the vagina you have spent a lifetime cleaning.

You have spent your life obsessing over how clean you are down there.

Ever stopped to think why you have to do all that to a part of your body that already cleans itself?

When will you claim back that part of your body for you?

Not for anyone.

Not for what society says you should smell like.

For you.

Warm water.

Simply rinse your vulva, gently.

Add a very mild unscented soap if you prefer.

And when you wash, remember that you do it for you.

Become aware of any opposing thoughts that may come up and write it down when you can.

Simply observe and acknowledge how you feel about that part of your body.

Six years ago today, when I clicked publish, I never imagined it would lead me here — from sharing experiences to inviting women home to themselves.

This month, I want to take you somewhere I’ve never written openly about: the body. What we were taught to fear, to hide, to keep ready for everyone but ourselves. This is the first of those reflections.

Because coming home to yourself was never only about thoughts and feelings. It is also about how you live inside your own body — and whether you have ever been allowed to call it yours.

If something in this touched you, stay with me. There is more coming, and I’d love for you to be here for it.