What No One Told Me About Exploring My Own Body

Okay, so sex ed taught me a lot of things.

Mostly fear.

Also diagrams.

And, weirdly, how to put a condom on a banana in a room where everyone was pretending not to breathe.

What it did not teach me was how to actually feel normal in my own body. Or how to know what I liked. Or how to stop treating curiosity like I’d committed a crime.

Very helpful. Ten out of ten. No notes.

The first time I properly admitted I wanted to understand my body better, I was in our kitchen at about 1am, wearing pyjama shorts, eating cereal out of a mug because all the bowls were “soaking” in the sink.

Maya was making toast. Ruby was dramatically retelling a Hinge date. Sam was reminding everyone to drink water like some sort of hydrated guardian angel.

And I remember thinking: everyone seems so casual about this stuff.

Not in a braggy way. Not in a “look how confident I am” way. Just… normal.

Meanwhile, I was acting like exploring my own body required a secret identity, a locked safe, and possibly witness protection.

So let’s be so for real: sex ed was useless for anything involving comfort, curiosity, confidence, or pleasure.

This is what I wish someone had told me sooner.

The problem wasn’t my body, it was the shame

I grew up in a house where sex was not a topic. It was a silence. A change-the-channel situation. A “we’ll talk about that when you’re older” and then, shockingly, we never did.

At school, sex ed was basically: here are the risks, here are the consequences, good luck.

Nobody said:
“You’re allowed to be curious.”
“You don’t have to know what you like yet.”
“Your body isn’t embarrassing.”
“Comfort matters.”
“Going slowly is fine.”

So when I got to uni and realised people were more open about bodies, dating, toys, boundaries, and all the stuff I’d quietly panic-Googled at 1am, I felt like everyone else had received a handbook I’d missed.

They hadn’t.

They were just less scared to ask questions.

That took me ages to understand.

What sex ed should’ve told me

You do not have to know what you like straight away

This is the big one.

I used to think everyone just magically knew their body. Like one day you wake up and suddenly understand what feels good, what feels uncomfortable, what your boundaries are, and how to communicate all of it without sounding like you’re reading from a GCSE drama script.

Nope.

It is allowed to be trial and error.

It is allowed to be awkward.

It is allowed to be a bit underwhelming at first.

I thought it would be awkward. It was. Then it wasn’t.

That’s basically the whole journey.

Comfort matters more than confidence

Everyone online sounds so confident.

Like, suspiciously confident.

But in real life? Especially in a shared student flat with thin walls and someone always boiling pasta at the worst possible moment? Confidence is not always the starting point.

Comfort is.

For me, that meant making things feel low-pressure. Clean room. Door locked. Phone on silent. No rushing. No trying to have some dramatic “main character” experience.

Just paying attention to myself without turning it into a performance.

Going slowly is not boring

This would’ve saved me money, stress, and several deeply embarrassing Google searches.

You do not have to jump straight into anything intense, expensive, or wildly outside your comfort zone.

Starting small is not boring. It is sensible.

Sometimes exploring your body just means noticing what helps you relax. What makes you tense. What feels comfortable. What absolutely does not.

Your body is not a group project. You do not need to impress anyone.

How I actually started paying attention

I didn’t have a grand plan at first.

Obviously.

I had vibes, mild panic, and a Notes app list called “stuff I’m curious about???” with two question marks because one wasn’t anxious enough.

But eventually, I realised I needed to stop treating exploring my body like an emergency.

So I started with three things.

I stopped rushing myself

This sounds obvious, but I was always trying to get to the part where I felt confident.

I wanted to skip the bit where I felt silly.

Unfortunately, the silly bit is where most of the learning happens.

Once I stopped rushing, I noticed more. I noticed when I was overthinking. I noticed when I was only doing something because I thought I “should.” I noticed that being curious did not mean I had to be instantly fearless.

I stopped copying the internet

The internet is useful.

The internet is also a bin fire with WiFi.

One minute you’re searching “beginner body confidence” and the next you’re being told you need a seven-step routine, a silk robe, a £90 product, and the confidence of someone who has never had a flatmate knock on their door mid-scroll.

No.

I had to learn that my body is not content.

It does not need to look a certain way. It does not need to respond on command. It does not need to match whatever someone online says is “normal.”

Normal is wider than I thought.

I made privacy part of the plan

Living with flatmates means privacy is not guaranteed. It is negotiated with laundry schedules, locked doors, and whether Ruby has decided to invite six people over for “one quiet drink.”

So I started being practical.

I kept anything personal in a makeup bag. I charged things when no one was around. I used background noise if the flat was too quiet. I stopped leaving things until the worst possible time, like right before pres when everyone was bursting into each other’s rooms asking for eyeliner.

The goal was not secrecy in a shame way.

It was privacy in a “I deserve to relax” way.

Big difference.

For more on that side of things, I wrote about the whole flatmates-and-thin-walls situation here: how I keep things discreet with flatmates.

Do you need toys to explore your body?

No.

Let’s clear that up immediately.

You do not need to buy anything to start understanding your body better.

But beginner-friendly toys can be helpful for some people, especially if you want to explore gently, privately, and without turning it into a massive expensive thing.

My rule now is: start simple.

I wish I’d known sooner that not everything has to be fancy. Some of the best beginner options are small, quiet, easy to clean, and not wildly expensive.

If you’re skint, don’t panic.

I already did the student-budget digging here: best sex toys under £30 UK student guide.

A tiny note from me: don’t buy something just because it looks intense or because TikTok made it seem life-changing. Think about what actually matters in student life: discreet delivery, easy storage, simple controls, easy cleaning, and not sounding like a lawnmower through a plasterboard wall.

Romance is dead. Practicality is alive.

The boring safety bits that are actually not boring

I used to skip safety advice because I thought it would feel preachy.

But honestly? The basics make everything less stressful.

Here’s what helped me:

Use lube if things feel uncomfortable or too much.
I used to think lube was only for certain situations. Wrong. It can just make exploring feel more comfortable. A simple water-based lube is a good beginner option.

Clean anything you use.
Not glamorous. Very necessary. Follow the care instructions, wash things properly, and store them somewhere clean and dry.

Stop if something hurts or feels wrong.
You do not get extra points for pushing through discomfort. Pause. Reassess. Try another time. Your body is allowed to say no, even to you.

Go at your own pace.
Curiosity is not a deadline.

Consent still matters, even when you’re learning solo.
Not in a dramatic way. More like: don’t bully yourself into something because you think you should be “more confident” by now.

Honestly, that one hit me harder than expected.

Myth vs reality

Myth: Everyone else knows exactly what they like

Reality: Most people are guessing, learning, and pretending they are less awkward than they are.

Myth: Exploring your body has to feel sexy and confident

Reality: Sometimes it feels calm. Sometimes it feels weird. Sometimes someone burns toast in the kitchen and ruins the mood entirely.

Myth: You need expensive stuff to start

Reality: You need privacy, patience, and curiosity. Anything else is optional.

Myth: Feeling embarrassed means something is wrong

Reality: Feeling embarrassed often means you were taught the topic was embarrassing.

Myth: There is a correct way to explore

Reality: The correct way is the one that feels safe, comfortable, and genuinely yours.

What I wish I’d known from the start

I wish I’d known that exploring my body did not have to be a big dramatic confession.

It did not mean I was suddenly a different person.

It did not mean I had to be fearless, experienced, or effortlessly cool about everything.

It just meant I was curious.

And curiosity is normal.

The shame made it feel bigger than it was. The silence made it feel weird. The useless sex ed made it feel like I was supposed to understand risks but not comfort, consequences but not confidence, biology but not my actual lived-in body.

Helpful.

But I’m learning now.

Slowly. Awkwardly. With flatmates, thin walls, a student budget, and a discreet drawer that is mostly organised unless I’m late for a seminar.

So if you’re starting from zero, same.

You are not weird.

You are not behind.

You are not supposed to have it all figured out already.

You’re learning. And that counts.