When you think of a sex writer, what do you think of? Do you think of someone like Stormy Daniels, full of salacious stories and shocking exploits? Do you think of someone like Dr. Ruth, overly clinical but groundbreaking nonetheless? Do you assume they’re sexual gods or goddesses, deigning to impart their wisdom on clueless readers? If so you’d be wrong—about all of it.

Steph Auteri is a sex writer whose new memoir, A Dirty Word: How a Sex Writer Reclaimed Her Sexuality, details her own sexual identity and her struggles, as a sex writer, to grapple with sex, fertility, relationships, and body image. We spoke over email about her book, sexuality, parenthood, and more.

I was so excited about your book! I really enjoyed your fresh honesty. What was your impetus for writing about sexuality and your work as a sex writer?

The book as it exists now is a completely different book from the one I set out to write eight or so years ago. The book I first began writing was more of a traditional memoir, with some self-help sprinkled in. It was more overtly prescriptive. I included lessons at the end of each chapter because I wanted people to be able to learn from the things I had learned, and from the mistakes I had made.

This approach came out of my own experiences as a beginning sex writer. When I first began writing about my struggles in the bedroom, I immediately began receiving emails from people who wanted to thank me for what I had revealed, because they were experiencing the same things. I quickly realized I could use my writing as a means of breaking the silence around a difficult—but common—issue. The book was an extension of my desire to do just that.

Where I think that first iteration failed, though, is that it was so focused in on my own story. It didn’t look outward enough. It also assumed that the things that had helped me would help everyone.

I took a long break from the book at one point, and in the middle of that, two things happened in quick succession: I got a job working for a professional organization for people in the field of sexuality, and I got pregnant. The first thing pushed me to focus less on my own stories. It helped me develop my skills as a journalist. The second thing filled me with terror. It forced me to look at all the ways in which it is terrifying to be a woman in this world. It made me realize that there were so many more things my book should contain. It had to be about much more than a sex writer struggling with libido.

I think those are such great points—as writers, we’re often (necessarily) wrapped up in our own stories, and sometimes we need to get out of our head.

And it’s so hard to get out of my head. It’s like a haunted amusement park funhouse in there.

What have you done to maintain a space for yourself and your work (writing and otherwise) within motherhood?

Hahahahaha.

Actually, I shouldn’t complain. I have it better than a lot of other moms. I’ve been working from home as a full-time freelance writer and editor for about 11 years now. Part of the reason I built this life for myself was because I wanted to be home to raise my children… when I eventually had children, but I didn’t want to stop working. Obviously, I had delusions of grandeur. I had no idea how difficult it would be to simultaneously care for my child and get my work done.

At first, things were hard, and when my chronic depression reared its ugly head, they were even harder. About a year or so into new motherhood, however, my husband also began working from home full-time. As difficult as it is to be in close proximity to my husband ALL THE DAMN TIME, it’s also made it easier for me to find spaces that are… just for me.

Sure, I’ve had a home office for as long as I’ve had my daughter, and it even has a lock now (a very recent development). But I’m the primary caregiver, and as much as I sometimes want to, I can’t ignore my child when she needs me.

Since my husband started working from home, I’ve found other ways to create my own space. I’ve plugged into my local writing community. I go to a writing support group on Tuesday mornings when my work load isn’t too much. I go to a Shut Up & Write meetup most Tuesday nights. I meet with my critique group every Wednesday night. I try to get to my yoga studio twice a week in order to maintain my physical and mental health. Both our families also help us out. We’re lucky to have them close by. And my daughter goes to preschool in the mornings, which has also been a huge help. That’s when I focus on my writing.

All in all, even though I still feel tired all the time, I also feel pretty good about life these days.

It sounds like a lot of self-care is mixed in there, to make parenting and full-time work go smoothly.

You know it. If I don’t take care of me, this whole shebang falls apart.

How has writing about sex changed over the years (if it has)? Where do you see it going?

When I first started writing about sex more than 15 years ago, it seemed that editors were hungry for writers willing to write openly and honestly about sex. We hadn’t yet gotten to the point where there was a “sexpert” at every publication, and we hadn’t yet seen the explosion of confessional essays.

At this point, the confessional essay is still going strong, but as women get more politicized, I see more of a tendency to look outward. I see more brilliant investigative journalism. I see more historical and scientific research that’s just busting all these myths we’ve long carried around sexuality. It’s pretty cool to see (and read).

Do you think the current administration is a positive or negative catalyst for sex writing and women’s sexuality in general?

While I think the current administration has, oddly enough, been a positive catalyst for women writers who refuse to shut up about their experiences, and who push to raise awareness and affect policy through their writing, women’s access to comprehensive sex education and to reproductive health care is diminishing. Funding is being pulled from the programs that help women the most.

I’m not just referring to the ability to pop into one’s local Planned Parenthood and receive care. When funding is funneled toward abstinence-only education programs instead of comprehensive programs that incorporate lessons on safety and boundaries and consent and emotions and sexual decision-making, rape culture flourishes. I could talk to you for a thousand hours about this, but I’m going to restrain myself.

What do you mean?

Hmm… Well, when I said I would restrain myself, I was referring mostly to the argument that sex ed should begin in early childhood because, without that foundation, adolescents aren’t truly prepared to make smart decisions around sex and consent and boundaries and safety and, not only that but when they don’t get comprehensive, inclusive sex education, they don’t have that opportunity to push back against the persisting gender norms that keep us in this ugly cycle where men are so often playing offense and women are so often playing defense. This is just another one of those things I can easily get on a soapbox about and, in fact, I’ve been writing a ton of sex ed articles in the past few years.

During the Obama administration, more funding was routed away from abstinence-only-until-marriage education programs and toward comprehensive sex ed programs and, during this current administration, the switch has flipped. So where once I felt hope that the tide was turning in such a way that my daughter’s sex ed at home might be supported and reinforced by her sex ed at school, I now feel hopeless. While I know that the values are kids pick up from us has a huge impact… how much can I really push back against years upon years of cultural conditioning.

How do you think the creative community can support women, and mothers, especially?

It’s funny. My writer friends and I joke about all the writing residencies and retreats we wish we could do, but they all just seem so unrealistic when you’re a working mother. Leave my family and my job for a month or three? Suuuuuuure.

I have been heartened to see a handful of writing grants aimed at moms. And there has been some discussion at certain conferences of whether to provide child care so that moms who might not otherwise be able to can attend. Sure. Yes to more of that.

But I don’t know if this is a problem the creative community can solve. This is a problem in our culture, where women are seen as the primary caregivers, and yet they are not given the support system that is required for them to take care of both their children and themselves. How the heck do we as a creative community fix that?

What are you struggling with, as a parent and as a writer, right now?

As this book’s journey has come to an end, I’ve flailed around a bit, trying to figure out what I want to work on next. I am so interested in doing more immersive journalism, and I’ve been interested in it for a good long while, but at the same time, it doesn’t seem like the type of thing I could fit into my life. How could I possibly fit that type of work into my life?

And then I get sad and frustrated and joke with my husband about how I’m just going to retire and take care of my daughter full-time. Which is ridiculous, because I love being a professional writer.

So right now, I’m struggling to find a project that excites me. And then to make it actually feasible to work on without dropping all the other balls.

In your book you write about what you hope your daughter will think of the book, and what you hope for her. What do you think we should be talking with our sons and daughters about?

It is so weird how much the book has been shaped by my becoming a mother. How having her has forced me to think beyond the recovery/survival narrative and dig into how we have to change things for young girls who are not yet women. In the months since finishing the book, it seems that the world has gotten even darker. I knew my experiences were common, but conversations around #YesAllWomen and #MeToo have actually made me… more depressed? Resigned to the inevitability that terrible things will someday happen to my daughter?

And on top of all that, we’re going backward again in terms of funding around quality sex education. It makes it seem as if nothing will ever change.

Which is why I find myself writing a lot these days about the conversations parents should be having with their children. We should be normalizing their bodies and their sexuality. We should be teaching them about safety and boundaries and sexual decision-making. We should be talking about all of the fears and emotions that come with growing up as a sexual being. We should be open to hearing their questions and answering them as honestly as possible, without judgment or shame. ::steps down off soapbox::

What books inspire you, and what are you reading right now?

First and foremost, I was inspired and changed by Emily Nagoski’s Come As You Are, because it taught me that I was not broken. That I was normal. The book is about the science behind female sexual response, but it is accessible and engaging as hell. Read it. I’ve also been inspired by books like Men Explain Things To Me (Rebecca Solnit), Hunger (Roxane Gay), Mean (Myriam Gurba), and The Chronology of Water (Lidia Yuknavitch), all by brilliant women who do not shy away from the ugly realities of the sexual violence that runs through our culture.

Right now, I’m reading an e-galley of Fed Up by Gemma Hartley, about the emotional labor women engage in, and I am basically highlighting the entire book.

What advice would you give to a writer trying to juggle parenthood and writing?

I am a very organized and structured person, so of course I’m going to preach the gospel of structure. One thing I do is schedule out blocks of time for specific tasks. For example, I already mentioned that my mornings are devoted to writing, because that’s when my daughter is at school. Then, when she’s home and in my space all the time, I do all the work that doesn’t require nearly as much brain power. Futzing with my schedule to make it work this way has made all the difference in the world.

The second bit of advice I’d give is one I’m terrible with: Ask for help.

I’ve shot myself in the foot many times over because I’ve felt that it was up to me to do it all. I am so resistant to asking for help from other people. It makes me feel I’m doing it wrong. That I’m a bad adult. That I’m a bad mother.

But I’ve always been bad at delegating work to others and, when it comes down to it, this is what that is. Delegating out work so that things run more smoothly and you don’t lose your goddamn mind.

YES. All of that, especially delegating. We don’t talk about that a lot—in any field, really. So many times, we give the impression that we’re all juggling all the balls and everything could run this smoothly for you, too, if you only worked harder at it. But what we don’t talk about is delegating work, or hiring help, or daycare costs.

I have had many a meltdown trying to keep all those balls in their air. Why do I do this to myself? Because I’ve been culturally conditioned to believe it’s my damn job. This is why I’ve been enjoying Gemma’s book so much. It’s helped me understand why it’s so hard for me to ask for help.

What’s next on the horizon for you?

I… have no idea. And I hate that I have no idea. I have a list of possible projects, but nothing has really sparked for me yet. So all I can do for the moment is continue editing. Pitching. Playing around with new forms of short-form writing. Seeing what I stumble upon next.

Actually, now that I think about it, all of the best, most fulfilling work in my life has been work I’ve stumbled into through no planning or intentionality on my part. That should make me feel better, right?

Jaime Rochelle Herndon graduated with her MFA in creative nonfiction from Columbia and is a writer and editor living in NYC. She is a contributor at Book Riot and a writing instructor at Apiary Lit, and her writing can be seen on Healthline and New York Family Magazine, among others.

Author photo by Erika Kapin.