When I was in my late teens, my friends and I talked openly about our masturbation routines. “Have you tried the bathtub yet?” one of my friends asked. Single and too broke to afford a vibrator, most of us took sexual pleasure in letting water splash down on our lady parts while we laid back to enjoy. “I love that I can cum and don’t need to do anything!” another friend shared. Minus the water waste, this was an affordable and effective method, unless you didn’t have good water pressure—then you actually had to put in work.

As I got older, I continued talking about sex with my girlfriends. “I gotta run, I want to masturbate before I go into work,” was a common sentence I heard from my close girlfriends when we’d talk over the phone. Our relationship with sex, and our orgasms, was something to be celebrated and talked about extensively, without shame or worry. In all of our sex conversations, the sentiment was the same: We were in charge our bodies and so the responsibility for our orgasms fell on us, not our partners.

At 18, or maybe I was 19, I saved up enough money to buy my first vibrator. I chose The Jack Rabbit. It had 5 settings, and was bigger than any penis I’d seen in person. The lady at the local, and somewhat shady, sex store sold me on it. I was intrigued, but the look of it felt incredibly intimating. It had pearls around the base with a rotating head, and it had vibrating bunny ears for clitoral stimulation. “It’ll help stimulate…everything,” the lady at the sex store continued as I reached for my wallet.

“I had the best orgasm of my life last night,” I told my best friend the next morning. “You NEED to get this thing,” I joyfully continued. “It’s basically the perfect toy, minus the fact that it’s unbearably loud, but I mean, who cares about that anyways?!”

Though I had a boyfriend at the time, I started experimenting with my new 9-inch friend on my own for quite awhile before I introduced it into my relationship. We were long distance, and the Rabbit was something we used during phone sex, though I mostly liked keeping it to myself. I felt proud to own it, and felt like it wasn’t for anyone else’s pleasure but my own. I liked that I could use it regardless if my partner was available or horny, and that I could use it whenever I wanted, on my own timeline. It was so loud though, that the only real use-deciding factor was whether or not my parents were home.

The Rabbit helped me establish a routine to connect with my body, to get to know it outside of the confines of a relationship. Even when my then-boyfriend and I moved in together, it was still something I rarely wanted to use with him, often leaving me excited if he was gone for an evening or a weekend. It was mine to use by me for me.

Fast forward a decade later, things have changed. I’m 30 years old, married in a 7-year-long-term relationship, and I no longer own my Rabbit. I did however purchase a Pom vibrator a few years ago to spice things up in the bedroom. It fits in the palm of your hand perfectly and is great to use with a partner during intercourse. I occasionally use it when I’m on top, but unlike my 20-year-old self, I never use it alone.

About six months ago I was on the phone with a good friend, telling her that lately I had a lot of pent up sexual energy. “I’ve just been so damn horny lately,” I quietly shared. I had just navigated my way out of a depression, and was spending lots of time at home alone while my husband was working long days at the office.

“Dude, you need Wanda!” she excitingly suggested. Wanda was the nickname she gave her vibrator. The vibrator she was referring to, the Magic Wand, I had only ever heard about in a Sex And The City episode. Samantha goes into a store to return a vibrator, to which the sales associate responds, “Sharper Image doesn’t sell vibrators. It’s a neck massager.”

“It’ll zap your clit off,” my friend said surprisingly cheerfully.

I laughed, “Hmm, I’m not sure that’s what I’m after.”

“Trust me,” she insisted, “Just go get one today.”

She continued sharing her masturbation routine, and I was stunned by her honesty. She used it all the time, alone and during sex with her partner. “I can’t even have sex without Wanda anymore,” she said. It had been years since someone shared so openly and extensively about the details of their sex life, and I embarrassingly admitted to her that it had been years since I masturbated.

“What!? You used to masturbate all the time! Get back on that, like now,” she encouraged.

All of a sudden I realized that the older I got, the more and more I became dependent on my partner for my orgasms. No longer was I feeling my teenage independence over my desire, and the responsibility of my orgasm had moved from my shoulders to solely those of my partners. I’m not sure if it’s because I got older, or too comfortable in a long-term relationship, but I stopped prioritizing my individual sexuality, and rather focused on sexuality within my relationship. I was no longer in charge of sexually satisfying my own body. If I was horny, I tried to have sex, and if that wasn’t a possibility, I’d have to sit this round out.

The following day I went to a sex store and purchased my very own Wanda. It felt like an easy decision, though when I walked into the sex store, I felt uncomfortable by the overwhelming amount of new vibrating options since I last walked into one.

When I came back home, I was eager to try her. In an empty house, I started planning out my masturbation experiment. Batteries charged. Blinds down. Lights off. Candle lit. I forgot how much I enjoyed the ritual of masturbating. I was excited, and ready.

I wish it lasted longer. It felt intense and too rapid. I guess my body wasn’t used to Wanda, or anything that big vibrating down there.

When my husband came home that night, after dinner, I told him what happened.

“I masturbated today,” I shared proudly. “Actually, I went to the sex store and bought this giant vibrator,” I continued as I handed him Wanda. He was shocked. For the record, anyone would be. Wanda is enormous. But he also seemed genuinely surprised that I decided to do this for myself. “It felt really nice,” I concluded. “I think I’m gonna do it again,” I told him as I tucked her away in my underwear drawer.

Six months in, and I can say that carving out room in my week to masturbate has been incredibly empowering. I feel like I am in charge of my body again, of my sexuality. I feel more confident. It’s also been incredible for my sex life with my partner; he is turned on that this is part of my routine.

Married or not, getting off is no one’s responsibility but their own, and purchasing Wanda made me realize that. Unfortunately, my love for Wanda is not as heartfelt as it is for my friend. Wanda is way too intense for me. On the lowest setting, it indeed felt like my clit had burnt off. But Wanda inspired me to start using my hands and imagination again, like I used to when I was younger.

Regardless of what tools I use, or what my relationship status is, or how my sex life swings, my relationship with my body and my sexual journey is mine, and solely mine. The decision to orgasm falls on my shoulders only. And my latest Google search? “Best Rabbit Vibrators.”