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“Sex/Life” on Netflix begins like many shows exploring women’s midlife crises — with a flashback, a voiceover, and the realization that life hasn’t gone as planned. It struck a chord with me, leading me to text a friend, asking, “Why does this resonate with my life?” But soon, the show took a turn that left me frustrated.
Netflix had the potential to tap into the thoughts many mothers share: Who am I now that I’m a mom? Where did my former self go? Is there room in my life for both my current self and my past identity? Initially relatable, this connection faded quickly — within the first ten minutes of the premiere.
I can’t help but think they delved into themes without fully understanding their complexity. The main character, Julia, navigates her present life, interspersed with flashbacks of her younger days and a past love. Despite being happily married to what seems like the ideal partner and managing the chaos of motherhood, she grapples with the loss of her former identity. While the show aims to explore the confusion and struggles of losing oneself to motherhood, it simplifies the solution to “just spice up your sex life.” Let me be clear: that’s not the answer.
Initially, I thought it must be a male producer behind this narrative, but I was surprised to learn it was created by a woman, Mia Thompson. I had higher expectations from someone with her background. In my search for clarity, I discovered that “Sex/Life” is inspired by a memoir titled “44 Chapters About 4 Men” by Ella Brooks, which connects her past and present experiences.
However, the excessive nudity and the way the lead actress, Sarah Shahi, portrays her internal struggles made it difficult to watch. The notion that this series represents a deep conversation about the emotional turmoil many women face after becoming mothers is frankly insulting.
Many women undergo profound transformations upon entering motherhood. We often feel like we’ve lost our former selves overnight, but societal pressures tell us mourning that loss is selfish. Instead, we’re inundated with responsibilities like childcare, housework, and managing schedules, leaving little room for self-reflection.
The show seems to frame a woman’s dissatisfaction with her life as a crisis, which is regressive. It’s reminiscent of outdated beliefs that a woman’s unhappiness must mean she is unwell. I’m not finished with the series yet, but rumors suggest Julia eventually runs away. This narrative choice feels like a cop-out, as if she can’t confront her struggles or communicate with her partner.
I may end up placing this in the “unfinished” category alongside other disappointing narratives. I’m exhausted by the portrayal of strong women in media, especially when it’s done poorly. This show might just be labeled as “mom porn” or smut, but it fails to deliver anything meaningful beyond a superficial storyline.
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