Going commando changed my life!
It’s been two years since I stopped wearing panties, and I say this without drama or apology: I don’t regret it.
This isn’t something I planned to turn into a lifestyle choice, and it definitely wasn’t something I ever imagined admitting out loud, let alone writing about. For the longest time, underwear was like a compulsory part of womanhood. Something you simply had to wear, no matter how uncomfortable it made you. But my relationship with panties had always been complicated.
I’ve hated them for as long as I can remember, though I couldn’t quite explain why back then. The discomfort started even before I became a full-blown adult. I remember getting bumps almost every single time. My inner thighs were a war zone: constant friction, irritation, and soreness that never ever fully heal. Panty lines didn’t just leave marks; they sometimes gave me slight sores. Over time, the irritation turned into dark marks that I still struggle to fade till this day.
For years, I assumed this was normal. I told myself it was just one of those things women endured quietly.
Ironically, I was extremely particular about hygiene. Let’s scratch that out completely as a factor. I changed my panties at least twice daily. I took care of my lady area religiously. Clean fabrics, breathable materials, careful washing routines, I did everything “right.” And yet, panties always had a way of messing me up.
Despite all this, the idea of not wearing underwear felt like a taboo. Even if I was home all day doing absolutely nothing, I made sure I had a panty on. It seemed unsafe, improper, almost wrong not to. Society had drilled it into me that underwear was non-negotiable, regardless of how your body felt about it.
Then, in my very early twenties, I started going commando at night. I wanted my body to breathe, at least while I slept. The feeling was refreshing. Heavenly, even. There was a lightness I hadn’t realized I was missing. No pressure, no friction, no constant awareness of fabric sitting where it didn’t belong.
My body responded almost immediately. Less irritation. Less discomfort, and a sense of relief I hadn’t felt in years.
Still, I told myself it was just a nighttime thing. Daytime commando felt like crossing a line.
Until one Saturday.
That day, without much ceremony, I decided to try it. I was running errands, nothing dramatic. I stepped out without wearing panties, fully aware of what I was doing. At first, it felt weird, not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar: something I wasn’t used to. I was hyper-aware of my body, of my clothes, of the choice I’d made.
But as the day went on, something surprising happened. Nothing went wrong.
There was no discomfort. No irritation. No anxiety, and most of all, no irritation. By the end of the day, I realized I hadn’t thought about my underwear—or lack of it—at all.
Over time, my skin got better and the constant bumps reduced. My inner thighs finally got the chance to heal. The dark marks didn’t disappear overnight, but at least I wasn’t adding new ones. I became more intentional about the clothes I wore, opting for breathable fabrics and better tailoring, and paid closer attention to my body.
One thing I learned quickly is that going commando is often misunderstood. People assume it’s inherently sexual or careless. For me, it was neither. It was about comfort, autonomy, and finally listening to what my body had been trying to tell me for years.
This choice made me more aware, of hygiene, of clothing, of how different environments affect my body. It forced me to be intentional instead of blindly following a rule I never agreed to.
Two years later, I still don’t regret it.
This isn’t advice. It’s not a campaign against underwear, and it’s definitely not a one-size-fits-all solution. Bodies are different. Needs are different. What works for me may not work for the next woman, and that’s okay.
But I do think we should be allowed to talk honestly about comfort, body autonomy, and the small, quiet choices that make living in our bodies easier.
Sometimes, listening to your body can birth radical decisions, but in the end, it’s you first.
This article is written by an anonymous contributor who has chosen to keep their identity private. The decision to remain unnamed is intentional, allowing the story to be told with honesty and vulnerability, free from personal exposure.
