Leslie Massicotte (she/they) has a Master’s of Education in Sexuality Education from Widener University and is a trained Our Whole Lives curriculum facilitator with over 15 years of experience working with youth. Their educational philosophy centers student and community priorities and provides inclusive, comprehensive information to empower individuals to make their own choices about their sexuality. With a focus on expanding sexual anatomy education to be representative of diverse bodies, she facilitates lessons using a social justice lens, acknowledging structures of privilege and oppression and encouraging students to grapple with ways to fight oppression through their sexual health choices.

My Story:

I’m a trained sexual educator and world traveler, passionate about promoting sexual and reproductive rights for all. My work has brought me around the world, from Oregon to Rwanda and beyond, where I pursue opportunities in education & training, curriculum development, program management, and communications.

Hailing from the Midwest, sexuality education was not a priority in my schools growing up. I received your classic abstinence-only, fear-based programming, full of frightening sexually transmitted infection (STI) pictures.  I vividly recall my middle school health teacher passing out “promise cards” that everyone in the class was supposed to sign, saying that we would wait to have sex until marriage--something that didn’t quite make sense to my 12-year-old self.

I was lucky to grow up participating in a comprehensive, fact-based sexuality program called Our Whole Lives (learn more here: https://www.uua.org/re/owl). We played with condoms, practiced how to give consent, and learned the correct names for our body parts. When I went to university, I was shocked to find out just how important (and how unknown) this information is. A friend came out to me and then admitted that he wasn’t sure if he should be using condoms when he hooked up with guys. Other college friends said that they would stick to giving blow jobs because they’re “risk free.” I  became the person to talk to if someone had a question about birth control, and I drove my underage friends to Planned Parenthood to get the morning after pill since in Indiana you had to be 18 to get it. And the more people I got to know, the more sexual abuse stories I heard, particularly surrounding “the first time.” This has only become more clear today, with the #MeToo movement going strong and top political and cultural figures being called out for sexual assault.

These experiences made me realize that sexual and reproductive health matters, and ignorance about your options and rights can have life-altering consequences. Not knowing about AIDS can kill you. Not having access to protection can cause unplanned and unsupported pregnancies.  Not understanding consent can contribute to rape and abuse. Access to sexual and reproductive health education and services is a social justice issue, and it’s my mission to promote access for all—regardless of who they are or where they come from.

Note: I use kitenge patterns in the headers of my website as beautiful artwork, a symbol of my connection to Central Africa where I began much of my sex educator journey, and to be representative of women, culture, history, and art—themes of this website and my work. Kitenge is multi-colored fabric worn by a variety of Central African women as well as women throughout the African continent.