Music has this weird way of bottling up feelings we’re usually too embarrassed to say out loud. Most songs about pining or desire are wrapped in layers of metaphor—roses, storms, "fire in my soul"—that kind of thing. But then you have a track like I think about you when I touch myself. It’s blunt. It’s honest. It’s a little bit awkward, which is exactly why it stuck in the collective consciousness long after the initial buzz faded.
Honestly, it’s refreshing.
The song, most famously associated with the indie-pop artist Mara Connor, captures a very specific brand of modern loneliness. It’s not just a song about physical release; it’s a song about the haunting presence of someone who isn't there anymore. It’s about the mental loops we run when we’re alone. It’s about the intimacy of memory.
Why the lyrics hit different
You’ve probably heard it on a late-night playlist or stumbled across it during a deep dive into "sad girl autumn" aesthetics. The core of the track works because it bridges the gap between the physical and the psychological.
When people search for "i think about you when i touch myself," they aren't usually looking for a manual. They’re looking for the song that articulated that weird, lingering connection to an ex or a crush. It’s the sonic equivalent of staring at a "delivered" notification at 2:00 AM.
Mara Connor, a Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter, released this in 2020. It was a time when everybody was isolated. We were all stuck in our rooms, and the line between our digital lives and our physical bodies felt incredibly thin. The song felt like a confession. It wasn't "produced" to death; it felt raw, like a voice memo you’d send to a friend after two glasses of wine.
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Critics, including those at Rolling Stone and American Songwriter, noted her ability to blend 60s-style folk vibes with a very 21st-century bluntness. It’s that contrast—the sweet, almost retro melody clashing with the graphic honesty of the title—that creates the friction. It’s what makes it art instead of just a catchy hook.
The psychology of parasocial and personal longing
There’s a reason this phrase resonates beyond just the song itself. It touches on the concept of "mental rehearsal." Psychologists often talk about how our brains don't always distinguish between a memory and a current experience when the emotional stakes are high.
- The Memory Loop: When you’re alone, your brain defaults to the strongest emotional impressions you have.
- The Dopamine Hit: There’s a biological component here. The brain pairs the physical sensation with the visual memory, reinforcing the attachment. It’s a feedback loop that’s hard to break.
Basically, the song isn't just about sex. It’s about the inability to move on. It’s about the fact that even in our most private moments, we’re still carrying around the "ghosts" of people who might not even be thinking about us.
The aesthetic of the "Confessional Track"
We live in an era of oversharing. From TikTok storytimes to Instagram photo dumps, the "private" is now public. I think about you when I touch myself fits perfectly into this movement. It’s part of a lineage of songs that refuse to be polite. Think back to Fiona Apple or Liz Phair in the 90s. They were doing the same thing—using discomfort as a tool for connection.
Connor’s version is particularly interesting because of the "Nocturne" vibe. The production is sparse. You can hear the breath in the vocals. It’s intimate. It’s not a stadium anthem; it’s a bedroom anthem.
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The song also gained a second life on social media platforms. You’ll see it used in edits that focus on longing, nostalgia, or "main character energy." It’s become a shorthand for a specific kind of vulnerability. You’re admitting that someone still has power over you, even when you’re by yourself.
Breaking down the misconceptions
People often think songs with provocative titles are just looking for shock value. But if you actually listen to the verses, it’s deeply melancholic. It’s not a "raunchy" song. It’s a sad song.
There’s a huge difference between being provocative for the sake of a headline and being provocative because that’s the only way to tell the truth. Mara Connor isn’t trying to shock your grandmother; she’s trying to describe the hollow feeling of trying to replace a real connection with a fantasy.
What we can learn from the "Ghosting" era
In 2026, dating and relationships feel more fragmented than ever. We "see" people on our screens all day, but we don't feel them. This creates a weird psychological tension.
The song I think about you when I touch myself is the ultimate anthem for the "seen" era. It’s what happens when the physical presence of a person is replaced by their digital footprint and your own imagination.
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- Accept the lingering: It’s normal for people to stay in your head longer than they stay in your life.
- Music as Catharsis: Sometimes, hearing someone else say the "shameful" thing makes it less shameful.
- The power of simplicity: You don't need a 50-piece orchestra to convey heartbreak. You just need a guitar and a truth that most people are too scared to admit.
If you’re trying to move past a situation like this, the first step is usually acknowledging that the "fantasy" version of the person in your head isn't the real person. The song captures the fantasy. Real life is usually a lot messier and less melodic.
Take a minute to actually listen to the lyrics next time it pops up on your "Discover Weekly." Don't just focus on the title. Listen to the way her voice cracks. Listen to the space between the notes. That’s where the actual story lives.
The next step is to curate your environment. If a certain song or memory is keeping you stuck in a loop of longing, it might be time to shake up your playlist. Try branching out into something with a completely different tempo—maybe some high-energy synth-pop or some instrumental jazz—to break the neural pathways that keep pulling you back to that one specific person. Music is a tool for feeling, but it shouldn't be a cage. It's okay to let the song play, feel the sting, and then hit "skip" to move on to something new.
Actionable Insight: To break a cycle of obsessive thoughts or "phantom intimacy," practice grounding techniques. When you find your mind drifting toward a memory while you're alone, try the "5-4-3-2-1" method: identify 5 things you see, 4 you can touch, 3 you hear, 2 you smell, and 1 you can taste. This pulls your brain out of the past and back into your physical body in the present moment.