Did you think you were supposed to get your sex back so you could sell it? Become some kind of viable meat packaged suggestively for their devouring?
Did you think your reclamation would make you more easy, like you “should be”? Less sensitive? Less needy? More carefree, wet and wild?
I’ve heard it 500 times – the woeful curiosity of internalized toxic patriarchy. It laments, “What’s wrong with me that I’m so hot and cold in bed? I want to be able to think less, reveal more, worry less, moan more. I want the endless orgasms all the life coaches are boasting about! I want to be able to post my sexy selfie without fear of what people will think!”
Me too, sister. Me too. But not through inauthentic hallow means. Not at the cost of my integrity. Not by denying my Queendom and her personalized needs for love and safety. Not by saying something’s wrong with me, blaming my closed-off-ness on my trauma, calling myself wounded or wrong. Uht-uh.
There is an inherent genius in the hyper-vigilance or freeze that lays face-to-face with disregard, over-consumption or lack of reverence.
There is wisdom in the worry of posting your naked body on the Internet, when we’re still living in a violent rape culture.
I don’t know about you, but I want my overflowing moaning rapture to come to me via a sacred remembrance that I am a holy thing worth worshipping. I want my sensual selfie expressions to come from a place of authentic self-awe or erotic overflow, not striving or trying to be cool, not pressure to be comfortable if I’m not.
Here’s the ultimate reality: my sexuality deserves a sacred gatekeeper. And so does yours.
In my world these days, there are passwords – energetic, emotional and intellectual passwords – that one must learn to enter into my body. Passwords of love. Passwords of care. Passwords of presence and curiosity and strength and sensitivity. Like hymnals to the soul of my arousal – sing at the door to my temple, open my heart with your devotion, and perhaps, if I’m in the mood, I’ll open my legs with wild abandon.
Every seed has shameless needs for cultivating its growth, you know. Flowers don’t bloom without water, sunlight, weeding. Have you tended a garden this summer? You are nature, my darling. Your sex is a seed that has healthy, brilliant needs. Stop pretending otherwise. Stop buying the lie of linear capitalism that’s pushing you to open open open, grow, grow, grow with no limits, no need to replenish your soil, rotate your crops, have seasons of bounty and seasons of rest.
Don’t reclaim your sex so you can just as quickly have the flower of your magic picked, sold and consumed, shared in neon light for all to see. (Let me be clear, I praise your sensual expression! I express my sensuality often! But not from a place of force. I share when my whole heart says YES.)
Break the spells of collective trauma from your cells, your psyche. You are not a commodity of sensuality, emotionless and easy, carefree and careless. You are precious, powerful medicine, worth protecting with grace and fire, worth sharing with wholehearted desire.
The original sin? It wasn’t your ravishing eroticism. It was shaming your wildness into believing that it was bad, then preying on the vulnerability of your resulting low self-esteem, making you believe you needed to be chosen to have value. Systematicly.
Contrary to the propaganda of our culture’s toxic garden of sexuality, you are not a consumer good waiting to be bought off a shelf, somehow unpure if you get picked too soon. You are sentient and hungry – rightfully, naturally. You have healthy limits and life-giving needs. You are worth the most exquisite tending and radical care.
So, for the love of Goddess, call home your sex, but not so you can feed mass-consumption. Do it to feed your aliveness. To feed the love in your heart. To feed the pulse of your pussy. To feed the expression of your beauty. And to feed the quickening truth of our times:
We have strayed so far from natural order, and we are the ones born in this day, in this age, to reclaim the health of our humanity… economically, politically, systemically and sexually – where it’s real close in. The closest of close.
To tending the wildness of our glorious gardens with epic, epic love.
PS – This writing isn’t intended to shame or isolate those who do, indeed, sell sex. You’re doing important work in the world, with choice and agency. Thank you. This is speaking to those who think their inherent meters of “on” or “off” are broken, that they should always only ever be ON – for another’s consumption – and if they’re not, something’s wrong with their inherent value or worth. It’s my version of an experiential exposé on how internalized capitalism contributes to toxic expectations around sex and sexuality. #welcometomybrain
PPS – As I work on ReBloom, I have space to work with people 1-1, either in one-off sessions or long-term developmental programs that will grow you into wildly new versions of truth and power. Follow the form at the linked page to get in touch! Big love. xo