It isn’t easy to pinpoint when one loses herself.

I’m really not sure when just letting something go turned into faking as a habit.

I know this: it’s fucking hell to look someone you love in the eyes and say, I’ve been changing inside and haven’t told you. I’ve been forcing myself to carry on, when I knew that fundamentally, I am growing into someone new to us both.

And yet, I’m standing on the other edge of that cliff, safe and sound.

Transformed.

Wiser, wilder, and somehow, more innocent.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t sob my heart out and think This Could Never Work. I actually said that, out loud, in all my defensive glory. Or, really, lack of glory.

But once the emotion ran its course and the communication had room to be clear, I found myself hugging the hell out of a man who loves me enough to listen. Even when it feels like I’m gutting him by saying that all our past sex wasn’t really what he thought it was. (Which is grossly overstating the truth. We have a torrid history, to be sure. But the details are complex and personal. And hearing me say I’ve Never Felt So Hot in all my LIFE before January 6, 2010, probably felt like, “All that past sex? Horrid. A lie.” to him. Not true. Just Jan. 6th felt illegally good.) (Yep. Got the date memorized.)

And, I’m grateful to myself, for feeling that I, and my pleasure, am worth speaking up for.

In having a conversation that scared the shit out of me, I allowed myself to be vulnerable, seen and heard, despite my desire to run away and never face him again. I admitted what scared me. And I allowed myself to be loved in ways that make me feel loved.

I also know this: it sucks that sex is so difficult to talk about and be taken seriously. It sucks that there are very few women I know whom I could chat about this with and feel respected, heard, and supported. But for those I can talk to, I am supremely thankful.

What I’ve always thought about sexuality, and am now completely certain, is that it’s fluid. How I expressed myself sexually five years ago may or may not still work for me now. And accepting that as part of life, growth and learning is vital to my relationship with myself and my lover.

That’s where I faltered: I kept quiet when it wasn’t working anymore, rather than exploring how it could work. And you know, maybe that’s where a lot of women falter. Because it is scary to ask a man for more foreplay, much less emotional and spiritual intimacy, too. We’re told and trained and have experienced that men aren’t interested in those areas. That those areas are feminine, and only women get it. And yet, without those areas fulfilled, the physical part of sex is less fulfilling, too. Even for men.

It’s definitely a journey. I want to rest in knowing that things are going to keep getting better, and yet I know that it’s still going to take work and communication and all those parts of sex that I’d been avoiding. It isn’t easy for me to ask for what I want, and I’m starting to see that that’s a theme.

But, of course, I have resources. It could be said that I am a slut for resources.

My most fabulous resources? Myself. My man. Communication.

Then, we have The Resource that’s distracting my mind whilst I remind myself that bills must be paid first.

And I’m still loving on Sheri Winston’s genius.

Mix in some oatstraw infusion, yoga, bellydancing, walking, and long, hot baths then blend until the body feels energized. Relaxed aliveness is what we’re going for here.

And, on the advice of someone in the know, don’t forget the lube.

Love on, people.

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