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I started this blog because I wanted to talk about sex. I had no idea I’d soon be single and that sex would be the farthest thing from my mind. Or, that I’d be getting so naked with myself, literally and figuratively, than I’ve ever been in a sexual relationship. And at the risk of sounding like a yogic hippie, which I suppose I am, the getting naked has been possible because of meditation, safe spaces, a funky new brand of yoga and a life changing book.

This is the incidental story of how my intuition led me to uncover an infection that’s been going on for months, without my really being aware of it.

On Sunday, I decided to take therapy into my own hands, and in 9 emphatic pages, I unleashed my fury and pain toward my Ex.

Then, I burned it.

Along with pictures, cards, ‘love’ coupons, and a shirt that just would not die.

Then, I needed a mood brightener, so I danced the dance of the gods and followed up with some yoga nidra and crazy intense breathing. It had been a long time since I’d experienced the buzz of serious meditation, and damn, it was nice.

Because my massage therapist swears by the cleansing power of apple cider vinegar baths, I indulged for probably the 3rd time this week. My whole plan was to let out the emotions over my once-lover, then wash it all away and be done with it. Once the thrill of the warm water wore off and my mind started to wander, I decided to use a meditation from Wild Feminine.

And this is when the pain became tangible.

I think you’d need to read Wild Feminine to understand what I mean, but I used a pelvic bowl clearing exercise, and I uncovered a lot of tension in the front quadrant of my root. As in, I felt overwhelmed with crazy sad emotion, and I wanted to cry and be hugged and yet I just needed myself, all at once. And I wanted my book so badly to read over certain parts and understand more about this area of pain, and yet all I could really do was breathe. And just feel the tension, and breathe, and breathe, and ride it out. To let go of the emotion and find calm again, even though when I’m in that moment, it’s hard not to wonder if I’ll ever see calm again.

I had this urge to dunk my head under the water, and I know I have sensitive ears, but I decided I was going listen to my intuition. So I dunked, twice, and nothing alarming happened. Then for good measure, I showered off after my bath, to make sure all the bullshit went down the drain.

And, let’s be honest: so I wouldn’t smell like apple cider vinegar.

The rest of the night, I felt like I had water in my ears. Watching TV was painful because everything sounded so fucking loud. So I kept laying on my right side, thinking I needed to let the water drain out.

It didn’t get better.

I slept on my right side, woke up, and again, no change.

Actually, it was worse.

I remembered using alcohol to get water out of my ears from swimming when I was younger, so I grabbed some en route to work.

Then, the lovely google people confessed that alcohol: not the best idea for your ears. And I started to realize that the water wasn’t sloshing around, like a normal swimmer sort of feeling . . . it felt much deeper. As in, the shit’s not going to come out.


It’s at this point that I started to question my intuition.

Dammit, I KNOW I have sensitive ears, yet there I go, just obeying the little voice. Well, fuck that, I’ll just shower next time. No dunking for me. Etc.

By the time I saw my doctor, I found out that I have a hardcore ear infection that has nothing to do with bath water.

And so, my intuition saved me, because the dunking shook up the fluid in my ears so I’d notice that I’ve got quite the problem going on here.

Cheesy {but true} yogic moral: It’s amazing what’s revealed when you allow yourself a safe space to listen.

And yeah, it could all be coincidence, etc., but I think that’s the thing about your intuition. You have to trust in that little voice, and you may not have real proof, ever, but I’ve found that more often than not, trusting the voice pays off.

Especially when it makes no sense at all.


I had a chat on Monday night that changed the way I see everything. It was one of those moments where my heart beat wayyy too quickly, I knew too much, and I felt disgusted because I thought I’d left these goddamn moments of panic behind.

I took a few more sips.

I finished the bottle.

I filled a tub.

I let myself thrash in the throes of fury, violent intentions, and painful hurt.

I took my time.

Finally, I laughed.

The more I listened to this song, the harder I laughed.

And somehow, with the burning of pictures and crazy wild yoga and sweaty hot walks, I’m actually feeling lighter than I had been, before I knew what had really been going on.

So while I’d like to say fuck you, I’d add a thank you as well.

Turns out, I’m one lucky bitch.

Crazy how that happens.

I am well aware that single is the only way for me to be right now. In no way am I ready for a love interest, no matter how ravishing or ‘perfect’ for me. But in looking at love and relationship, and who I want to be, and who I’d like to be with, these are the questions and ideas that come to mind . . .

Dear future lover,

If these quotes intrigue you, then we’re off to a good start:

“The feminine belongs to boys AND girls, for men AND women. The feminine is not a gender but an essence, and whoever understands that, also understands the feminine.”
~ Tami Kent

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.”
~ Anais Nin

Will you get lost with me in the space between sensuality and sexuality?

Will you reverence and worship my body as a body, not just a set of sexy curves that appeals to your eyes, but compels your hands to feel and explore, and causes your heart to swell when my skin and muscles and heat responds to you?

Will you listen? Even when it hurts you, and especially when you don’t understand?

Can you understand that loving me results in my loving you, and your being filled and loving me back, and my being filled and showering you with love? Can you see the cycle of intimacy that’s possible when you live without keeping score?

Will you show me your soft side, and let me hold you there? Can I show you my softer sides, my rough edges, and will you hold me and not flinch, judge or look away?

When I need space, will you realize it isn’t about you?

Do you have a healthy love and respect for The Beatles? Led Zeppelin? Janis Joplin, Weezer, Sublime, the Grateful Dead?

When I express myself, will you witness it?
Will you let me be wild without asking me to be calmer, quieter, smaller, more manageable?
Will you express yourself to me?
Will you whisper how I affect you, how you value me, why and how often I capture your attention?
Will you be honest about what you desire?
Will you tell me your secrets?

If I’m frustrated, can you inspire me to smile? Laugh? Surprise me with pleasure?

Do you understand that underneath the color of skin, outside of different cultures and religious beliefs and spiritual practises, and despite language barriers, we are all connected and worthy of love and respect?

Most of all, do you feel that you are responsible for your own happiness?
Do you believe that Guys Night Out is just as necessary as Girls Night Out, even when in the throes of early romance or the routine of long-term love?

And how, exactly, do you feel about cats?
(Answer this one carefully, dude.)


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.


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.