This week has been all about my inner child.

Because last week, I hired a sex coach. (“Wait, what is a sex coach and what does that have to do with her inner child?” I didn’t know either, stay with me.)

For years, I’ve known that I have blocks around sex. I’m nervous just talking about it here. What will they think of me? Well, I hope by the end of this post, you will think, “wow, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I didn’t realize I was cutting myself off from life.”

Growing up, I got the message loud and clear that sex was dirty and gross. Even as adults, sex is something we keep “in the bedroom” and struggle to talk about. But if we keep it locked away, try to pretend it doesn’t exist, and try to pretend the parts of our lives and our bodies it’s connected to aren’t important, we’re not whole. 

Maybe you’re not like me. Maybe there’s no hint of stigma or dirtiness about sex for you. Maybe you can comfortably talk about dicks and pussies all day long and you live in a world of infinite sensual pleasure. I know people like that. They trigger and challenge me and I am so grateful for them. I am not one of them.

What I discovered on the consultation call with my sex coach, is that my issue, at its core, is that I cut myself off from pleasure. Sexual and non-sexual pleasure. Whether it’s telling myself I don’t need to eat something sweet, ignoring masturbation as an option entirely, or immediately upon feeling delight or satisfaction in the session with my coach, my brain intruding with the thought that I should stop and make sure she’s okay.

After telling her what I was experiencing, she observed, “it seems like you can easily access the negative, uncomfortable feelings in your body, but you’re less practiced at experiencing the pleasurable ones.”

This hit me right in the heart. Right in the soul. I had never thought of it that way. I’m a sadness ninja. Give me all the sadness, I know exactly how to feel that. So much of what I do is helping others feel their emotions, especially the hard ones, so they can get to the bottom of what their souls are really telling them.

Well, my soul is like, ENOUGH ALREADY! We know you can feel the hard stuff. WHEN DO WE GET TO HAVE FUN!? 

This is where my inner child comes in. At some point, prettttty early in life, she learned that it’s more important to take care of the people around us and manage their emotions than notice our own.

This shows up in just about every relationship in my life, including my relationship with myself. There’s a very small, very young part of me that is holding so tight to what she thinks is her job. To be vigilant and responsive to others and aggressively suppress her own emotions. To perform happiness and gratitude on top of disappointment, rage and hopelessness. My desires, my pleasure, my SELF, did not matter. I did not exist. 

So now, my work is to unearth that precious, stunted being. To lift her up and make it safe for her to express desires. To recognize them. To say no to the parts that want to keep them unmet, and to be present with her while she enjoys them.

Lucky for me, this does require my hard emotion ninja-ry. There’s a lot of anger to express and there are a lot of tears to cry to get to the wanting underneath. But we’re already starting to look at life differently. Little Muunie is sitting next to me, getting excited about things and feeling confident that Big Muunie won’t shut her down. Big Muunie is here, to cry AND play with. Her anger is important. Her sadness is felt. Her joy is celebrated. Her pleasure is essential.

Yesterday, my partner left Mexico and went back to our home in LA. It triggered a big wave of grief.

I couldn’t get around it; I was just sad. 

All I wanted was someone to be there while I cried and just listen, without expectations. I’m a literal professional at doing this for other people. But…for myself? A much harder ask.

To be there at the most basic level. With gentle, loving presence, for as long as it took. To hold myself, to tell myself it was okay, to let myself cry, then know when it was time to pick myself up and get a glass of water.

I wanted mothering.

A lot of us don’t have great models of this. So how do we give it to ourselves, let alone even know we need it?

We don’t always know when we’re sad, or mad, or hungry, or need a break. We go into our brains and try to think our way into meeting a physical need. 

We may know we’re feeling off, out of sync, rushing, busying ourselves, resisting things we know are good for us, or judging others. These are all good signs that we’re missing something. We just don’t necessarily know what.

But Mom does. And she swoops in and takes over. “You’re hungry.” “It’s time for a bath.” “Let’s go for a walk.”

The first thing I needed yesterday was just a place that it was okay to cry, or not cry, or do whatever. 

A big part of mothering ourselves is BEING that safe, open environment. 

Maybe we learned that we weren’t supposed to have certain feelings. They weren’t appropriate or necessary; they didn’t belong or were too much. Maybe we were punished or rejected or distracted when we cried.

Whatever it is, we tend to repeat this with ourselves. We can only love ourselves the best we know how. But there’s a workaround hidden in our imagination. We can ask ourselves, “what would the most loving person do?” (the agnostic’s What Would Jesus Do)

Would the most loving person criticize me for being sad or critique the way I’m showing it? Would they rush me or roll their eyes? No. They’d be patient. They’d be understanding. They’d be protective.

Each time I was able to find that energy and apply it toward myself, I would soften, let out a few more tears, and breathe a little easier. 

After each wave, I’d say, “okay, what do we need now?” and then wait, or make gentle suggestions and listen for the tiniest signal of what might feel good. 

Learning to mother ourselves isn’t easy. It’s extremely humbling. And we’re not going to be perfect at it. But the tender little being inside that needs our love really appreciates when we try.

I had a dream the other night where some lines of a poem came through. One of the characters said them to me right before I woke up. This happens sometimes and it’s very exciting. It feels like someone or something is speaking to you through your own subconscious. 

I try to be available to receive inspiration as often as I can. I use meditation, visualization, writing and talking to people to keep myself clear and open. I believe we can all use these tools to plug into the Universe.

But sometimes, life piles up and my pipe gets clogged. I sit down to write and everything feels lame and overthought. Or I lay down to meditate and my brain keeps pulling me out.

I’m currently on the East coast where I grew up, visiting people and places from my past. This triggers ALLL these old versions of myself, and A LOT of interference. I’m trying to keep my channel clear and stay present, but I’m experiencing an avalanche of old thoughts and feelings threatening to bury me. It’s been really frustrating, and sad. 

Before this trip, I felt so strong. I had tasted the next version of myself coming down the pipeline. She felt SO GOOD. Clear, grounded, and easily in flow. Now, it feels like I’m falling back into old patterns and losing touch with the person I’m becoming.

In retrospect, these moments of regression always precede a big leap forward. I know it. I’ve seen it a million times, in myself and others. It’s almost as if they were the necessary pulling back of the slingshot before we launch forward. Still, it is hard to weather these feelings as they are happening. I keep meditating, I keep visualizing, I keep writing and talking, and it’s still hard.

Sometimes, that’s all you can do. To just allow it to be hard and stop trying to force yourself to feel different.

And so I tell myself, as if I’m that new version of myself from the future, “It’s okay. I love you. I’m coming.”

Two days into renting a camper van, it’s pretty clear van life isn’t for me. I spent the weekend confidently telling everyone at my sister’s 50th birthday party that my partner and I were planning to build one so I can live between LA and Mexico. 

Probably not.

Major respect to people that make van life work. Personally, I can’t stop hitting my head on the ceiling, finding Internet to do our jobs is its own job and although we can cook because it has a fridge, a stove top, a microwave, a sink and a pantry, they just take up space because all we want to do is escape to the sweet, sweet sanctuary of a restaurant. 

I thought having everything in one small, well-designed space would make life easier. But in trying to do everything, it’s doing nothing.

On the heels of the Super Bowl of family time, two weeks into traveling and cohabitating, and now squeezed into a van while on my period, I watched myself contract into someone unrecognizable. Except, I recognize her as who I used to be. Someone living for others at my own expense, while trying to be invisible.

It didn’t work.

Hearing old thoughts bouncing around my brain again is scary. I forget that it’s only temporary, that we can weather these emotions, and that we know exactly why we’re here. This whole trip is about revisiting the past to clear the wounds those thoughts were born from. 

But it’s hard to keep the flame alive in these suffocating environments.

In a much needed session with my coach, I got a message:

Wide. Open. Magic.

She needs breathing room and connection. To herself, to others and to the bigger universe. To remember herself as a carrier of joy, spontaneity, inspiration. To feel her part of nature, emotions flowing, undammed and free.

Thank God I can lie down, diagonally across the mattress, stretch and feel the sun on my face through the tiny window above my head, and remember what I am.