Last week, I wrote about my discovery from sex coaching that I’ve been putting off pleasure. All kinds of pleasure. I resist life’s sensory delights and don’t stay present for the good feeling parts. That was a big revelation.

This week, my coach said, “it sounds like you don’t trust it.”

(Imagine me dumbfounded…and a little sad.) She’s right.

The story under the hood was that I didn’t deserve it. I already have so many blessings, it would be UNFAIR for me to also ENJOY them. 

UMMMMYEAH, it’s absurd. It’s obvious when I write it down. Of course this is not my philosophy. I don’t believe this for myself. I don’t believe this for anyone.

But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s been living in my body. And I’ve made all kinds of excuses to keep it there.

Right now as I’m typing, I’m thinking, REALLY? I’m going to put these words on a page for people to read? 

Yes. Because if I don’t, I’m letting it stay in the shadows and in power. If I don’t, I’m putting a story about myself above my actual self. 

I’m done protecting an idea about who I’m supposed to be, over my living, breathing human body.

Where did this idea even come from? I’m sure working hard to uphold it. Is it mine? Or is it a parasite I let in to make myself small enough for someone else’s ego? (Guys, it’s the second one.)

It’s been there for a long time. It’s taken a long time to get myself to the point of declaring it openly. It’s taken a long time to start getting help about it. It’s scary to take the CHANCE I could trust pleasure.

And while I can’t dig out overnight, what I CAN do overnight (overday, overblog) is make this declaration to myself, loud and clear: 

I am no longer feeding the story that I don’t deserve my blessings.

I trust pleasure.

WHEW. It’s scary to say because it makes it real.

Writing is powerful. It helps me crystallize my thoughts and make them real.

I like writing as a poem or a prayer. Things I hope. Things I feel. Things I want to make real.

I hope this gets you closer to whatever you want to make real.

I deserve to be closer to Me.

Closer to the Heart that never stops beating in this chest. 

Closer to the Blood that never stops pumping, never stops feeding, never stops cleaning, never stops trying. 

Let me see the abundance of invisible thread holding us together, 

so I can remember, I am never alone. 

Someone touched everything around me.

Someone sewed, someone washed, someone dreamed, someone sweat. 

Someone cared, to create my world. 

It is here. And I belong.

Help me be humbled by all that is meant for me.

Help me receive with grace so I may share with generosity.

May I shine my light fearlessly, so others may see through the dark.

May I be fearless in asking others to show me through the dark.

May I clear the wounds that block reciprocation and connection.

May I be righteous in my pursuit of pleasure.

May I know my true gifts.

May I feel them so my cup may be full. 

May all of our cups be full. 

Full, 

full, 

full.

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.