my insecurities make me selfish

*based on conversations I’ve witnessed between clients and in my own life. 

my insecurities make me selfish………..

i turn off the lights before sex so that you don’t see the parts of my body that disgust even me. 

I thought maybe you wanted the lights off because I’ve gained weight this year and my abs aren’t defined.

i don’t give you head because I don’t think I’m good at it and I don’t want to disappoint you. 

I thought you didn’t like my dick because it’s too small. 

i don’t let you go down on me because I think my pussy is gross and you can’t possibly want to lick it. 

I thought you just don’t like the way I lick you. 

when I orgasm I put my face against a pillow because I don’t want you to see how weird I look. 

It hurts me that in our most intimate moments you won’t look at me. 

my favourite sex position is doggy style but I never want to do it because you might see the cellulite on my ass. 

I thought you didn’t want to do it because my belly is too big. 

i fake orgasms because I’m embarrassed by how long it takes me to actually have one.

I thought you faked because I’m no good at pleasuring you. 

when you gave me the gift for my birthday and I complained about it being too expensive instead of thanking you, it was because I didn’t think I deserved something so special. 

I thought “I’ve screwed up again.”

i stopped initiating sex because of that time when I lost my erection and I felt like I’d failed you. 

I thought you stopped initiating because I’m no longer attractive to you. 

i don’t talk to you at work because I think you’re way smarter than me and I don’t want to look stupid. 

I thought you didn’t want to know me. 

i didn’t ask you out on a date because I couldn’t face the rejection if you said no. 

I thought you just didn’t like me. 

i’ve never invited you into my home because I’m embarrassed of it. 

I thought you don’t care about me. 

i didn’t tell you that you look nice the other day — even though I thought you did — because I was scared you’d say it back to be polite and I know that I didn’t look nice. 

I would have loved hearing you say that. 

i never ask you to do anything with me, or say yes when you ask me, because I think I’m boring and no fun to be around -unlike you who’s so interesting!

I thought you must think I’m no fun to be around. 

i wanted to bring you a meal when your mom died but I was scared I’d say the wrong thing so I avoided you. 

I felt unsupported and unloved. 

my insecurities make me selfish………….

The Bodysex Circle Is Still With Me

Standing in my kitchen in Saskatoon cooking dinner, I’m lost in thought. As happy as I am to be home, it’s hard to come back to real life after the the intimacy of a Bodysex circle. I miss the connection, sharing of stories, touch, laughter and pleasure that I felt in the Quebec circle only one day before….

“Mama look at what I learned to do in fiddle class!” says my youngest daughter as she runs into the kitchen carrying her fiddle and bow. Turning around and looking down at her sweet face, our eyes connect and I smile. 

My mind drifts to an image of a woman in the circle looking into my eyes while sharing in french her stories of physical and sexual shame. I don’t understand what she’s saying — until Marika translates her words for me — but I do understand her arms crossed over her chest, her tears, and her pain. Our eyes stay connected and I breathe deeper, encouraging her to also do so, and we hold our gaze. 

My attention comes back to the kitchen at the sound of feet running up the stairs. “Thanks for the money for my hair cut mom. Do you think I should get dreads?” asks my teenage son as he slips past us to get an apple. Looking up at him I see my boy, as tall and handsome as a man, with broad shoulders and strong hands that almost cover the entire apple he’s now eating. He came from my body and yet he’s his own unique person with stories and dreams of his own. I see him, and I see me. 

Just like that I’m once again back in the circle, touching the women during the group massage. In their bodies, I recognize parts of my own body and I touch with curiosity at how it must feel to touch me. Their softness feels so nice and I’m drawn to the scars and lines on their skin and wonder about the stories that created them. I touch in admiration of their journey — the parts I know and parts I don’t — and in love and respect for their willingness to let me see them. I feel the shiny, smooth texture of their stretch marks and the pleasure in my finger tips as I weave them in and out of the pattern the marks create on their bodies. smooth, plush, smooth, plush, smooth, plush….

The bubbling of the water in a pot of corn on the stove catches my attention and I move to lift the lid off. As I’m standing there, my teenage daughter comes up from behind and puts her arms around me. She’s the quietist of my children but the one who’s the most cuddly, and I’m always grateful for her gentle and loving presence. Feeling her arms around my stomach I let go of the pot lid and put my own arms over hers. l feel seen, held and loved and it reminds me of a moment in the circle when one of the women asked for a group hug.

We went to her immediately and — wrapping our naked bodies around her — we held each other.  Heads touching, our bodies formed a circle so small that looking down I could only see feet and stomachs below us. “How could anyone ever tell us, that we’re anything less than beautiful” we sang….

I’m brought back once again to the kitchen as my ears perk up to my younger son telling a “knock knock” joke from the other room. It’s awful as usual and we all groan and laugh while he laughs too — pleased with our response.

 Smiling I drift once again to memories of us laughing as we wandered around the retreat house naked — reluctant to put our clothes back on — left our legs open when we sat down, orgasmed, posed for photos ass up and sprawled across a dining room table, told sexy and not so sexy stories and teased the male caterer. 

Dinner ready I set it on the table and call my children to come join me. I missed them while I was gone and I’m excited to hear how their weekend was. We sit around the table and I realize then that, while the eyes looking back at me are different, the Bodysex circle is still with me. The circle is there as long as I’m willing to authentically connect, see myself in other people, share stories, touch, laugh and enjoy pleasure. 

Thank you to my dear sisters…..

Ananda, Corazon, Water Lili, Dauphine, Aroha, Heavan, Mango of Liberty, Oceane and Delicia. 

When I’m 80 Years Old…….

I came upon these 3 questions in a book I was reading on a flight to Montreal last weekend. Without thinking of my answers I quickly scribbled them down in my book. Afterwards when I read them over, I felt very emotional, and have come back to reread them many times. At the end of the day – or of my life – this is what matters to me. <3

When I’m 80 years old, how will I answer these questions? How will you? Before you read my answers, I encourage you to answer the questions for yourself.

What was my life about? What did I care about? What do I want others to know that I did with my life? 

What was my life about? My life was about love and connection — both inwards and outwards.  With myself, my children, intimate partners, friends, circle sisters, clients and strangers. It was about everything that I could feel and know without seeing. Connection with myself for connection with the people around me. Connecting my inner layers with your inner layers. Seeking to under stand you as if you are me. Our circles converging. 

What did I care about? I cared about connections with others. Expressing my love through touch, words and actions. Getting to know the people I love enough that I can love them in a way that feels loving to them. Understanding, knowing and accepting myself so that I could understand, know and accept others. 

What do I want others to know that I did with my life? I want others to know that I did hard, painful work to know myself enough that I had something to offer me – and you – in my love. That it came from the deepest, innermost parts of me. To love in this way I had to be vulnerable and brave and honest with myself enough to know ME. This knowing became my lifes’ work. The more I was able to see me…. the more I was able to see you. To do this wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. To know me. To know you. To feel me. To feel you. And to love us. 

having cancer is THE best thing that has ever happened to me

Last year at this time I was recovering from surgery to remove an inch long cancerous tumor that was growing on the right half of my thyroid. I was still in shock and very much feeling shame about what I must have done, or not done, to get it.

I’d be lying if I said that I don’t still carry some of that shame, or that it isn’t incredibly difficult for me to tell anyone that I’ve had cancer and have to see the look on their face in response. That by saying it out loud or having to put it on forms at the dentist’s office, I feel like a walking reminder of our mortality that no one wants to be reminded of. That I don’t dread having to share the story with a new lover or partner and wonder if they’ll still love me. That I don’t question what awful thing I did to deserve this, or wonder if I’m a complete fraud for talking about self love when I’m obviously failing at it or this wouldn’t have happened to me.

All of these stories are a part of the current layers of shame that I’m ever so gently peeling off these days, and yet what woke me at 4:30am this morning wasn’t shame, but rather gratitude.

Having cancer is THE best thing that has ever happened to me. I know it sounds cheesy but it’s like I’ve been shown the value of my life and now I get to really LIVE it.

I can live enthusiastically and wholeheartedly in all things that I do. 

I can choose to care about what matters to me and not give a shit about what doesn’t.

I can walk naked in slow motion across a nude beach with a bunch of other naked people (at least 10 years older than me) laughing hysterically at the way our bodies jiggle when laughing hysterically. 

I can expand my work to include men who also struggle with physical and sexual shame. 

I can be the me that I am when I’m having sex alone – with a partner. Growling, laughing, crying, breathing like I’m giving birth. 

I can go to Mexico on a week long date. 

I can take my kids to visit Raffi. 

I can facilitate Bodysex retreats in other places. 

I can have the most difficult conversations of my life and come out feeling like I climbed Mt. Everest. 

I can take most of the summer off so that my children get to experience living enthusiastically with me in the least expensive ways possible. 

I can choose to be grateful for each day that I wake up knowing that I have the ability to chose my desires over my fears.

I can, I can, I can. 

And I do. <3

 

 

 

 

 

Letting My Scars Show

 

Last week I posted a pic of myself on social media, biking with my 4 times pregnant, stretched stomach showing just a bit. I’ve never received such a response from anything I’ve posted and it made me realize how much even I – who promotes body acceptance and vulnerability – have been afraid of being seen as I am. There’s still an old belief that if I’m seen I won’t be accepted – and yet I do accept myself. I guess I don’t necessarily trust others to do the same.

After the overwhelmingly positive response I received, I looked through my photos on social media and imagined myself from the outside looking in. I realized that I write about my scars but I don’t necessarily show them.

 

Here are two photos of me taken on the same day. One covering the physical marks that remind me of the beautiful beings I helped create, and the other showing them. In both I was sweaty and flushed from my bike ride and in both I felt absolutely beautiful. At the end of the day, both are of me and I apologize for taking so long to show up publicly in this full expression of myself. ❤️