“The roots of the word shame are thought to derive from a word meaning “to cover”; as such, covering oneself, literally or figuratively, is a natural expression of shame.”

When I became pregnant with my first child I envisioned a birth that was all natural, where I felt empowered and present in the beauty of bringing a child into the world. I wanted to feel the pain fully and saw it as an initiation into the strength I would need as a mother. I imagined a hard but moving birth and that my baby would be placed on my naked chest to drink as soon as he or she came out. Reality, however, didn’t work that way. Eight months into the pregnancy my doctor warned me that she suspected I would end up having a cesarean because my baby’s head was too big. This was devastating news to me. I had always wanted to be a mother. It was the only thing that I was certain I wanted in my life, and hearing this felt like my body wasn’t going to cooperate with the way I envisioned this dream. On July 13th 2000 I went into labor naturally but nearly two weeks overdue. My labor stalled and, completely exhausted and not feeling at all empowered, I agreed to be induced. From that point on we encountered one problem after another as, after several hours of back labor, she became stuck face up with her heart rate dropping. When my doctor told me that I had to have a cesarean I completely broke down. I couldn’t understand how this could be happening or why my body was failing me at the one thing I truly wanted. I was fortunate to be awake for her birth but didn’t see her for several minutes after she came out. They wiped her off, bundled her up, and brought her to my face so I could see. The sheet covering me from my neck down and my arms attached to machines on either side of my body didn’t allow for me to hold her. Acacia, as we named her, was bruised from being stuck but still absolutely perfect and I immediately fell in love. My doctor congratulated us and then went to call my parents. I burst into tears ashamed that they would hear this and know that my body had failed. When my mom and dad arrived I saw a look of compassion on my dad’s face as he noticed my eyes swollen from crying. I knew then that they still loved me. Days went by and, while my body slowly healed, I struggled with learning to breast feed. I loathed my scar and saw it as a visible reminder of what I hadn’t been able to do – yet wanted the most. I gave birth three more times after that and each birth was by cesarean. Every time I was asked about my childrens’ birth stories I felt a wall go up around me as I tried to justify why I couldn’t give birth normally when I didn’t really understand it myself. I looked at the women, who had experienced the birthing story that I longed for, with envy and admiration and hoped somehow that the effort I put into parenting my children made up for what I lacked in birthing them.

Thirteen years after my first child was born I attended my first Bodysex workshop in New York, with the intent of training to become a facilitator. I knocked on the door of Betty Dodson’s apartment and was greeted by two naked women who showed me the row of hooks where I could hang my clothes. I had been expecting this and knew that I was going to spend the next two days in the nude but it was a whole other thing to actually do it. Once I was naked I took my place in the circle of towels on the floor of Betty’s living room. There were women from all over the world attending this workshop and we were all there because we struggled with body and sexual shame. When it came my turn to share my feelings about my body I opened up about my stomach and how I didn’t like the stretch marks that I got from my pregnancies and about how, until recently, I had never worn shorts because I hated my legs. I didn’t, however, speak up about the shame I felt in not being able to birth a baby normally. It was as if I believed it more acceptable to admit to shame about the stuff that made me less physically attractive and that I couldn’t hide from, but not the shame that compromised my view of my inner self. That cut too deep and meant being more vulnerable than I was ready for. It also meant admitting to myself how much I felt like my body had let me down.

Over the next two days the women in that circle opened up and we revealed vulnerable layers that we had been kept hidden for years. As one spoke the rest of us would look at her and nod silently in empathy and understanding. Even if the shame was not exactly the same we all understood the place it came from. Witnessing other women bravely peel back invisible layers of their pain was healing for all of us in the circle. I felt normal in my shame and loved and accepted as I sat in physical and emotional nakedness. We discussed our bodies, orgasms or lack of, our relationships, feelings regarding sexuality and our desires for more. We laughed until our stomachs ached, cried, and then let go through orgasm – still with our same place in the circle – alone but together. Near the end of the second day Betty informed us that we were going to do something together that has been done by women since the beginning of time. A sacred touching ritual where the hands of five women are placed on your body and you experience ten minutes of the most amazing loving touch you can imagine. At the beginning of the workshop I would have been scared to do this but after all that had been shared I felt open to accepting their love and I enjoyed the feel of each different hand as they travelled over my body. Laying there receiving this touch I heard Betty say “Look at this little body that has given birth to all those beautiful babies.” She said it with such motherly tenderness and love that I felt myself fill with warmth. Their hands continued to slide over me gently touching my ears, arms, fingers, legs, toes, and stomach. I could feel the love and attention that they gave to my cesarean scar and I, without thinking, shared my feelings of shame at not being able to give birth naturally. The women continued to love me with their hands and the shame was gently replaced by acceptance and love. I was a mama. I hadn’t given birth naturally. But I was still a mama. I think the feeling of love I felt in that moment, was the same as my babies’ would have felt as they lay, skin to skin, drinking from my breast at night.

Women have come to me saying that they are afraid of attending my workshop because they have too much body shame, they are afraid to discuss it, or they think It’s easier for me because I’m “skinny.” I understand those fears and the desire to keep them inside. I also understand thinking that no one else has as much shame as we do ourselves. This process wasn’t easy for me then and it’s not easy for me now. Body shame comes in many forms and whatever your story is, it is just as valid and as painful as anyone else’s. We are all covering our selves to hide our shame – literally and figuratively. Only when we uncover these parts can there be space to let the acceptance of ourselves – from ourselves, and from others – in.

//dodsonandross.com

When I was19 I travelled to East Africa hoping to live with and learn from other cultures. Arriving in Kenya I was told about a semi-nomadic tribe called the Maasai, who lived in Southern Kenya and part of Tanzania. Traditional way of life for the Maasai revolved around men moving cattle for grazing and water while the women took care of the children and home. Curious, I went to Maasai Mara in southern Kenya, made connections with the Maasai and was invited to stay and learn from the women in the village. I was equally thrilled and terrified at this opportunity. Very few Maasai in that area spoke English and I knew that the cultural differences would be huge. Still, this was the chance of a lifetime and I couldn’t pass it up. I decided to do all that I could to immerse myself in their way of life. I wore their clothes, slept in cow dung houses, carried water, drank lots of milk, a bit of blood, and cared for the children. I fell in love with a little girl named Katow, carried her on my back in the day and slept curled around her at night. One of my first observations about the children was that they seemed “spoiled.” They were always held, never left to cry for anything and were never alone. It was very different from the way I had seen children raised in Canada and I thought that if I had a baby I would let it cry in order to teach independence. As the days went by though, I began to see a difference in the Maasai children compared to children back in Canada. They seemed happier, more confidant in their bodies and they just felt right . Because they felt right, they acted right and were a joy to be around. Babies melted into my body – used to being held and touched and a part of village life. When they wanted something they would give cues and trust that the person holding them would respond. This meant that they cried less as their needs were always met and a beautiful reciprocity between caregiver and child was created. Even their cues for bodily functions were understood and it was common for a woman to stop mid sentence to hold her baby away from her body while he/she urinated. I was fascinated by this and couldn’t comprehend how the mother, older sister or aunt knew that the baby was going to pee before it happened. There was never a baby alone. A baby wasn’t considered singular at all but a part of another person.

For the better part of five years I stayed in Kenya and developed a passionate belief in this style of parenting. I could see that the mother was teaching the baby how to express his/her needs, and that the baby trusted that the need would be met. This intimacy led to an inherent feeling of rightness in the child and provided a secure base for which their life was built on.

A couple years into my time in Kenya I married a Maasai man and my dream of being a mother became a reality. I did many of the things I saw the Maasai women do with their babies. My daughter Acacia, slept with me, breastfed on demand for two years and spent her day observing me work from her spot on my back, lap, or arms. I learnt to anticipate her needs before she told me, and listened to my instinct to touch and hold her even when others told me that she would be spoiled. In this relationship Acacia thrived. She was a fat, happy, healthy, secure baby and I was a mother learning a new kind of intimacy. She felt right and acted right and was a joy to parent. I had four more children after her : Mateyo, Selam, Matakai and Senaya and I practiced this kind of parenting with each one. As I learnt the intricacies of each baby I discovered that they each liked to be touched and held slightly differently and favoured different areas of their body. I learnt that certain cues meant they needed help right now and other ones meant that I could wait until I was finished what I was doing. I rarely woke at night because they would nurse as needed from my bare breast beside them. They grew to be empathic, kind, and sensitive children. Relishing my role as a mother I worked hard at providing them with a base, while also being authoritative instead of permissive.
The drawback to me practicing this style of parenting was noticed when we moved back to Canada, as life here was very different. My husband went to work and it was me alone with these children all day – a far cry from the community who helped raise the children in Kenya. Still I felt extremely passionate about “attachment parenting”, as it was called in Canada, and continued to practice it proudly. My desire to support other parents, who were interested in this style of parenting, led me to become a leader of Attachment Parenting International and start a support group in my area of Canada. My belief in the value of Attachment parenting was tested with the birth of my last born Senaya. She came out an incredibly smart but more difficult child who put to test my belief that behaviours were solely the result of parenting practices. Her cues were different than all the rest and she loudly let me know if I wasn’t doing things the way she wanted. Sometimes she cried and nothing that I tried could stop it, but I held her knowing that I could still be there for her in that moment and help her build that secure base. Because her cues were so obvious I began to notice that she got fussy before she had to pee and did not want to go in her diaper. It finally made sense how the Kenyan mother’s potty trained their infants. It wasn’t a training at all. It was being so in tune with their child that they knew when the baby would pee and could hold them away from their bodies at the right time to prevent being soiled. At four months old I was able to take Senaya, without diapers, to the library or for long walks, stopping to let her pee when I felt her wiggle against my back. I was grateful that I had learnt the value of physical closeness and touch from the Kenyan women, so that I was better able to parent a more challenging child.

I parented this way for 12 years feeling fulfilled and proud until I slowly began to realize that I lacked my own base. Who was I beyond my roles of mother and wife? Where was my feeling of inner rightness and understanding of my own body and how it worked? I didn’t know myself, touch myself, listen to myself or know what my own cues for shame, pleasure or even sadness were. I had learnt to just exist and provide for others rather than feeling deeply inside. I felt like I had hit the bottom and I needed to change. I told my family that I had done everything to fill their “cups” but nothing for my own. It wasn’t their fault and it had worked for me for years, but now I needed to look inward to discover who I was. What were my own needs and desires and what would give me a feeling of rightness? I thought back to my parenting and how I had gotten to know my children from taking the time to pay attention, touch, quietly listen and simple intuition. How would myself be any different? So I began by learning to dance. At first in a class and then by listening to how my body wanted to move. I changed my diet and started eating foods that made me feel good rather than just filled me up. I went to the gym and started lifting weights – something that I had enjoyed as a teenager. As my physical body got stronger, I had more energy to look inward. I spent time walking along the river and was moved by the power of the flowing water. I read books on female sexual empowerment, pleasure, orgasm, and mind body connection but there was still something that didn’t quite click. Then I came upon Betty Dodson’s book “Sex for One” and it was all there. What I was truly lacking was intimacy with myself. I didn’t know what kind of touch really felt good for me or where. I didn’t know that I was deserving of  pleasure and felt unable to really accept it. I was looking outward for these things, but I could see that the answers were inside of me. So essentially I did for myself what I had done for my children. I listened, touched, paid attention, responded and understood. Through self touch, learning to meet my own needs, accepting my body and learning how to embrace pleasure I became my own secure base. I was learning to fill holes in myself so that my interactions with others could come from a place of strength and desire to build on what was already inside me, rather than a place of lacking and needing to be filled.

Now, when people ask me how I came to this place where I’m at – working towards being a Bodysex workshop facilitator and running my own Art of Self Loving workshop, I can honestly say that it has been a full circle. In providing the base and “filling the cups” in my children I discovered that my own base was lacking and I needed to give myself that same love and attention that I gave them. I am deserving of pleasure, I can express my wants to others but I also know that I can come back to myself when they can’t be met elsewhere. I know myself, what moves, inspires and turns me on. I am my own greatest lover.

Who Owns The Rights To Our Pleasure?

Some women, who have enquired with interest about my workshops, have also voiced concerns that their husband or partner is uncomfortable with them participating. They feel that masturbating is a form of cheating and worry that it will make their husbands feel inadequate. These concerns got me thinking about a woman’s sexuality and who actually owns it. Who is in charge of our body? Who has the power over our orgasms? Who owns the rights to our pleasure? I can’t answer these questions for anyone else, but to find my own answers, I will begin with looking at what my sexuality means to me. I imagine it as a wheel and each spoke of the wheel represents a part of myself. There are physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual spokes in my wheel with my sexuality being evident in, and crucial, to the strength of all.

“Poor is the man, who’s pleasure depends, on the permission of another.”
– Madonna

My physical body is where I feel my pleasure and one of the most obvious expressions of my sexuality. It is evident in the way I speak, dance, dress, walk, smile, laugh, and cry. It is expressed in my choice of foods to eat, what I drink and any way that I physically nourish my body. I know what makes me feel good and what doesn’t and none of these decisions are made by anyone else. My body and my treatment of it is up to me. When I touch myself, allowing for time and care, I feel tenderness and love for this body that I have. My sexual relationship with my physical body helps me to forgive the parts that “failed” me, celebrate the parts that carried me, and give extra love to the parts that need it. No one else in the world can know these places as intimately as me. Imagining that this relationship that I have with myself can inhibit my ability to be intimate with another is impossible for me. It is the base from which all of my relationships stem from and it allows me to embrace myself as I am, express myself fully and be present in physical pleasure.

“ Masturbation is a way for all of us to learn about sexual response. It’s an opportunity for us to explore our bodies and minds for all those sexual secrets we’ve been taught to hide, even from ourselves. What better way to learn about pleasure and being sexually creative?”
– Betty Dodson

My emotional self is where I explore and aim to understand my stories, beliefs and perceptions about my sexuality. It is here where I go to figure out where my sexual and physical shame comes from, why I believe what I do about sex and intimacy, and also where I find my desire. The awareness of these things helps me to be authentic and present in sex and to understand the difference between what I have been taught by experience and culture and what is actually true for myself. If I don’t explore this intimate place my sexuality may be dictated by outside influences. I want it to be dictated by me and what feels right for myself. No one can say what that is for me, as much as I cannot say what that is for anyone else. When I am connected to and in sync with my emotional self, my pleasure is greater and I am able to reach orgasmic depths that would normally be blocked. I cannot aspire to the highest with one part of myself, if I’m denying it with another.

“The vulva, clitoris and vagina are just the most superficial surfaces of what is really going on with us. The real activity is literally far, and far more complex under these tactile surfaces. The vulva, clitoris and vagina are actually best understood as the surface of an ocean that is shot through with vibrant networks of underwater lightening – intricate and fragile, individually varied neural pathways.”
– Naomi Wolf

My intellectual spoke is where I seek to understand my anatomy, how my body responds to arousal and the biology around sex. I have discovered much of this through reading books on sexuality, learning from sex educators’ Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross, and also from exploring the responses in my own body. Testing out theories from others and learning about my anatomy through touch and experience has provided me with self knowledge, skills and understanding that I may not have if I didn’t seek to enhance this aspect of my sexuality. Every woman’s body is different in appearance as well as in it’s response to pleasure. Self love has given me concrete knowledge about how my body works and how breath, movement and sound can enhance my orgasms. My pleasure and my orgasms come from and belong to me. Sharing that knowledge with another creates an intimacy together, where I am able to give and receive pleasure – enhanced by my relationship with myself.

“Women know that they go into something like a trance state during really powerful sex, and this trance state, is an encounter with the self on another, higher level. We misunderstand women if we see their interest in romance as being only about the “other.” If a male or female lover can help a woman get to this trance state, that love is not just compelling to her because of the “other”; it is compelling to her because, through this sexual experience, she is awakening and engaging with profoundly important dimensions of her own self.”
– Naomi Wolf

Any woman who has experienced a full body, or “higher” orgasm will most likely understand when I say that it is a spiritual experience. Using my own hands or the hands of my partner to help an orgasm travel to the tips of my fingers, the ends of my hair, the base of my spine and the centre of my soul is an extremely spiritual experience. It isn’t something that happens every time, but at times when I am present and rooted in each spoke on the wheel of my sexuality. When I can allow my physical body, my emotions, my knowledge and my soul to be present and to let go, I meet myself in a place of transcendence and pure bliss. Letting go in this way takes vulnerability, trust, awareness and compassion for myself first and foremost but also a willingness to go to this place with another. To share it with my partner only adds to the depth of those feelings and enhances all areas of our relationship.

So, it seems that the answers to my questions came back to ME. My primary sexual relationship is with myself and, all that I am, comes from that base. Keeping it strong and empowered requires stimulating and feeding all aspects of my wheel. If I have given the rights to my pleasure away, I am risking the chance of getting no pleasure at all. But knowing my body, and how to find my own pleasure means that I will always have that right. With or without a partner. My workshops provide a safe, warm, loving space where women can explore these parts of themselves without judgement, persuasion or ownership from another. Finding our sexuality and what it means to to us on our own terms, will enhance all of the relationships in our lives. I invite you to journey with me, in person or from your own home, to explore these questions, build on this intimacy and share ourselves – as we choose – with those most important in our lives.
Natasha

//dodsonandross.com

As a 36 year old mother of 5, I haven’t always been in a place where I embraced pleasure. For years I felt shame in my body and enjoyed sex but thought it was more for the other than it was for me. No one had ever told me that sex could be just as much about me and my pleasure as it was about my partner’s. Even though it felt good, I was ashamed of that and held back parts of myself so as to not go too far with it. I didn’t think that I deserved it. Three years ago however, something really started to change for me. My body woke up and I began to feel alive. I paid more attention to my physical self, was more aware of the food I ate, and sought out ways to build my strength. My sexual desires became a prominent part of my everyday life. Desires from the root of myself. I paid attention to these desires, but didn’t really know what to do with them. So, I decided to look inward. I started by taking an honest look at myself, my beliefs and values around sex, intimacy, desire, shame, pleasure and my body. Where did these beliefs and ideas come from and why did they hold me? Why did I still hold them? What purpose did they serve? What was true for me and why was it true for me? Was there another way of seeing things? What beliefs and behaviours would support me being a fully alive, sexually empowered human being? I found the answers in my childhood, my sexual history, by examining our culture and its encouragement of women to look sexual but be virginal, and in my deepest desire for authenticity and wholeness. I had been through no sexual trauma and yet there I was afraid to show this side of myself for fear that it would be too much. Where were the positive, sexually empowered, female role models in our society? Who could I look to for support? Well, it turned out that they were out there. I read many books and felt comfort in the words of women (and a few men) who had felt these same feelings as I was.

“It is my strong belief that people need to travel deep within themselves to find the place where their sexuality lies.”
– Marty Klien

I also began to get acquainted with my body through touch. I had been an attachment parenting leader for several years and had encouraged parents to lovingly touch their children. I knew the benefits of touch and how it enhances the growth of a person on all levels. On reflection, I realized that I had never touched myself in that way. I didn’t even know my own body. I knew about release and orgasm, but when had I ever touched myself like I would touch a lover? So, I began to do just that. I touched myself and I learnt that:

“There isn’t any body part that can’t be erotically charged. As you read this, somebody somewhere is making love with his or her elbow, knee, foot, hair, breath. There are no sexual parts of the body, there’s just one body. There’s erotic energy. The first experiences and expresses the second. If there is an exception to this, it’s the clitoris – the only organ in the human body with absolutely no purpose other than pleasure.” – Marty Klien

With this touch, I got to know my body. I discovered where I held shame and where I held pleasure. I felt my stories pass through my fingertips as I became acquainted with myself on a level that hadn’t existed before. It was authentic and true and there was absolutely no barrier between my body and my touch. As Julie McIntyre explains in her book Sex and the Intelligence of the Heart

“Intimacy comes from the Latin word intimus meaning “innermost.” To be intimate with another, we first must become intimate with ourselves.”

I was discovering this intimacy with each stroke on my skin. As I travelled the distance of my body with my hands, I explored new ways to pleasure myself. My sexual awakening began with myself and I fell in love. In love with the body that carried 4 of my 5 babies. In love with the young girl that I once was and the woman that I longed to become. In love with the scars, the stretch marks, the muscle and the lines that held my stories. Acceptance of this body came later as I discovered bodysex and attented my first workshop, but love of myself came from my own touch.

It is with this in mind, that I have designed a workshop called “The Art Of Self Loving.” Through this practice of getting to know my body and how it responds to pleasure, as well as from the teachings of sex educator’s Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross, (//dodsonandross.com) I designed this. It is my great hope that all the women in the world learn to love themselves with the passion and desire that they love or hope to love another. With this, we can embrace pleasure, enhance our orgasmic potential and bring aliveness into all parts of our life. Stay tuned for workshop details over the next couple of days.

love and orgasm,
Natasha

My name is Natasha and I am a sexually empowered, alive, and orgasmic woman. I discovered this about myself when I started exploring the stories of my past that shaped the woman I am now.  The parts of myself are like spokes on a wheel with my stories at the center. There are spokes for sexual, physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual stories with each one being important in giving the wheel strength. Each of them played a part in my beliefs around sex, pleasure, shame and my resulting relationship with those things.
While reading and researching,  I came upon the work of famous, sex positive feminist Betty Dodson. Her work resonated deeply with me and I knew that I had found my calling. Doors opened for me when I joined her very first group of women training as Bodysex leaders. Bodysex comes from the words body image and sexuality.

Through Betty’s work I learned that intimacy and pleasure with ourselves is necessary in order to build intimate relationships with others and for living a vital and fulfilling life. As Betty writes in her book Sex For One, 

“Sexual energy is not only the life force that creates the next generation, but it is also the source of our creativity. Each orgasm can be a precious moment of joy, a prayer of thanks for being alive. As we awaken our bodies through the senses, we awaken our minds to the knowledge that we are all related and connected to every living thing on the planet and throughout the vast universe.” (pg. 125)

I am now the first certified Bodysex facilitator in Canada and will be leading my first workshop of this kind in May. I invite you to journey with me in discovering your own stories, passions and orgasmic potential. Together we will find new and more effective ways to explore and accept our bodies while enhancing our pleasure.