by Natasha | Apr 1, 2015 | Body Image, Self loving/masturbation |
Sitting here naked on the edge of my bed, feeling defeated after a hard day. Glancing around I look for someone or something to grab onto, to fix this feeling. But it’s only me in the room. Unconsciously I reach up to trace the lines along my forehead with one finger – all the way across and back.
These lines are etched into my skin from years spent under the Kenyan sun, and with the touch of a finger I am instantly there again. A young wife and mother, excited by all that was new – yet struggling to make sense of the struggle. I take a deep breath, and sit in that story, going back and forth over the lines that I notice every time I look in the mirror. They are a part of me now, just as much as my Kenyan stories are.
My fingers slide down over my eyes travelling the contours of my face. I end up resting on the softness of my lips and my mouth opens slightly in response. I know this touch. I’ve felt it before from someone else’s hands. I touch my lips harder – almost tugging at them, thinking of frantic kisses and soft, yet hard bites. Another deep breath, sound escaping from my lips at the memories of those stories.
Sliding farther down, past my neck, I take time to enjoy my shoulders. They are strong and the hard curves feel good against the softness of my fingers. I am reminded of my strength even when I feel defeated. Taking a few breaths I relish stories of pushing physical limits, carrying babies, and picking myself up off the floor. With several deep breaths I let these stories resonate before moving on.
My finger brushes past my right nipple causing it to lift and harden against my touch. I fed all of my 5 children with these breasts and the stories run like photographs in my mind. Tiny mouths, feeding children born from my body and from the body of another mama, squirrel sounds, pain, frustration and unbelievable connection. I take a deep breath for the gift of life then continue on.
Leading down to my stomach my touch switches from one finger to five. This is the area of my body that I have been the hardest on. It holds reminders of what went “wrong” in childbirth, my painful diastasis and my vanity. I touch my stomach over and over as a way of asking forgiveness for the years of unacceptance. My scars are me too and this touch reminds me of that. Another deep breath and my hands go farther down still.
Gliding my fingers onto my hips feels like pure joy. Leaning back onto my bed, still naked, I use my full hands to explore them. Learning to listen to and allow the movement to flow from my hips has been a huge source of pleasure for me. Rubbing my hips I begin to move them slowly in small then bigger circles – enjoying what feels like an intimate dance with myself. I see stories of learning to dance as an adult, of pushing my limits and of movement during sex. Breathing deeply again I’m starting to feel alive.
Letting my hands lead the way I end up with both of them between my legs. This is my favourite spot. I am still alone but no longer feeling at all defeated. What I feel is hope, desire and anticipation. I am made up of many stories and some are easier to relive than others, but they are all a part of me. Breathing deeply, moving my hips, touching my pussy – this is who I am. My womanhood, the root of my pleasure. I take my time allowing my hands to be my lover. How could I have forgotten? No matter where I am, who I am with, or how I am feeling – with touch, my hands will always bring me back to myself. Faster my hips move, deeper I breathe, sounds escaping my lips. I dance to the music of my stories and as the crescendo builds, my orgasm builds too. When I finally let go the release is like a slide show playing all of my stories at once with each one just as important as the other.
My lines show my joy and struggle, my lips are pure lust, my shoulders are my strength, my breasts are my mothering, my stomach is my shame, my hips my freedom and my sexuality brings them all together. My touch brings me home to myself.
by Natasha | Mar 26, 2015 | Body Image, Bodysex workshops, Workshops |
I could talk about some of the logistics of body sex. The fact that the workshop is done in the nude. That women come from around the world and strip naked as soon as they are greeted at the door of Betty’s apartment. That we sit in a circle and share how we feel about our bodies, our orgasms. That we do a vulva show and tell and literally open our bodies up for these other women to see. That we are told what makes our vulva unique and beautiful. That we cry and we laugh. That we bring ourselves to orgasm – embracing our pleasure in a circle of women. That we end the day with group massage. That it feels amazing to be loved and accepted by all of these women who were strangers the day before.
All of those things are true. But this weekend I realized the power of body sex as it means to me.
Body sex is about stories. It’s is about looking at the stories I have been told or that I told myself about who I am, my scars, my limitations, my pain, my pleasure or my lack of pleasure. Body sex forced me to let them go. To leave them in the circle. It is the ultimate vulnerability. I came in naked with nothing at all to hide behind. When I began to talk about my problems, I felt kind of silly. As Betty says “The present moment is the point of power.” I started to wonder why the fuck am I telling that story. Who is that story even about? Was it mine, or was it just given to me? I wonder if I needed it as much as it needed me?
But here, in this circle with women from around the globe, I am naked and vulnerable and that story that kept me from ever truly being vulnerable, no longer seems to fit. In that circle, I feel only acceptance, authenticity, love, truth and sisterhood. Those stories I realized, may be a part of me, but they aren’t me. They came off with my clothes at the door, with a smile from a woman beside me in the circle, with the recognition of another’s pain, with tears as I shared, with the acceptance of my vulva, with the cries of my orgasm, with the embracing of my pleasure.
When I am naked and accepted in my nakedness, I don’t need those stories to explain why I am this way. I just AM this way. And every woman in that space saw me just as I am. No longer defined by my stories. The mother, the good girl, the bad girl, the slut, the prude, the victim, the too much. I am just me. And when I left that circle, I realized that I can not go back to those old stories. They are no longer relevant to me. I am me, just as I am and that is fucking brilliant.
With love and gratitude,
Natasha
by Natasha | Mar 13, 2015 | Body Image, Bodysex workshops, Self loving/masturbation, Workshops |
I am extremely excited to be offering Betty Dodson Certified Bodysex workshops, for the first time,here in Canada! These workshops will take place in Saskatoon, SK. on May 30th and 31st. I will post more details and a list of common questions, that people have, over the next two days. In the meantime if you want to learn more, check out my blog posts, email me questions at natashawiig@hotmail.com or go to Betty Dodson’s website //dodsonandross.com for more details on what Bodysex is. I hope to see you in the circle.
by Natasha | Mar 3, 2015 | Body Image, Workshops |
(This blog post is best read while listening to “Bird Song” by The Wailin’ Jennys)
We opened the Art of Self Loving Workshop in a circle where I asked that we each share, in first person, how we feel about our body and our masturbation history. This weekend wasn’t supposed to be about anyone else in our lives – husbands, lovers or friends – only our own experiences and feelings. What emerged were intimate stories of touch, shame, masks, labels, boxes, fears, pleasure and loss. We all cried at different times – sometimes I was crying for myself but often it was for someone else who expressed feelings that I recognized all too well. This sharing is where we began to build trust and slowly extend our roots of sisterhood towards each other. We ended the first day by practicing a technique called sensate focus touch. The idea is to learn to touch ourselves lightly, while paying attention to the point where our fingertip meets our skin. Sometimes we aren’t at all present in our touch and it can feel almost mechanical on the part of the giver and the receiver. But in this practice we continually remind ourself to go back to the point of connection and, intuitively, our body tells us which part or parts seem to need it the most. Touching ourselves in this way is an act of love and compassion, and each time it is practiced our body stores the memory of the sensation so that the next time the pleasure is greater still. We left with a homework assignment to touch our whole body in that way. No pressure to orgasm, no expectation at all, just paying attention to the exact point of connection.
I went home feeling calm about the day that had been and about what was to come tomorrow. I found space to do my “homework” but as soon as I started touching myself I realized that I was completely numb. Something was bothering me and it was inhibiting me from really being present in my touch. My self loving practice is rarely about just getting a release. It’s my way of connecting to my body, loving myself, being honest and discovering new ways to explore my pleasure. Frustrated I forced myself to go inwards for the answers to this numbness and, in doing so, discovered feelings beyond the mask of calmness. What I encountered was shame about not sharing enough of my own vulnerabilities with these women who had bared parts of their souls with me. I wondered if they thought I had it all figured out and that everything was perfect for me. I had asked them to meet me in the circle and show up prepared to do the work but I hadn’t really done the same because a part of me wanted to appear to have it all figured out. There was also a feeling of vulnerability about showing them my body. As part of a genital show and tell exercise that day I had sat naked on a rug in front of the group with a light shining on my genitals, opening myself to show them all the visible parts of my sexual anatomy. The purpose of this was to teach the functions, but also show other women what a real womans vulva actually looks like. In the Bodysex workshops, Betty guided each of us through this exercise with her loving hand on our leg and encouraged us with words describing the unique beauty of our pussies. Betty hadn’t been there to do that today and I wondered what they thought of me. Did they think I was ugly? Did they understand the purpose of this exercise or the power behind it? Sitting inside all of these feelings I decided to never do this workshop again. I would just finish my Bodysex certification, lead Betty Dodson’s workshops and if those didn’t work out I could blame Betty. (sorry Betty but its with brutal honesty that I’m admitting it) This workshop has parts of myself in it – namely in the emphasis placed on skin to skin touching of ourselves as a practice towards intimacy. Putting myself out there like that was terrifying. I lay there pondering the idea that all I had learnt and believed may be complete bullshit to everyone else while begrudgingly resuming the “homework” that I myself had assigned. Continuing to mechanically touch my body, while sitting in these feelings, I realized that I was rejecting myself before the group could reject me. That felt safer. Exhausted from the energy this took I needed a physical release. So I straightened my body, held my breath, touched myself – without any love – and orgasmed. Essentially on the night of my first workshop, I had abandoned almost all of the self loving methods I had learnt to use and was teaching this group. Breath. Movement. Loving touch. Then that voice in my head that I’m going to call Betty(smile) spoke up, reminding me that “The teacher is going to learn the most” and I thought “Oh fuck you can do better….. Stop running.”
I woke the next morning feeling energized. I had survived the “vulnerability hangover” and was ready to do the work, meeting the women in the circle – mask undone. Not only as the workshop facilitator but as a woman on my own journey of self love and acceptance who doesn’t have it all figured out. Sitting in the circle again and seeing all of the beautiful women eager to grow and learn with me, I shared my fears and the story of my failed attempt at the self loving homework the night before – right down to my half ass teenage orgasm. What I saw reflected back at me were accepting eyes, kind smiles and understanding nods. I like to think that it made me one of them, or maybe they always felt that I was – but in that moment I knew it too. As the other women took turns sharing how their homework went, I heard stories of looking in the mirror and opening themselves up for the first time, feeling erotically turned on by touching “non sexual” parts of themselves, orgasms, inner peacefulness that seemed to effect the others in their life that night, lust for self, asking for touch from another for the first time, vulnerability, and of difficulty at staying focused in the touch. All of my fears, while valid, were unfounded as the power of the workshop was happening in the ways it was supposed to. We cried together again followed by laughter as we ate popcorn and watched Betty’s documentary on orgasmic women. It was great to see all the different ways that women pleasure themselves and how no one way is right or wrong. After that I again took my spot on the rug and demonstrated types of touch that I use on myself as well as Betty’s Rock and Roll orgasm method. I shared parts of my own practice and encouraged taking the time to develop their own. I felt proud and beautiful in my nakedness and I knew that I was accepted as I am by each of those women.
The last exercise before closing circle was group touch. We divided into two groups and took turns touching a women on one or both sides for about 7 minutes. This, after a weekend of incredible sharing, vulnerability and sisterhood was unbelievable powerful. Sliding my hands over their bodies I could feel them at first hesitate and then melt into the touch. Tears poured down our faces as we felt and saw the effect that our loving touch had on every women. Clothing started to come off as external and internal layers were shed – allowing for more love to enter. I felt gratitude at being able to touch these women in this way and hoped, as I’d hoped when touching Betty a year before, that some of their strength and inner beauty would soak back into me. When it was my turn to receive I was struck by the power of their touch as soon as they placed their hands upon me. The closest way I could describe it is that of a high orgasm. It’s so internal it can’t be designated as coming from one place. It was as if they touched my soul. In an instant I was transported back to a year before, in the Bodysex workshop, when the women there touched me. This was a great reinforcement of what I had taught the day before about sensate focus touch and how the pleasure imprints in our bodies, increasing sensations every time we give or receive it.
To close the workshop we sat in a circle on the floor, invisible roots of sisterhood fully intertwined, holding hands and shared one word that encompassed what the weekend meant to us. Deliberately looking ,one at a time,into each women’s eyes the words that we spoke were: Open, Melting, Transcendence, Accepted, Connected, Empowered, Comfortable, Free, Loved and Vulnerable.
I look forward to sharing the circle with another group of women at my next Art of Self Loving Workshop //natashasalaash.com/?p=19 on May 2nd and 3rd, 2015. Please email me at natashawiig@hotmail.com for details.
//dodsonandross.com/blogs/carlin-ross/2013/01/everything-you-need-know-about-bodysex-workshops
by Natasha | Feb 9, 2015 | Body Image |
“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
by Natasha | Jan 29, 2015 | Body Image |
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.
