How I Finally Learned to Love My Body (and My Pussy Too)

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You’re ugly. Fat. Unfuckable.
Who is going to want to have sex with you, with that bulging stomach and those thighs.

That’s all I remembered of myself at that age — 22. 
The pain of that voice in my head.
Always present, always nagging.

These memories flooded in when I recently I found this photo.
I looked so beautiful …
Yet all I remember of that time was sadness. 
Feeling alone, so alone. 

Those voices … well, I thought they were the voice of reason … that knew exactly how I really am. 
They were everywhere I went. And they left their filthy mark on everything I tried to enjoy. 

They were right there in front of me too, as I was making love to my husband a few years later.

Your fat stomach. Don’t show it, turn away!
You’re gaining weight; what if you don’t turn him on anymore?!

And worst of all — they threw a tantrum when my pussy was front and center. Body guarded, muscles tense, mind screaming:

You’re so ugly down there. He is going to see you and turn away!

Sex was more exhausting than it was pleasurable.
The voices kept me alert and on edge, never too relaxed as to let my guard down and enjoy it.

Then eventually came the real pain. Excruciating pain. 
Pain at entry, pain during penetration.
Pain afterwards. 
Falling asleep from silent tears.
Waking up in the morning, with a fake smile that hid the pain of the previous night.

And this empowered those voices, made them bolder … 
“You, see” they said with glee. “You ARE not sexual enough. Not sexy enough. Not good enough for him.” 

And I believed them.

Through the divorce, I believed them.
For five years after, I believed them.

The tricky part was that I had no idea I believed them. I thought they were the truth. 
They were the beacon, the shining light. I was simply following.

If it wasn’t for that year a decade ago, when everything fell apart, I would have followed those voices to the end of the world.

But it was my year of reckoning, my time to face the consequences of my own dreams unfulfilled. My job was toxic (and I was in a career that was drying up my soul), my health was quickly failing from mysterious illnesses (from all those years of beating myself up), I was losing money over stupid mistakes and rash decisions (I just wanted the pain to go away), and I felt so broken sexually that I hid from men (so much so that men actually would overlook me, at work and everywhere). And I was facing this all alone. 

I was annoyed, pissed off actually, at life throwing these my way. 
I did not want any more pain.

This was the last straw …

I was sitting on the floor at a women’s workshop, doing an exercise that asked me to remember a time when I was happy, really happy. 

And I had no answer.
My mind went blank.

Sure, I had moments when I had fun, was doing interesting things. But happy?!

There I sat, on the floor, with tears streaming down uncontrollably.
A dam had broken.
A wave of sadness washed over me and took down all of my defenses.

But something became clear: I had been so miserable. So unhappy. And I had never admitted that.
Not to myself, and certainly not to anyone else.

Until that moment.
And when I felt the sadness … I felt it for me … for those the missed dreams … the happiness unrealized.  

And in that, I also felt so much love.

I didn’t know what it was then. 
But I felt it. 

I had stopped running from myself. 
And in the process, I had found love.
It felt warm and relaxing. And quiet: like when you stop a loud motor and all you hear is the quiet.

And I wanted more of it. 
I wanted more … the feeling of feeling ... that stuff that happens in my body when I tune in when the mind quiets.

It was foreign, yet so precious, familiar and mine.
Something I had not experienced since I was a young child, who knew nothing but how to feel her aliveness.

What followed was an opening and a softening. I was like a tight bud, slowly opening up into a flower.
My body began to unfold. Color returned to my face. I had a spark in my eyes too.

This spurred a journey to feeling more … more happiness, more fulfillment, more aliveness.

When I reached out to a sex coach, I wanted to learn to feel more ... in sex. To enjoy it. 

I still had some residual mindset that I was somehow broken sexually. 
And I also knew deep down that I wasn’t.

Fast forward to a moment in bed with a partner …

I feel an electric current running up my spine, then warmth all over. He’s slowly running his fingers along my legs, and up to my pussy. Intentionally, but without a goal. We’re not having sex. We’re ecstatically exploring each other. So slowly, with such seduction that it throws my body into convulsions. I am melting into the bed, heavy with pleasure. I only feel the sensations, navigate the experience, my mind turned off. 

My body. It’s feeling so much.
I am in awe. 
“Holy cow,” I think. “I am feeling so much. This is heaven.”
”This … it’s all mine. 
My pleasure.” 

My body used to be just this external thing that others got to see — and judge. 
It was an object of others’ enjoyment and pleasure.
And all those voices made sure I knew that and was prepared: on guard, closed off, bracing.

Then it became MY object of enjoyment. 

My body became my object of pleasure.
And those voices began to disappear. 

When I touch my breasts, I feel tingling through my body.
When I touch my pussy, I smile at all those times it felt so delicious to be touched.
When a lover touches my fat rolling belly, I feel the softness of my skin and it feels like love. 
When he holds my thighs, my body tingles and convulses.

As I experience these things, I FEEL beautiful. 
And I feel the love.

The more I was learning how to enjoy myself, the more shame fell away.
The more I was enjoying myself, the more filled up I became.

And here is a secret that most women don’t know …
Sex from this place of nourishment is nothing like I have ever had before.
It’s easy and freeing.
It’s as if my body is an engine running on a full tank that gets fuller, the longer I run.

And the fuller I felt, the more love I felt in my body for myself.

My journey had me wonder: why don’t we talk about this?
Why don’t we teach women how to experience this pleasure?
And why do we, as women, not allow ourselves to fill our cup?

It’s like I tapped into a secret.
And I didn’t want to hold back this truth from other women any longer. 

Our pleasure in our own bodies makes us come alive. And sexual desire flows.

And I want you to have a taste of this too. Just a little taste, because you have to be ready for the major transformation in a big way. You have to be ready to commit to yourself and decide that your body is your object of enjoyment. And it’s a process, not an overnight trick. But if you’re ready, here is a taste:

EXERCISE: In this moment, ask yourself: is there any part of you that feels pleasurable? Any part, a tiny part — maybe it’s you enjoying the warmth of your hands (on a cold day). Maybe it’s you feeling satiated by the tasty meal you just had. Maybe it’s that extra spacious breath you just took when you read this article.

Notice it. Give it space. That is your sensation. That is your pleasure. Hold this pleasure in your awareness like a mother holding her precious newborn. Tune into it. Caress it. Give it love.

This pleasure inhabits you and you inhabit this pleasure. You can say this as you “touch” this pleasure: “This body belongs to me. I have every right to appreciate every sensation and pleasure I experience.” And notice what happens. Whatever distraction might pop up, come back to this little spot of pleasure within you. It’s there for your taking!

P.S. When you’re ready to find your way back to yourself and your partner, here are a few options for you: