As a mental health professional, I highly value western doctors that get that health is not just about the body.
“Okay, take a deep breath and cough for me,” the white-haired doctor said as he pressed a cool metal stethoscope onto my bareback.
“Hmmm, no signs of wheezing at all. And you said this has been going on for a month?”
He invited me to step off the high check-up table. “Why don’t you sit beside me in this chair?” He was facing his computer, but quickly spun around and looked me in the eyes with all the sincerity in the world.
I will admit, I was hesitant when this much older, rather brusk mannered fill-in for my regular MD walked into the room. I judged him for his age. I feared that he would be too old-school. That was until his hazel eyes stared into mine with empathy and compassion I didn’t know I was so hungry for. His eyes reminded me I wasn’t just hungry — I was starving.
I sought him out because I wanted to work on my trust issues with men.
The first time I sat down on the couch in his plant-filled office, I sobbed. His doughy body and cherub-like face were warm and inviting. I took comfort in the fact that I wasn’t at all attracted to him. He felt like a father-figure to me. I was able to open up with him the way I wanted to be able to open with my own father.
It was in the quiet moments between my emotional unraveling that he inserted his desires. “Maybe you should try not having sex right now. What we have here is intimacy. This relationship we are fostering in this room is authentic. You don’t need sex for real intimacy.”
His words elicited mixed feelings. They were soothing to my ears but stirred up a deep discomfort in my soul.
Curious? Read on.
Writing is like lovemaking.
It requires foreplay.
It needs to flirt with thoughts and notes and voice memos throughout the day.
It needs to be needed — constantly.
Sometimes it wants to play rough and make you work for it.
Sometimes it wants to make love to you with soft kisses and gentle caresses all night long.
Sometimes it wants to tease you until you cum unexpectedly with a piece that is utter perfection.
Once you do, you’ll humbly flaunt it. Here’s how.
Hello fellow human. If you’re reading this, you’re worthy. Maybe you already know that. Or maybe you’re totally clueless and constantly questioning what it is you’re doing on this grand ole’ planet we call Earth.
I’m writing for the tired and weary and wavering as much as I’m writing for the cocky and arrogant and self-aggrandizing souls. After all, we are all striving for something similar, aren't we?
My most shocking private yoga session request yet.
I have long legs.
Very long legs.
Yoga leggings fit my legs very well. Leggings are perhaps the most comfortable piece of clothing I own — but they are also the most attention-grabbing.
Over the past 15 years of teaching, I have had many eyes stare at my legs as they demo poses. I am unphased by those stares— that is until they bore through me.
Some stares stand out.
Some eyes linger a little too long.
Perhaps you know you know the linger?
The one filled with longing and lust?
Yoga stirs up all kinds of sexual energy. And for the student with lots of repressed desires— well doing a few hip openers has the potential of turning them on — a lot.
4 reasons why being solo is uber-chic.
Notice I didn’t use the word single?
There is a reason for that.
I don’t consider myself single. At all. I’m partnerless, yes, but single? No.
You could say I have a polyamorous soul when it comes to romantic affairs. I’m monogamous when it comes to a lover, but not when it comes to romantic love.
Confused? Let me explain.
When one love is enough.
It only takes one heart to love you.
Did you know that?
Yes, you who tosses and turns all night, hoping someone other than you would love you.
Did you know those endless, restless nights don’t have to continue?
I have a secret for you.
Are you willing to come close and lend me your ear? I’ll be quiet, I promise.
Somewhere along the line, I realized I had to love her.
For years I tried to heal her. But instead of healing her, I suppressed her. I choked her. I suffocated every last morsel of her darkness into a New Age love and the light-filled abyss.
I would write affirmations 50 and then 100 times over.
I love myself. I am worthy. I’m confident. I am valuable. I am enough.
Get emotionally naked.
Six years ago, I chose to leave a man who wouldn’t talk. When things got emotional, he would work and work and work. I didn’t pester him to talk. I thought if I let him be, he would emerge with words and we would feel connected once again.
But he never emerged.
Well, his ghost is.
I can’t go a day without being bothered by him. His face leers at me when I’m in the bathroom or washing dishes, disrupting my ho-hum calm. I’m walking out of my house and his car passes by — 20 times.
I can’t be alone for too long without his memory flooding in. Memories that somehow seem skewed. He’s always the good guy. He’s so attentive and so understanding. He’s always doing the right thing, making me feel like my perception was twisted up the whole time we were together. Did I get it all wrong? Was he really the perfect mate?
Soul Writer. Single Mama. Life ponderer. Nature Lover. Therapist. Introvert. HSP & Empath. Life is my playground and each day a blank canvas.