The physical therapy for my pelvic floor was like an onion peeling – layers, different thicknesses and textures. Tears when you least expect them and no possibility of fighting them any longer.

No resistance to the process because you aren’t in control of this process.

Wisdom, surrender, beautiful work.

Triggers and questions of wonder. Where is this all taking me?

I open the door and look deeply inside of my own reflection from beautiful eyes. I feel it. The release. Finally, the release.

I felt the pain float away. I felt the panic lift.

Urgency mixed with patience.

To finally feel the awakening, just like that. Released. What now?

Since I was about 20 years old I have had pain associated with sex. Bladder flare ups starting at 24 adding to more pain. A young girl who should be exploring and adoring her sexuality and instead is fearful of pain mixing with pleasure. Fucked up. But real and present.

They gave me pills and estrogen rings. They told me I had everything wrong with me. Nobody could fix me. I lived with pain on and off for the next 18 years. I even heard myself say that I was not a sexual being. What? Of course I am. Just scared. Scared to hurt.

So I hid her away. Hid away her sexual needs and desires and prayed that one day it would always feel wonderful, magical, delicious.

Making babies was scary. Sometimes the pain would lift for a time but the fear never went away. I was waiting, watchful, ready.

The last three years the worst.

So I decided that I was ready to heal. Crisis after crisis piling on top of one another. It was time.

I am I was a stuffer. I found this convenient spot in my pelvic floor that no one could see where everything I was scared to feel could be gently tucked in. I held it tight. I grabbed it, wrestled it inside. I didn’t even know it was there. Did I?

Then the onion started to peel. I began to unravel. Like woah. Woah. Woah.

The unravel like a loose string on a sweater and someone starts to pull and pull and you are standing still, rooted down and stitch by stitch the sweater undone. And you are naked.

You can choose to freak the hell out. And you might.

You feel naked and vulnerable and sexual and chilly and full of passion and depth and understanding and confusion.

You can’t pretend you aren’t naked. Now you choose. And now you must feel.

This gift of epic proportions. The oyster. The pearl. The ocean. The sand. Waves washing over the newness.

I am guided by love, compassion and freedom.

I don’t know what is next. I just want to stand here in this nakedness and feel. Feel it. Be in it.

Aliveness of self.

Of choice.

Of truly being here.

Allowing my spirit, my sexual body to tingle and time to allow.

The release.