Daddy Issues

Daddy Issues

The daddy thing shows up like this: when I'm really turned on by a man fully in his masculine (like when he's fixing something, taking care of me, or working on something he's passionate about), I think the word "daddy," sometimes over and over, and get fully weak in the knees (who knew that was a thing that literally happened?). This happens during sex too, of course, or we wouldn't be here.

The Struggle Isn't Real

The Struggle Isn't Real

I have been so focused on money and scarcity for the past nine months.How to heal the money story I've inherited from the culture and my ancestors, how to move from scarcity into a space of thriving. I have felt so stuck in my patterns. So stuck in the worry about money, so stuck in the obsession and the frustration that there isn't more flow.

And now, it has finally settled. Finally clicked. The scarcity is within.

Keep Aphrodite In the Temple

Keep Aphrodite In the Temple

Many women (and men, I'm sure) who identify as highly sexual have a bit of a problem. 

I'm just going to call it as I see it, as I used to be this way as well. In fact, when I'm ovulating, I can still see this shadow in myself. The desire to be predatory, to own, to seduce.

Those of us who identify as highly sexual tend to leak our sexual energy all over everyone we see. We walk into a room, we survey for potential lovers, and we hone in on making them ours, no matter the cost, no matter who might be waiting for them at home. 

I Don't Have the Right to Exist

I Don't Have the Right to Exist

Usually I post blogs after I have the answer, but right now I don't. I have exhaustion, reactionary tendencies, and deep fears. All the human shit. All the fertilizer for the next beautiful upswing, which I will welcome with open arms. But for now, struggle. For now, a bath and cuddles with the dog. For now, I sit still, looking to the silence and the mystery for answers unspoken.

A Shadow of Control

A Shadow of Control

Am I enough?

Intellectually I know I’m enough, but seriously, what a bore intellect is sometimes. Tell it to the little girl inside me. The one who turns from me, shrinking and playing dead, as I quit the job I hate, and begin surrendering the process to god, growing my little atrophied trust muscle.

I want a glamorous trust muscle, I want it jacked and tan and vein-ridden. Goddess, hear my prayer.