How I quit thinking…

…well, at least for a few hours. The key is: I moved into my body. Ditched that little upstairs room that I’ve occupied for so long, and went to explore the other part of the ME that I was living in.

You see, I have exhausted this road that I’ve been on for 3 decades. I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking some more, creating and solving problems that didn’t even exist, just so my mind could keep itself occupied. And at times it was fun, it gave me a mindgasm to discover new ideologies, new ways of seeing things and new beliefs, teachings and practices. But then I hit a wall and I couldn’t go any longer. I was suffocating being enclosed in this tiny space in my head, listening to a constantly spinning squeaky wheel churning out the same old thoughts over and over again with no breaks in between. I have tried meditation with some success, but most of the time I have just fallen asleep (which is again, a nice break from the EGO, from the mind, but still… ). Eventually it got so much that I became bitter. I just felt that I don’t wanna hear one more word from spiritual teachings, self-improvement gurus, self-help books and so on. I just became exhausted and bitter and so negative about all those things. I hit rock bottom and a wall at the end of the one-way street that “thinking” provided. And I needed a break. A change! Something that would take me out of this old habitual thinking way of being and give me a relief from it.

That’s when salsa came back to my mind. I used to dance salsa socially 8 years ago on a strong intermediate level, but I stopped after I had kids. Now as I was feeling the craving for humans around me (not to talk to them, just be around them) I remembered this old friend of mine and I told her I would like to go with her dancing again. We went out that night and it felt like I’ve never left. The music, the people, the energy in the room was so engaging that I had no time or opportunity to think about anything else, but the dance.

That’s when I saw it in another room that a few people were dancing a strange dance that I was not familiar with. It seemed like it had no structure, yet things were just flowing perfectly to the rhythm of the music and it was mesmerizing. I asked for the name of this dance and they said it was called ZOUK. I’ve never heard about this before, but I was determined to learn it. So the next week I signed up to a class and it was the best decision I’ve made in a very long time. The teachers were so knowledgeable and talented, the music took me to a whole different world and my body was able to pick up every new movement with no problem. The energy in the room was so positive and uplifting and sensual all at the same time and I realized that I have so many hangups around my body and the expression of the body. I don’t want to take up too much space, I don’t want to be too flashy, I don’t want to be noticed, I don’t want to step into my own power and let go of control and just flow with the music and whatever comes out is fine that way…..no, that terrified me. But noticing these things helped me be aware of what was going on inside of me and that’s half the battle already. So whenever I started noticing these thoughts popping up, I just closed my eyes and I let go and moved into the present moment and followed what the lead was giving me, picking up on their energies, expressing it as it naturally wanted to be expressed and move on to the next movement in this perfect flow of life, no effort, no hardship, just flowing and creating and letting go of the old move and moving into the new one effortlessly. It was pure heaven.

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As the night went on, after the lesson we stayed there for social dance and it was fantastic. All kinds of different levels were dancing together, the atmosphere was so accepting, encouraging and empowering that I felt like I have found the tribe that I have always been looking for. “My people”. The ones who get me and where talking is not necessary. We talked with our bodies instead and we were fully emerged in the present moment without thinking about future worries or past mistakes. And as the hours flew by, I felt more and more energized and happy on the inside. By the end of the night my legs were so tired, but my heart was so full of light and happiness, that I could not sleep for hours after that. Then in a matter of hours I had to wake up and go work out with a personal trainer, and it was brutal. He made me work my butt and leg muscles so much that I felt like jello afterwards but again, there was no room for thinking for a whole hour, just to be in the moment, focus on the present pain and do my best that I could.

So that’s what happened to me in the last 24 hours. I am exhausted beyond words and I feel like I could be falling asleep in a matter of seconds but on the inside I am so calm, happy, relaxed and full of creative energy that I feel like my chest is about the pop open.

In my whole life I have treated my body as if it was an oversized vehicle that’s only purpose was to carry my head around (that had my thinking trapped in it.) Ok, and providing occasional sexual pleasures here and there, but even that for me was a lot of brain work….sex….can you believe it? I had to think and concentrate so much to actually feel something. But now that I have left the upper room (like Rapunzel trapped in the the tower), I feel like I have finally discovered a whole new world. I have discovered that this house (AKA my body) has many many other rooms and facilities in it, and it is amazing. I am not gonna live and do everything only in that tiny little space anymore (sleep, eat, poop and more :)) but I am gonna live with this spacious housing that I’ve been given to and explore every little section of it. I am gonna tune into feeling more, being present with the movements, flow with the music and the energy and just breath in between dances.

Whatever it is, it was a life changing discovery to finally discover that my body parts are good for many other purposes and movement can bring so much joy to me. Either in dancing or work out mode, my brain was quite for a minute, and my body was active and in the NOW. And that is heaven. That is pure bliss. And I want more of that…. a whole lot more.

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I quit slut-shaming myself (and others)

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I live in a delusional world. And so does everyone else.

Up until yesterday the picture of me in my head was an innocent, playful but harmless little girl who is not that into sex, not that comfortable with her sexuality and is certainly not using her sexual powers to seduce men. Not only that she doesn’t use them, but purposefully suppresses it as well. Just like Elza in Frozen. She is aware that she has a cool and powerful superpower, but since it can be used for destruction once in a while, she is better off not using it at all.

Well, that was ME in MY HEAD…. until reality came knocking on my door. I was talking to a friend of mine about men and my experience with them, when that specific friend asked me to finally write down the list of the guys I’ve had sex with after my marriage. I got divorced 3 years ago, so I had to go all the way back and try to remember everyone I had sexual encounters with. To my surprise, I have forgotten many of my one night stands, but they slowly kept creeping back into my memory field. Obviously I couldn’t remember names, so I listed them as the “juggler guy”, or the “guy I had sex with in tall grass in front of the club”, or  “4 rounds stoned sex one-nighter”. And the list went on and on and on until I hit 36 (THIRTY-SIX!!!). Then I stopped straining my memory muscles and quit counting. I stared at the list in utter disbelief. Quickly called my 2 closest friends and quickly did their math but they could only come up with 12 at the most for the last few years. So “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the slutties of them all?” And here I am the whole time thinking I am the most innocent among my friends. Talking about delusions….

The feeling of shame and unease came over me as I was struggling with this number. Tried to make it look pretty in many ways, divided it by the number of months and it turned out I had one guy for every month. Which, if you put it that way,  is not that bad. If I say that I had once a month sex in the last few years, it is not slutty at all. Matter of fact, that’s a pretty sad fact. So sad, that I should almost feel sorry for myself.  So now instead of feeling shame for being a slut, I am feeling sorry for not getting laid enough. Talking about being confused.

Thirty-six! Is it too much or too little??? Where is the limit between a normal human sexual appetite and a whore and who gets to pick that magic number? Is 20 still acceptable but 21 is crossing the line? Or is 36 still somewhat acceptable but 60 would be unforgivable? And does it make a difference if a man or a woman is the proud owner of this number? Does 36 make a man an average fuck, but makes an instant slut out of a woman? Why do guys become kings of the sheets with the increase of this number, yet a woman should be ashamed of herself if she dares to open her legs to more than 5 visitors within her lifetime?!

So after a flood of moral questions washing over my tiny brain of mine, I quickly gave up on the idea of slut-shaming myself. What for? And what’s the point anyway???

As Kierkegaard said it so beautifully: “Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.”

Well, I have experienced it, alright?! At least 36 time, and I don’t regret any of them. They all taught me something, they all made me feel one way or another, and they all showed me a different side of myself, of my sexuality and personality. What is there to regret? Who says that sex should only be enjoyed within a committed relationship or with one person only? And if I don’t have that one magical person around, what should I do? Put my pussy up on the shelf and let it dry out? Grow a bush on it and hide it until Prince Charming comes along and graces me with his dick presence? Nope. Not this pussy. She is way too curious and too alive to be left in the dark, neglected and alone. She wants to come out and play. Experience what life has to offer, and take all the pleasures (and sometimes pain) it can. No shame in it and I won’t buy into that old school patriarchal ideology that a woman should be immaculate for her man. (Yet the man can screw any maid and mistresses he pleases). That time has passed.

So here I am with the number 36.

I’m planning on putting some more work into it eventually and hopefully the numero 40 will be the magic number. A guy I can give up collecting trophies for, and settle down with…at least for 36 months. (Ok, knowing myself it’s not months, it”s weeks….maybe 36 weeks…that’s more doable and reasonable in my life)

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I quit criticizing my body

Have you ever heard the rumors that models have low self-esteems and constantly criticize their bodies? Silly, huh? One would think that someone who looks perfect from the outside might be endlessly happy on the inside. But that’s certainly not true.

Looking back on my childhood pictures, I can totally see that others were right. I always thought I was fat in high school, and never understood how no one else could see this obvious truth besides me. Thanks to certain conditioning and wiring from our closest family members, we all have some very messed up way of thinking about ourselves, and I wasn’t left out of this little gift of humanity either. My mother made sure to drill it into me that if I didn’t watch what I eat and constantly obsessed about how much I consumed, then in no time I would become a fat beach whale and no one will ever like more, nor marry me. Well…. I might have paraphrased & exaggerated a bit, but you get my point.

So I was obsessed with how much I ate, and as every great teenager with an eating disorder, I made sure that I properly starved myself all day and night. Interestingly enough, the more I tried to lose weight, the more weight I seemed to gained. Then hitting rock bottom a few years into this masochistic habit, I gave up and I didn’t care anymore about my weight and body. Oh, well, actually, my biggest heartbreak of my life assisted me with this decision. Since my first love left me unexpectedly, I couldn’t look at food anymore and I lost so much weight, that my family was seriously thought I might had cancer. After that, being fat or skinny was the least of my worries.

Then other boyfriends came into the picture, and with them SEX also arrived into my life. With sex came nudity, and with nudity came awareness of the existence of ignorant manly opinions about certain body parts of women. I was around men enough to hear how they talk about women (although I gotta admit, women are not any better either, right ladies?! ) and thanks to that, I shifted the focus of my obsession from food to certain body parts. My boobs got the biggest limelight and also my vagina. They were too big, too unequal, too saggy, too big areola, too big nipples, too weird pussy, etc…

Any by too this or too that, I mean anything that didn’t look exactly like the body parts in porn movies. Since I didn’t get to walk around and check what’s under everyone’s clothes,  I had to get my information from other, “trusted” sources. 🙂

Then when I got tired o beating up myself for my intimate parts, I migrated up north to dissect the rest of my body. My belly button was a bit of an outie. Not sure when it came to my awareness that an outie is a horrible insult against society, and whoever has it should cover it up shamefully, but I remember how free I was before I knew about all these. Then I realized that my nose was humongous, my head was much bigger than the rest of the people on this Earth, and although my ears were too big –according to me, of course– I could hide that atrocity with my hair from the eye witnesses. My upper lip didn’t have that Angel’s touchy indent in the middle that everyone else happened to have, BUT me! Then my fingers were sausages, too short fingers, too robust palms. Not to mention the 11 lines between my eyebrows after I turned 20. Holy crap, could I obsess about them for hours after taking any photos of me?! My teeth weren’t perfect either. My butt was too small, too flat, too this, too that.  Can you believe I never wanted to wear a crop top, because of my belly button? How I didn’t want to get into the water because that would have required a bikini that I was not ready to wear, only because of that minimal excess tiny skin in the middle of my banging, 6 pack washboard abs, damn it. Can you imagine that I only wanted to have sex in the dark, and never let guys go down on me?
Good lord, how crazy  and self-critical can we be and how much fun I missed out on?

Yesterday at gymnastics class my 4 yr old (remember, FOUR!!!!) kept her sweater on and was uncomfortable the whole hour, but wouldn’t take it off for the love of her life. I asked her at home why she didn’t take it off and she said:
– Because my ARMPIT was showing in my leotard….
– And what’s wrong with armpits?- I Dared to ask.
– It sticks out (like a side boob) and has lines in it!!!! – answers a FOUR year old.
She is already self -conscious, but trust me, she didn’t get it from me. I have thankfully healed from this “not good enough” social plague already. There was a time when my distorted body image held me back from all the pleasures in life, but not anymore. I turned 30 when I realized what an idiot I had been for so long and consciously started accepting everything on my body, WITHOUT an exception. I showered ALL parts with loving acceptance and decided that no matter who says what, I am good the way I am.

My body has been such a loving, quite, accepting servant, vehicle for me from the very beginning. It takes me to places, it introduces me to delicious tastes, wonderful sights, warm, sweet smells, and soft touches and cuddles. It does whatever I tell it to do, and doesn’t complain when I abuse it. It houses me day and night, works very hard to heal itself when I mess it up with overworking it or not feeding it properly. It gifted me two beautiful and vibrant kids, grew them and brought them to this world, and fed them with itself for years.  It is doing it’s job without my supervision over it and never asks for anything in return. And I have been doing nothing for 30 years, but criticizing it and hating it for every little imperfection. Or at least, things I DEEMED as imperfections.

I said stop! It’s enough! It deserves something much better than that.

And I stood in front of the mirror, looked at it fully (I might or might not have been high at this time) and started noticing all the beauties of it. The long, beautiful hair, the pretty face, the mesmerizing ocean blue eyes, the long neck, the firm, toned arms, the flat belly with six-pack, the curves on my side, my perfect thighs, my toned calf muscles, my silky smooth skin, my fetish worthy feet and everything in between. And I fell in love with it. I became my biggest cheerleader, my greatest lover. And let me tell you, since then, I have had the greatest experiences of my life. I have experienced sex that’s just out of this world, tastes without guilt, the joy of movement and dance and art, and I wear that bikini now as if I had the most gorgeous belly button in this entire world.

I’m gonna keep doing this and I hope that not just my words, but my whole life will convince my little daughter that everything on her is perfect as it is, and she will be her own biggest admirer and cheerleader as well.

momy dau