Another deep dive into the Phoenix's Nest to help unravel all that it is that makes me tick. All that has lead me to where I am today. All that has shaped me into the human being, the force, the spiritual womxn that no longer hides her sexuality away. There is no room for shame, guilt or suppression of true self.
Stop what you're doing.
Breathe and listen to this.
— FULL TRANSCRIPT —
This is a story about how one passionate polar bear dug herself out of the coldest hole she'd ever nested in, in an attempt to reclaim what it felt like to be warm.
Growing up in an Italian Catholic community, positive sex culture wasn't available to me. Shall we just say. I was always a spiritual girl, praying, reading, going to church and even teaching catechism classes to small children preparing for their communion or catechism.
I was also acutely sexually aware of myself, of my body, of the feeling of what it meant to be me, of the energy swirling around me. And at nights I remember going to sleep and praying for two things and two things very specifically. Knees to the floor hands up on the bed, I would say, "Please Jesus do not give me bad dreams. Please, Jesus, stop me from being a bad girl". You see before I actually explored my sexuality I was already on my knees for someone in the sky. Squashed by everything around me and squashed by the spirituality that I could not even begin to fathom cuckolded me.
I'd always been a sensual creature and was taught to be repulsed by my sexuality from my priest, my teachers, my grandmother. When I believed that my night terrors were punishment for being naughty because this is what she told me after she caught me masturbating and told me I was revolting. Then as I grew into a teenager and started fantasizing about women, losing my virginity or whatever the fuck that means, touching myself, I felt absolutely vile about being in my own skin and being me. All before I was 10 years old.
I felt bad about who I was because of what I was taught and the ways I was conditioned and I felt the ways that I murdered that 6-year-old girl. I remember so viscerally the ways that I catacombed the goddess inside me.
I remember quitting my role as catechism teacher because a little boy once asked me, what would happen if he touched himself, and my response was healthy, positive, encouraging and that's something my superior didn't appreciate. In fact, she told me to go back to the boy and tell him that he would go to hell if he did not confess and stop immediately. I shit you not.
And this was my first act of rebellion as a sex-positive person and one that would shape who I was, who I am, and who I will be. I stopped teaching catechism that day and I struggled intensely for years trying to reconcile my nature. I convinced myself I was a shit person because I was impure. The amount of times I stopped touching myself to punish my mind, the toxic conversations I had with my church friends, it all makes me cringe.
What we teach our children about their bodies, and their impulses, their urges, their feelings, their nature, it's important. What language we use when talking about sex is important. What language we use when discussing pleasure is important, and what we don't talk about or avoid talking about can leave a heavier footprint than the most cruel of words.
And my story of sexual liberation and my emergence from that hibernation and that cold hell hole I lived in, it is one I will share on purpose. I have had a few people say, "How could you create an account like this Angela? A body of work like this. Aren't you mortified your children might see it? Your family, see you?" And my answer is always the same, "I hope they do".
There have been many days in my life where the best parts of me felt crushed under everything that I am, and everything that I felt, and everything I was supposed to be. Someone else's story written for me. And as a creature fuelled by sensation, listless in an existence that had me resenting how passionate I was strictly because that passion fell on the cold loins and repressed inhibition of others.
My passion is my superpower and I was told to slaughter and hide the body of that part of me over two decades ago.
I became complacent towards myself, towards my pleasure, towards the expression of my desires, and complacency well that's something I promised I would never become.
To come undone and crush that complacency fiercely, knowingly, uncomfortably even in instances where I had to boldly stand my own ground. Even in instances where my passion and enthusiasm went unreciprocated. Even in situations where the voice in my head told me I was too much, or that I wanted too much has been the wild reckoning for me.
In the same ways old explorers wandered into uncharted waters dedicated so fiercely to exploration they would happily make agreeance with risk, with the unknown, with confrontation, with the elements just to make love to that exploration time and time again. I do the same in exploration of myself. In dancing with the risk of coming undone. And I would choose unbridled self-exploration and a life of personally instigated passion before complacency ever meets the softness of my body ever again.
I spent years in a quiet slumber my body parts sleeping refusing to wake or show life, my clitoris did not even respond to my own hand. And although sex moves in and out of our lives like seasons I felt stuck in a sad state of inertia. I desperately clutched at threads of what my sexuality used to be hoping to somehow find a line that would take me back and forward to everything my soulstress core desired, and yet nothing. No matter how hard I tried or fantasized just radio silence in the airwaves of my flesh.
And at some point, my body became a slave, a vessel, and a carrier and it served everyone else but me. Moreso my children to make them, to birth them, to nurse them, and in the last 15 months I have fought feverishly to wake the sleeping beast buried deep in the lost laden groins of my passion
I've earned this fucking emergence and this is my story. How I woke, how I played, how I slayed, how I came and came hard, and how hard I worked for this vitality to stay.
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