Here, she outlines the concept of erotic blueprints, and paths for moving beyond whatever from your past might be holding you back. But this paradigm never got translated into: How your emotional history is inscribed in the physicality of sex. How your body speaks a certain emotional biography. For example, the question I often ask people is: How did you learn to love, and with whom? Were you allowed to want? Were you allowed to experience pleasure—or was pleasure just a break between work sessions, a reward after a lot of effort?
Were you allowed to cry—and were you allowed to cry out loud, or did you have to hide it? Were you allowed to laugh—out loud?
Did you feel protected as a child by those who needed to protect you—or did you flee for protection? Did the people who were supposed to take care of you do so—or did you have to take care of your caregivers, becoming the parentified child? I was talking to a couple, two women. The first woman said: Your free time is being free of caretaking duties, but never the pleasure of being physically and affectionately nurtured. The only thing you let me do is make coffee for you in morning.
Then I find out that the other partner grew up taking care of her mother in nearly every sense. She was the dutiful, straight-A student. She learned not to have any needs, so as to not burden her mother. So, as an adult, she has no idea what she needs, wants, or likes. You can touch her and ask her, Does this feel good, or does that feel good? Some of this comes out of the work of a colleague of mine, psychologist Jack Morin, Ph. Another colleague, Jaiya , often divides the blueprint into four quadrants: The blueprint, for me, is: If you tell me some of these details of your emotional history, it helps me to understand how you experience receiving, taking, asking for something, and pleasure in the full sense of the word—the abdication of responsibility, the unselfconsciousness, the freedom, the playfulness, the unproductive nature of the erotic.
This all gets at how you experience aliveness. Do you let yourself feel alive, outside of just feeling safe? Feeling truly alive involves risk-taking, mischief, curiosity. All of these experiences we—every man and every woman—have, we experience in our bodies. They are embodied experiences, part of being human.
Another way of thinking about the blueprint is that it is comprised of whatever thoughts, beliefs, attitudes, and messages you have about your sexuality. You might think sex is dirty, dangerous, fun, power. You might carry negative messages of sex with you: There can also be positive messages about turn-on—what entices you, what awakens you. Then there are the feelings: The lists can be very telling. Tender or affectionate are more likely to be associated with both love and sex.
Drawing your own blueprint can help you understand how these concepts intersect, what blocks what, and what animates you, what actually enlivens or heightens. Then, the most beautiful thing is to share blueprints with the people you are making love with.
Excluir playlist Cancelar Guardar. The Japanese psych band's lush new full-length evokes a balmy, tripped-out paradise, swirling with playful melodies and rich textures. This all gets at how you experience aliveness. Were you allowed to laugh—out loud? Those are the conversations about sexuality that most partners have never had. Acroyoga combines yoga and acrobatics is also great. Shoegaze and soft psychedelia hold hands on this mellow Canadian release which features some subtly great lead guitar.
Those are the conversations about sexuality that most partners have never had. She had been married for twenty-something years and never had an orgasm. For instance, her mom would cook for her and feed her, but she was always rushing her daughter: So, this woman did not know how to take the time to be in her own body, to allow for the mounting sensations, the excitement. This goes back to your relationship to desire and the connection to your self-worth. Relationships with fathers and others come into play, too.
Of course, parenthood itself does create a change for many people—both becoming a parent yourself and experiencing your partner as a parent. In order to make love you need to be able to let go—because at some point it is an experience of surrender, an experience of penetration of boundaries. In couples, you will often find that one person is more in touch with the fear of abandonment, and the other with the fear of being swallowed up or suffocated. So, some people fear losing others. Some people fear losing oneself. Translate that into sexuality: You might not experience your partner as wanting you, but as needing you.
We respond sexually when we feel wanted, not needed.
Needed elicits mothering, caretaking, selflessness. You can imagine the flip side of this if you lean toward fear of abandonment. You have a psychological blueprint and a cultural blueprint. In many parts of the world, the cultural messaging around sex is negative, shaming, guilt-inducing, silencing. Where do you buy your tomatoes? How do you cook chicken? The majority of people have very, very little sex education that speaks to the overall concept of sexual health, which involves rights, respect, knowledge, and pleasure.
The same way that health is not just the absence of disease—sexual health is not the absence of sexual disease.
Sexuality is sexual health. What about our first, or early, experiences of sex—is there typically a lasting impact? If someone was over-sexualized in childhood by a person who was not meant to sexualize them, the same holds true.
How do you mark birthdays — yours and theirs — in the years since their death? Leave a comment and let us know. You can download a free sample chapter now by subscribing here. Those phrases stick in our mind. I understand how that feels. It is a kind of marker that either prevents or hinders us from getting them to some destination that can not be reached. That has to be so very hard for you. I have children that age. The 40th birthday is a big one. He was so very young. I am truly sorry for your loss.
And I celebrate the fact that he was here, that my brother was here and until last October 14 — my husband was here, 68 years and 5 months. And they were all and will always be — loved. At midnight December 12th, his actual birthday , myself, my sister and my best friend all had a beer and a shot for him also his favorite.
It was a bittersweet moment, but mixed with celebration and above all else, love.
I even bought him the CD one year. When we lose a sibling, our identities come into question. Are we still a sister? Stuck in that big shit puddle of grief. Not moving one way or another. For more years than I probably should have. Until I finally felt it was okay to go on without her. Especially someone whose life was cut short.
That is the kind of hole that never gets filled. But we can chose to put our game faces back on and celebrate their lives with grace. If we let it.
The first anniversary of his death, we set the table and had a sparse meal of rice and beans, filling his plate as well. After we finished our food, we ate his. My husband is Indian so it was his idea, not mine. So now I bake homeday cakes. Every year, a cake on the day we brought him home.
I love you more than anything else.