Why Self Love is the Best Love

Then after a long pause that seemed to go on forever, my partner says, “Why didn't you tell me your desires?”

As a Black woman, I am determined to heal, inspire, support, encourage, and give permission for others to break their patterns and remove the impact violence has on self-love and loving relationships. I want women to live and be filled with consent-given pussy-grabbing happiness if they desire.

Healing begins with a conversation.

"We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings." ― Audre Lorde

Hello, my Pussrageous friends, hello. Welcome back to our blog. You know how we do it. How are you? Seriously, how are you? Mentally, physically, emotionally, sexually? How are you?

Let's honor this difficult and transitional time and take a deep breath. Because right now for me, this COVID-19 shit sucks. It has kept me on some procrastination BS. I'm working through it and am humbly grateful, but it sucks.

I am here for you, I see you, I hear you, I acknowledge you, and I am honored you stopped by.

We're rolling the balls in the roller and picking a letter for topic and conversation. We're rolling, rolling, rolling.... and the letter is U. I swear, I did not rig this thing. We are not going in the order that the word pussy is spelled in, it just happened, and well, we're going with it.

U is for understanding.

Grab and drink, and get a blanket. It's getting chilly in here. Grab some pillows and relax. Unclench your jaw, relax your eyebrows - speaking of eyebrows, ...what happe... I'm just saying. Relax your eyebrows, take a deep breath, just like that. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly rotate your shoulders and your neck, take a sip of that delicious drink. Mine? Tequila. Yeah, it's about to get real.

Safe Space is set? Yes? Ok, let's have a conversation.

Wait, what the hell, was all I could say after my lover and I had one of our many sexual talks. It was a long conversation. We must have talked for hours that day. We did that then, we would talk for hours, and hours endlessly, at least that's how I remember it. Hours before the mistrust, pain, and my fully realizing I was getting the short end of the stick. Before I started asking questions that pertained to my whole self and life.

What do you mean we can't go to the movies? Why don't you ask about my day? Did you just really order food for you and not us?

The negative outweighed the positive, and I was dating down, settling again. I purposely was thinking sex, sex, sex, more sex, and of course, sex again. One day I stopped asking myself would this add to or take away mentally from my existence? And started asking myself, how many lessons are you going to learn by yourself fixing the radiator while your so-called partner has not asked if you are safe, ok, or if you need anything? UMMMM, perhaps heat. Just saying.

I'll focus. The lesson, the story, this post is about understanding. As I could only heal one wound at a time, it was this lover and conversation that began my path of sexual opening and healing—empowerment and discovery of my sexual self. My sexual freedom was my responsibility, and mine alone. I learned many things from that relationship. I stepped into empowerment, and for that, I am forever appreciative. I am grateful and smile when I think of him. I also think OMG, really Raine. Oh well, that's how I had to grow.

That conversation goes something like this. Healing began with that conversation.

"How do you feel?" he asks after sex for four hours, which included body twisting shower moves and a back burn from the floor. “Ummm, ok,” I say.

“Ok? Why do I feel you're not fully satisfied?”

“I don't know. I guess because sometimes, I'm not,” I say.

“You do know, you can ask for what you desire, it's your responsibility for your pleasure. I can't read your mind.”

A look of pain and grimace twisted my lips and face.

I began thinking to myself. Huh? Wait, what do you mean it's my responsibility for my own pleasure? What do you mean you can't read my mind? Aren't you supposed to know what I desire and like? I thought that's what you were to know? If you don't know, how am I to know?

The conversation goes on with more questions.

“What, why didn't you ask what I wanted,” I said, naked, tears stinging my eyes

. “What do you mean, why didn't I ask?" he asks.

Then after a long pause that seemed to go on forever, my partner says, “Why didn't you tell me your desires?”

Bamnnnnn just like Emeril. You know the chef? Bamm, Bamm, Bamm, more like DAMN......

I sat in silence after he said that—a hard silence. I wasn't thinking, I was in shock, almost disbelief. A mesmerized like stance. I tried to catch my breath before. No, here it comes. Ugh! The knawing, stomach twisting, gurgling, thick burning acid, rising in my stomach, despair, sinking feeling that I could taste at the back of my throat. I could swallow it almost, but knew I shouldn't because I would choke. Shame. Shame was the emotion that washed over me after the silence of the moment.

I immediately blamed myself. I began to shut down, my ego trying to protect me. I started using my denial and self-loathing techniques. The ones, I was taught to believe. You know the ones I hope you don't, but intuition and sense tell me you do. The lies that we're forced to believe that say nothing about us but so much about the other person or society. I was taught it was my fault because I was so pretty, smart, talented, the lies I started to tell myself before I accepted myself and that the rape, the abuse, the neglect, my not getting the job... ok, that was my fault. I didn't put in the application on time. Don't judge. The neglect and others were not.

I was amid a shame fast twirling spiral. The negative thoughts began to come faster and I could feel the thick scorching, gross tasting, bile in my throat.

I didn't know what I was doing.

Sexually I am broken.

I have no idea what sex is about.

I started telling myself, even with all the porn movies I watched. I did those moves. I performed the porn like moves and twitched my hips and could gyrate like the best of them, but I never had that earth-shattering porn like screaming orgasm. Plenty of sweat, but never eye-rolling, cumming like in the movies. Yeah, I did those moves, I said to myself, and I smiled but still. This was not the time to be smiling about that crazy, leg over the head.... you know what, never mind. The reality is, I had no idea what my desires were, my sexuality, what my pleasure meant. I was performing, not participating. I knew deep down inside this was not a fault thing; I was not to blame. I could easily place the blame on the patriarchal society, but I wasn't that deep then. Besides, blaming would not decrease my responsibility to own and discover my sexual desires. I knew I didn't know, but why didn't I know?

The truth was, most of my moves were from watching porn. I thought that's what I was supposed to do. Everyone seemed to be having fun in the movies, and I was turned on. I was watching these magnanimous orgasms people were having. I wanted to have one. I didn't know how or why, but I thought it must be the end-all-be-all to sex, and since I didn’t have them, I faked it. I had fun pretending, but it was exhausting. My thoughts ranged from being worried about my hair to if I looked amazing as the model did in this outfit and what was I going to fix for dinner. It, sex, was all about them. But never did I think, how did this feel, or was I enjoying sex.

Ouch!!! Suddenly, I felt lighter, cool, mist-like, similar to being on a bright sunny beach day; the hot sun stinging your skin, refreshing salty ocean water trickles up ever so slightly from your toes to your legs as you’re standing at the shoreline. With that feeling, I felt the ease of anxiety, shame, and self-doubt slide away. I realized later with reflection and sex research. Oh soooo much fun. Please do sex research with me. insert big wide eyed goofy grin here- Yesszz, now that's a conversation.

Sigh, With the relief also came the more. I knew there was more than the screaming orgasmic woman or fast pumping people I had seen on the screen. I could feel there was more and now I had the power and desire to discover more. It was a long time coming. I no longer felt the need to pretend or hope that my partner would read my mind and fill in the blanks to what my desires were. It almost felt like I was given permission. I now desired to know what were my desires.

What satisfaction. What a relief. No more faking orgasms, no more faking pleasure, or what I thought was pleasure, no more faking.

What I realized later and appreciate now is to acknowledge the emotion of self-doubt when it washes over me. Now, I have techniques and tools to tell my ego, I an safe. I don't let it steal pleasure. I show my self love and love on myself. I Feel the discomfort and lean into erotic pleasure. What a relief of no longer being an impostor to myself. I understood and discovered then and now, there was nothing wrong with me. I'm not sexually broken; I just didn't know what my desires were. Sexual freedom is mine. Yes, I honor my cravings and my responsibility.

My story may sound familiar to you. It may even be your story or the story of someone you care about greatly.

Let us have a conversation.

We can change sexual stigma beginning with understanding the importance of self-love. We will change the way we view our bodies and move forward in sexual Freedom together, masterminding our pleasure, masterminding our desires because it is our body. Pussrageously yours, Raine. “I want to live the rest of my life, however long or short, with as much sweetness as I can decently manage, loving all the people I love, and doing as much as I can of the work I still have to do. I am going to write fire until it comes out of my ears, my eyes, my noseholes--everywhere. Until it's every breath I breathe. I'm going to go out like a fucking meteor!” ― Audre Lorde And so, it shall be and so much more.

Pussrageously yours,

Raine