The type of Eros that doesn't pretend...
On the intimacy of admitting you're not okay.
This post is not going to be laced with the kind of Eros I usually like to write about — the sexy kind, the sensual kind, the kind that invites you into your feeling body & the depths of your erotic heart. This post is the truth of what I am currently moving through — a type of Eros that doesn’t pretend. The type that most of us turn away from until it crashes & burns into our lives & brings us to our knees.
If you are here for the beautiful — the sensual — the intimacy of the deep erotic — know that I am here for that, too. But this post is an admission of what I am going through in this moment, & it may not be for you. xx
This is one of the hardest seasons of my life.
It’s why I haven’t been writing, it’s why I haven’t been able to play in the realms of eros & intimacy, because I am currently in survival mode.
There’s no sugarcoating the heartbreak, the stress, the sleeplessness of caring for a loved one with dementia. There’s no way to possibly save your heart from the feelings of hopelessness & grief that come with watching them fade away.
And no matter how beautiful you are at holding your own spine in moments of high sensation or emotional expression, there will be moments you won’t be able to — moments where you will crumble under the immensity of the decisions you are making & the intensity of your grief.
I wish, with every fiber of my being, that I could save my mom.
I wish, with every fiber of my being, that I could stop her brain from forgetting her loved ones & feeling so scared & confused.
But, there is no saving anyone from this disease, once they have it.
There is no stopping the progression, once it’s well under way.
My embodiment practice helps me remain deeply connected to the most tender, beautiful, intimate corners of my entire being — but it also means I am so acutely aware of how hard of a time I am having right now. Of how my brain just cannot rest when my head hits my pillow, of how my heart is racing with fear.
I can write about the details — but they don’t matter. What matters is I am losing my mom, and what I am learning is I must learn how to love her by getting her the care she needs, even if she feels like we’ve betrayed her. What I am learning is that in order to love her through this chapter — to bear witness as she makes her way toward her final transition — I must continuously practice letting her go.
No one tells you that as you become more deeply rooted & attuned to your heart & body, the grief of loss breaks you open again & again & again.
It stretches you, way further than you believe you can manage.
It demands you keep going, even when you feel like you have nothing left.
It asks you to remember to breathe deeply into your belly, & find the strength to soothe your loved one’s fears, even as they forget who you are & it’s breaking your heart.
To loosen control, to find acceptance, to know that there is no “getting better,” only a promise of continual decline.
I want to be writing about the sexy side of Eros.
I want to be slithering my spine & breathing into my cervix & letting my heart reveal her longing through every inch of my sensual body… but instead, my practice in this very moment is finding the strength to do what needs to be done to be there for my mom.
To keep her safe, & cared for, even if it means making some really hard decisions along the way.
I do not know how the rest of this season is going to go, and the uncertainty makes me feel anxious. I do not know if she will be cooperative as we move toward getting her where she can receive the long-term care she needs.
What I do know, is I need to allow myself to be human — to be a woman who is not bulletproof, but experiencing deep grief & in moments struggling to be okay.
I know this kind of post is probably not what you signed up for when you found my publication. But, it is the kind of post that speaks not to what’s appealing, but to what is deeply true. I changed the name of this publication to ✧Woman, Becoming ✧ — because that is what this season of my life is. And to truly become Her, I am being ushered through a death portal of my own transformation, as I walk alongside my mom toward hers.
The deepest intimacy, both with ourselves & with another, is not found without being willing to let ourselves be stripped bare — so it is my practice to allow life to have its way with me, & let my heart be reborn… again & again & again. xx
I'm going through my own death and grief phase, so I totally get it. You are strong and brave and I trust you will be able to hold yourself through this. What others may think or say doesn't matter. It must be an initiation of sorts although not a pretty one. I wish there were something I could say to make things feel better or nicer. Blessings and hugs.