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The kiss that sent me scurrying into shame

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat.
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the Stars above
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are You are
What a beautiful Pussy you are.” ~ Edward Lear

Somewhere along my life journey, I lost my way.

This was true, especially, when it came to being in relationship with men.

Never quite believing that I was worth a whole hell of a lot, I was the perfect landing spot for bullies, abusers and belittlers.  So, that’s the kind of partners I attracted.

It worked.

The payoff for being in relationship with them was to compromise my own Soul in order to “be taken care of,”  resulting in a personal “disappearance” – the longer I stayed, the smaller and more insignificant I became.  Yet, in my mind, it was much easier to let someone else take charge, be in control.   I was nothing.  I had nothing.  I believed the lies of my childhood.  In the men I partnered with, I sought what I felt I hadn’t received from my own biological family – intimacy, acceptance, love – of which I had none for myself.

The irony was that in my fierce desire for such things, I attracted, what I now recognize as the greatest gift of Spirit,


The journey to my own reclamation has been long and arduous.   Yet it has fueled this research on Desire and Asking – of questioning, and beginning to disbelieve the thoughts and choices that cause me pain in my lifetime.  To seek deep Peace instead.

And so, when I stole a kiss from my card-asking man something unexpected happened to me.

The kiss was brief, almost perfunctory.  I high-tailed into my house after a swift goodbye only to find myself hanging on to my kitchen counter, breathless, disoriented..  What was that?

How could that be?  How could one lousy kiss, send me reeling?  I had been fierce with staying in my pleasure: scheduled lots of activities that satisfied me, connected to my girlfriends every day, was eating well, exercising, having lots of reasons to laugh…

The kiss shoved me into the face of what I desired most: intimacy.  I don’t mean of the sexual kind (although I was not going to rule that out.)  Rather the kind that one can only have with another being when one has been cracked open and no longer wishes to hide.

That sent me into a panic.

Because I had a BIG DESIRE.  A secret.  Tethered to a shame.

If I were to say “yes” to whatever might be coming (whether it be with my card-asking man, or another), it meant I had to say “I love you” to all parts of me.  Even the darkest ones.  And I hadn’t completely let go of hiding and feeling ashamed of them yet.

These parts weren’t so pretty anymore…

Yet I knew a deep, dark, earthy yearning for those parts of me that felt the ugliest, to be seen.  And this I could no longer deny.

For the next week I swung wildly between the lightheadedness one gets from too much dervish-like twirling, and the tight heart and heated cheeks brought on by shame.

I chose to deal with it head on.  Took it as my next research project.  Allowed myself to cave into ALL of it:  the good, the scary, the ugly, the expansive, the knee-buckling.  All of it.

And I leaned into the arms of my community as if my life depended upon it.

I knew it was not a journey I could take alone.  I knew I needed other women who understood that this, too, was part of dissolving, metamorphosing, unfolding.  I needed women who would do nothing: not try to fix me (this was for me to do.)   Rather, to remind me I was in the perfect place, and that I was loved exactly where I was.

I know Shame.  Well.  I’ve done my share of reading on it.  I knew that it just LOVES secrecy, solitude, shadow, isolation.  It thrives on living in the dark.  It is both seductive and scary – and keeps us separate from one another, feeding us the lie that we are the ONLY ones.

We’re not.

And the only thing that disarms shame is Transparency.

As I did this work, I realized a second fear lying under the shame: if I were to “fall in love” (as this was entirely possible in the future) I could conceivably lose my Self and my Soul again.  This I could not bear.

The only option, if I was to heal this sense of powerlessness, was to date defensively – add other men to the mix, be in my own power…  Which is what I chose to do.

Going against my own self-imposed dating “rule” of one-at-a-time, all-eggs-in-one-basket, I found this part of my research revelatory.  And a game changer.

I found the pressure in the cabin lessening….

In love, service and pleasure,






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