Sex isn't separate from the rest of the relationship. When women feel unseen, unappreciated, or taken for granted, their bodies often respond by closing off. Not because they don't care, but because some deeper, wiser part of them refuses to be vulnerable without safety.

As a trauma-informed depth psychologist, I’ve witnessed that with trauma-informed therapy, somatic (meaning, body) practices, and compassionate relational repair, it's possible to rewire those patterns. But the first step is understanding you’re not broken, and your responses make sense given your history. Your nervous system is doing what it was trained to do. Healing doesn’t mean turning that sensitivity off – it means learning how to feel safe with it on. If you’re looking for suggestions, I have some.

The yoga sequence is not only a philosophical death and rebirth, it’s an embodied one. Each practitioner moves through the death and rebirth cycle physically. Why does that matter? Because embodiment is imperative to a happier and more fulfilling life. The body’s wisdom can support you in making decisions about what to do, or what not to do. (For a specific practice that uses the body to support you in gaining insight, check out Focusing and Felt Sense).

Healthy love doesn’t ask you to disappear. It doesn’t require you to manage someone else’s feelings or constantly prove your loyalty.

Healthy love invites you to stay connected to yourself and another.

It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being present—with compassion, with boundaries, and with the courage to love without losing yourself.

Sometimes, holding space means also knowing when to call in backup. Whether it’s a therapist, a support group, or a trusted friend, don’t hesitate to suggest (or seek) additional help. You’re not failing by doing so—you’re honoring the complexity of being human.

Back in my work with breast cancer survivors, this often meant helping participants find therapists or clinicians who understood the nuances of their identities. Everyone deserves care that sees the whole person. If you're unsure where to begin, a referral from a trusted professional can go a long way.

We surround ourselves with spaces that don’t ask us to shrink.

We grieve the times our creativity wasn’t welcomed.

And we practice choosing our aliveness over our fear.

Creativity doesn’t only belong to artists—it belongs to everyone. It belongs to the parent inventing new ways to connect with their child. To the lover discovering new ways to touch. To the survivor learning how to trust again. To the soul rediscovering its voice.

Instead of scheduling sex, consider scheduling time for erotic connection—which could mean anything from sensual touch, to taking a bath together, to lying in bed and fantasizing without any goal. The difference? Spaciousness. Curiosity. Freedom to explore without the demand to perform.

These patterns don’t simply vanish because we grow up—they linger and influence how we handle conflict, how we express love and affection, whether we feel safe depending on others, and how we cope with emotional closeness or distance. Inner child work invites us to revisit those early wounds with compassion and curiosity, not to blame, but to better understand the roots of our patterns and begin to reparent ourselves in ways that foster healing and secure connection.

We still live in a culture that prefers clear boxes—straight, queer, partnered, single, monogamous, poly—but those boxes don’t hold the full truth of who we are. What if we stopped trying to fit and simply started feeling? What if we trusted our turn-ons, our longings, our quiet knowing?

You don’t need to have it all figured out. You don’t need a new label to justify your exploration. You just need to listen inward and follow what feels alive.

You are not too late.
You are not broken.
You are not betraying your past.

The end of a long-term relationship, especially a marriage or domestic partnership, often brings with it a specific kind of grief: one that’s not just about losing a person, but about losing the world you built with them—and the version of yourself that lived in that world.

This isn’t just a breakup. It’s a death of self.
It’s an ego death.
It’s the dark night of the soul.

Because sex, at its best, is not just an act.
It’s a way of being in touch—with your aliveness, your truth, your connection, your body, your boundaries, your becoming.

You deserve that level of knowing.

And that’s why I do this work.

At its core, patriarchy values power over presence. It teaches us to relate through control, hierarchy, and rigidity rather than through curiosity, vulnerability, and collaboration. It hands us roles to perform instead of inviting us into relationships where we can be seen and met as our full selves.

Cultural messaging reinforces the idea that sex should happen quickly in relationships. From movies and TV shows that depict instant passion to dating culture that normalizes casual encounters, we are often encouraged to move fast without questioning whether deeper intimacy is developing alongside physical connection.

Empaths are not meant to shut down their sensitivity or build walls around their hearts. Instead, they can learn how to channel their gifts in ways that nourish rather than exhaust them. For me, teaching Yoga for Empaths was a powerful reminder of how essential embodiment is for deep feelers. We do not have to be consumed by the emotions around us—we can feel, hold space, and still remain whole within ourselves.

At the time, I didn’t have as deep of an understanding as I do now about neurodegeneration or nervous system regulation, but I could see how hard his body and mind were working to keep up. As I sat in that book reading, I couldn’t help but wonder: what if he had access to something like microdosing? Could it have made his days a little easier? Could it have helped his brain find new pathways around the damage, giving him more ease, more connection, more presence?

Despite representing only about 1% of the U.S. adult population, the trans community is being targeted over and over again by politicians, which makes community support all the more crucial. On Sunday night, I attended a powerful event at The Green Room in San Francisco, where the community gathered to uplift trans voices through music, food, and well-deserved awards.

So how do we learn to both hold and release? It starts with deep self-awareness. We must examine our own fears, our attachment patterns, and the ways in which we seek to control love rather than experience it. We must also cultivate trust—both in ourselves and in the people we care about.

This balance isn’t always easy. Sometimes, it means letting go of expectations. Sometimes, it means allowing space for silence, uncertainty, or distance. And sometimes, it means acknowledging when love is no longer aligned and releasing it with grace.

The most fulfilling relationships are not the ones where we lose ourselves, but the ones where we are found—fully, freely, and without constraint. The delicate nature of love is that it cannot be owned, only experienced. And in learning how to hold and set free at the same time, we may discover the deepest, most enduring connections of all.

Sometimes it may feel that society says here is the “right” way to be in a relationship and here is the “wrong” way. As an online sex therapist, let me assure you that every relationship is unique and shaped by the people involved and the kind of connection they seek. There is no single “right” way to be in a relationship, only what feels right for you.

They could be dissociated from their bodies after years of intensely focused academic study, climbing the corporate ladder, or using their minds to develop the latest advanced technology to change the world. They have learned not to listen to their bodies and are unable to decipher the messages their bodies are sending. That disconnection can impact them in and out of the bedroom.

Uncertainty and challenges can amplify stress and emotional fatigue, making it even more crucial to lean into what nourishes us, whether that’s time in nature, creative expression, or moments of stillness. By tending to ourselves with the same compassion we offer our clients, we sustain our ability to show up fully, with clarity and presence, even in the midst of the unknown.