Mindful Masturbation: The Eros of Resistance

The first time I tried a mindful erotic practice I threw a temper tantrum. Fists banging on the floor, feet stomping, shaking my head “no!” was how it all began. It was incredible. It was difficult. Even though I have fond memories of masturbating in my early teens and into my adulthood, the idea of doing it intentionally, mindfully, consciously, was new, and quite honestly foreign to my system. Spending time in my body wasn’t new for me, but truly feeling and being present with pleasure was a long and forgotten tomb I had left buried, unsure I would ever be ready to dig up. 

I had learned to self-pleasure as a release valve: a way to ease stress, get away from life’s troubles, to fall asleep, to ease period cramps. It was at times very utilitarian. I had some go-to fantasies, some positions and toys I knew worked well. All in all nothing was wrong with my personal pleasure practice. And today, I can still rely on my tried and trusted methods if, and when I want to. To some degree, I knew what I liked and stuck with it. My body naturally knew how to find pleasure and ease, it's just sometimes things get in the way.         

Like when someone else enters the picture, either in my mind or physically in my bed. As a survivor, I am lucky to have had some “safe-enough” sexual experiences post-assault. I’ve had partners who understood consent and valued authentic communication. Yet they couldn’t stop the flashbacks, the unwanted fantasies, the numbness and disassociation that would often take over. I often endured sex, performed pleasure, all the while pleading (in my head) for it to be over. My ex-partner used to point out that I would somehow disappear, yet my body would still be there. Poof! 

Dissociation was like a magical cloak: My body would protect me so I could float far far away to safety.

I began to have this nagging feeling there was more to experience than orgasm-focused sex (with myself or a partner), and sex that could be had where I wasn’t disassociating or wanting to run away. Even with people whom I trusted and loved, I had difficulty sharing about what I liked and what I didn’t. Sure I knew how to say “faster”, “slower” or flaunt a little dirty talk, but I had never bothered to get curious and see what my own body actually liked. 

When I finally made time for mindful masturbation, my resistance reared her beautifully protective head. The temper tantrum: the expression of desperately needing to say “NO!” out loud after being silent for so many years, took up center stage. She could finally feel safe enough to show herself. The resistance continued as procrastination and distraction: I changed the music several times, checked my phone a dozen times, scrolled some social media, and thought about a million other things I could be doing. All of these incredibly smart ways my body learned to protect me. 

Finally after about an hour it felt okay enough to lay my hands on my chest. Just laying them there was enough to feel what laid under the resistance: numbness. Tears streamed down my face.  

Numbness is a feeling. Numbness was the way my body protected me from excruciating physical, emotional and psychological pain. 

A few more moments and a sigh later with my hands cupping my chest I could sense some pleasure in my breasts and began to notice I had a strong aversion to having my nipples touched, at least not right away. Then came more irritability and anxiety. My hands moved to my belly where I could feel my breath, and to my surprise it was more comfortable than I had previously experienced. More magic: my body had a way to direct my attention when it was too much. 

Still, I felt frustrated I was frustrated. Eventually I made myself orgasm the best way I knew how: conjuring up a go-to fantasy and touching myself, chasing my orgasm as a way to get out of the discomfort of my body. Afterall, it took many years to build up that habit, one mindful erotic practice wasn’t going to break it. 

Afterwards I felt a familiar sense of shame, but I also had a sense of relief that I had tried. I felt proud of myself for trying and for finding new nuggets of information about my body and my own flavor of pleasure. I also knew what I needed to do for my next practice: time a shorter session, slow way down, and make a wordless playlist ahead of time. We call it a practice for a reason.

And resistance is a practice. It is a key component for our struggle to be free in our bodies and minds. It is why we protest, organize, and show our “No!” in the streets. It can move us closer to our “Yes!” if we allow it to be seen, heard, and cared for. It is a tool for survival that creates agency and choice. Imagine what our world would be like if we could love up on our embodied resistance, encourage our “No’s!” and celebrate our “Hello no!”. 

I have since come a long way with my mindful erotic practice. Resistance is still there, and may never go away, but now I honor it as part of my erotic life, listening to her brilliant wisdom. My practice has grown to become something I crave. It has grown beyond the 45 minutes or so I dedicate to intentional time with myself. It is no longer about climax or even sex. It is how I navigate my own desire in a world where I am taught to please others. The practice now shows itself in small moments in life when I’m uncomfortable or in pain. I can self-soothe and orient towards pleasure within my own body: massaging my thighs while on Zoom calls, stretching my jaw while I drive, or just shifting the way I am holding my body as I type vulnerable blog posts. 

My pleasure practice has proven to be a buried treasure that keeps on giving; surprising me with mystery, lessons, and alchemy. Some examples include: being moved to tears by the juicy deliciousness of an orange; I have felt my wrist become as sensitive as my genitals, licking and sucking my arm in deep satisfaction; I have made prayers with my orgasms and seen them manifest before me; I have continued to explore my temper tantrum self and found a wealth of pleasure in releasing her rage; I have greater compassion for myself when I “fall short” of perceived expectations of myself, and come back more quickly from any judgmental or harsh thoughts. 

As I write this I can feel a slight bit of resistance: the fear of what you all will think, perhaps some embarrassment of being so vulnerable. However I can sense I am safe as I feel my toes on the ground. I can also feel my “Yes!”: louder than my resistance this time, a giant love pouring through my fingertips that tells me to keep going. I smell the rose oil on my skin that  reminds me of my ancestors who hold out a light for a world where pleasure is always possible. And I feel my belly expand and my shoulders drop as I breathe in this truth, surrendering to the pleasure within. 

*If you would like to learn more about the mechanics of pleasure and why honoring your resistance can be helpful to dropping into pleasure, join my mini course on building a personal pleasure practice starting Nov 30th. More details here.

Wishing you well on your path towards pleasure, with and without obstacles.