I think you would worship me

Welcome to the Edge Lands

Imagine you’d just been deposited in a wide expanse of wasteland. You can see city lights far on the horizon, and when you turn around, you can just make out the rugged shapes of forested mountains way in the distance. But you are between these places. The scenery is unfamiliar. There are no roads or footpaths. You don’t even know which way is north. And you have no idea why you’re here.

But here you are.

You quickly discover that the lifetime of stories you carry have no weight here. Your past desires did not travel with you; they’re tucked away in a padlocked trunk in a lost luggage office somewhere. Dusty. Decaying. No way to identify that they once belonged to you. You can’t get your old desires back. The only option is to let them go. And in doing so, you release all the past versions of you, too. There is only now. Only this. Only you.

There is no map.

So what else is there to do but explore? Be curious?

You know your life is not how it was, and also not yet how it could be.

You don’t feel ready or adequately prepared to head toward the city or the mountains.

There’s something you have to do here first.

This is a place of Becoming.

You are in the Edge Land.

The journey

After the last few years of craving the person I used to be, I may have finally come to a place of acceptance about where I am now, and dare I say, excitement about who I am yet to become.

Perimenopause + hysterectomy + menopause have been a lot. Physically, emotionally, and creatively, disturbing my self-confidence, self-esteem, and pretty much my sense of Self in all areas of my life (work, relationships, sex, writing…).

I’ve had at least eight years on a rollercoaster I didn’t know I’d stepped onto – until that first, stomach-dropping, breath-stealing, head-first plummet left me shaken and whimpering, wondering WTF was happening to me.

The ride has slowed down, but I don’t think it’s over yet. If I am anywhere, I am in the Edge Lands.

Like a Virgin

I’ve been watching Channel 4’s ‘Virgin Island’ reality show. In it, twelve people, who haven’t had sex and have limited or non-existent dating history, work with therapists and surrogate partners to overcome the ‘problem’ of their virginity, increase their confidence and self-belief, and take their newly learned skills and positive experiences back into their everyday lives.

I’m interested in this show for two big reasons:

1) When I was in my 30s, I worked in a sex therapy setting as a surrogate partner. I’ve written about this experience in my book, Desire Lines, but to sum it up, it was one of the most profound, moving, and rewarding roles I’ve ever had. I worked one-to-one with clients, supporting them to have embodied experiences of their sexuality. All of them touched my heart in some way. Several of them were virgins, and the therapy programme outlined in the show (involving consent, boundaries, touch, play and orgasm) has lots of similarities to the time we spent together.

2) Over the course of their two weeks at the tropical island sex camp, the people taking part reveal how their past histories, limiting beliefs, and debilitating fears hold them back from experiencing pleasure. As viewers, we get to see them step away from those old versions of themselves and step into new possibilities. Often interviewed immediately after an intimate encounter, you can see the light in their eyes and the newfound hope in their hearts.

I asked myself:

What would it be like to explore my current point in life like being a virgin again?

What if I shed my past stories, hurts, and sadness about what I’ve ‘lost’ in midlife and, instead, embrace the opportunity to start anew?

Not trying to ‘get back’ to how it was before, but asking:

What do I need now? Who am I now? What matters to me now?

I think you would worship me

(press play)

There can be no intimacy without presence

I’ve written about the paths I took and the stories that shaped me to become the sexual being I was by the time I’d reached my mid-40s. (Desire Lines)

I’ve also curated and contributed to a whole book of people’s stories about what happens when life throws you a curveball and your sex life cannot stay the same as it once was. (Sex Meets Life)

Now in my 50s, Edge Lands is the next phase for me.

I know who I was.

I know who I no longer am.

I’m curious about who I will be next.

But that means staying in the now.

Staying present to what I don’t know.

Allowing grief and hope to co-exist. Questioning, exploring, and ultimately choosing where I go next.

My invitation to you

If this was your new beginning, what would you ask for?

How is this different from before?

What have you learned about your desires in the last few years?

You could journal, collage, paint, dance, ponder…

And you’re welcome to share in the comments if you’d like to be witnessed in that way.

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