I Thought Being Desired Made Me Powerful. I Had it Backwards.

Hi, it’s Nina, a writer, somatic coach, + embodied sensual movement instructor. I’m here to help you reconnect with your sensuality, desire, and power, so you can feel fully alive again.

Paid subscribers get my 27-page, essential guide to somatic practices, plus more tools I use in my 1:1 private client sessions, to help you come home to your body and reconnect with your desire, sensuality, and power.

I’ve identified as sexy since the first time a boy used that word to describe me back in third grade. It’s not lost on me that one of the primary identities I built my entire life and persona around was a throwaway word used carelessly by a boy who, in retrospect, was probably 12.

But it took up permanent residence in my being, expanding my sense of myself and my worth. I was special, chosen, desirable. I felt powerful, like his view of me imparted me with magic powers. And unlike the beauty of the blonde, blue-eyed models of that time, sexiness was attainable for me. Sexy – it was within my reach. And it was going to give me power over men, the ultimate arbiters of my value in the world.

I learned in the third grade that my value was determined by someone outside of me, even if that person was a random kid I encountered on the street, which he was. I learned that I derived my value by causing someone else to feel something in his body.

As I grew into my teens, sexiness was something I put on, rather than something that came from inside me. It was smoky eyeliner, flushed cheeks, just-been-fucked hair, a sweatshirt that slipped off the shoulder, like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. I evaluated myself based on how men responded to me, constantly trying to increase my value by making myself more desirable.

Disconnected from myself, lacking inner resources that could provide self-esteem from within, I experienced myself from the outside in. Sexy was something reflected back to me. I knew I had it because someone else responded. I knew I had value because someone else desired me. I connected to external sources of worth like my survival depended on it.

And inevitably, it became clear that in the exact places I thought I was powerful, I gave my power away. I shapeshifted myself just to get those men to want me more, to like me more, to give me attention, to commit to me, regardless of how I felt about them. Fully disconnected from myself, I looked sexy, performed sexy, and had lots of sex – and felt nothing while I did it.

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Many decades later, I know that the sexiness that made me feel worthy required an audience, applause, endless validation, and as such, it was never mine. It belonged to the audience. The men I orbited held all the power because how I felt about myself was wholly dependent on them.

But while sexy was something I put on, sensuality was the opposite. It asked me to experience myself from the inside out.

The true power I’d been looking for didn’t come from being desired. It came from being able to feel and belong to myself. That’s what sensuality eventually gave me. And it had been there all along; I just hadn’t noticed it.

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Sensuality has nothing to do with what you look like, what you wear, or what a man bestows upon you. It’s how you feel in your body, how you experience yourself. It’s not reserved for the young, the beautiful, or the partnered. Sensuality is available to you whether you’re single, married, or in a relationship with your vibrator.

I can look back and see hints of my real, burgeoning sensuality before I was aware of them. The delight and joy I felt learning how to square dance in the third grade. The awe with which I could take in the beauty of a mountain range overlooking a lake in Switzerland when I was a junior in college. And then, as a young adult, the tears that flowed the first time I heard Jeff Buckley sing Hallelujah. The pure pleasure I derived from inhaling a cigarette, eyes closed, and blowing the smoke out. And, eventually, the delight of breathing in the scent of my new baby.

Sensuality is something you cultivate within yourself, and it requires presence. It requires attunement. Your body is always receptive to sounds, sights, tastes, touches, and smells. Sensuality only asks that you connect to yourself, that you be there for the experience.

This is where power is sourced. Not in external attention, but in internal connection. Being with what is. Knowing your body, your pleasure, your truth.

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Sensuality doesn’t require someone else’s validation. You don’t age out of it. You don’t lose it when a relationship ends. Nobody gets to grant it to you, and nobody gets to take it away.

It’s yours.

And like Dorothy discovered, it’s been there all along.

xo

Nina

P.S. I’ve opened three spaces for private 1:1 coaching this month. 75 minutes on Zoom, letting your body tell the truth about desire, sensuality, and what you actually want. {Book here}

P.P.S. Share the Love. Most women navigating midlife haven’t learned about the power of desire and sensuality to change the way they experience themselves and their lives. If you know someone who feels disconnected from her body, who’s experiencing low desire, or who’s struggling with her sensuality, please share What the Body Knows with her.

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