🎙️The Bedroom is the Most Honest Place You’ll Ever Be (An Autie’s Journey to Sacred Sexual Healing )

Episode Summary

What happens when the one place you can’t camouflage is the one place that asks the most from you?

Episode Notes

What happens when the one place you can’t camouflage is the one place that asks the most from you?

We explore:

• Why sex is the one place where masking fails—and why that’s a gift

• Why numbness, overthinking, or emotional flooding during sex aren’t signs of brokenness—but doorways into healing

• The story of how I became a Sexological Bodyworker—and why the erotic is now my most sacred place of truth

• Practices to begin listening to your body without performance or pressure

• Why, for neurodivergent people, the erotic can become a portal to self-trust, regulation, and liberation
   

This episode is for the deep-feeling, high-functioning, hyper-aware humans who’ve done all the work—and still wonder why sex feels so damn complicated. If you’ve ever felt “too much,” “too sensitive,” or “not enough,” especially in intimacy… I made this for you.

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full transcript

have you ever noticed how sex kind of breaks you in the best and worst ways? Maybe you're someone who usually has it all together at work in friendships, even in therapy, you can talk circles around your feelings, but then sex enters the chat and suddenly it's why do I feel so much and then nothing at all?

Why can't I stay present even when I want to? That's what we're talking about today because sex doesn't just bring up your desire. It brings up your wiring, your patterns, your coping mechanisms, your deepest unconscious material. And if you're neurodivergent like me, if your nervous system was built to.

Adapt to camouflage, to constantly manage input and output. Then the bedroom becomes the one place you can't keep the mask on. In fact, sex kind of breaks everyone's mask clean off. Today's is about that very moment, the moment when your strategies don't work anymore, and why? That's not a failure.

It's a doorway.

Maybe you're someone who knows how to show up. You're emotionally intelligent. You're a deep thinker.

Maybe you've done the therapy, read the books, know your attachment style and your shadow side. But when it comes to intimacy, to touch, to arousal, to actually being with another human in that raw electric skin tokin space, something short circuits you blank out or overanalyze or feel too much or absolutely nothing at all, and you're sitting there thinking, what the hell is wrong with me?

Here's what I wanna offer you. Nothing is wrong with you. You're just in a space where your usual coping strategies, your high functioning brilliance, your ability to read the room, your tendency to keep it all together, just don't work anymore because sex doesn't let you perform not forever. Sex demands.

Truth, and that can be terrifying, but it's also holy. So in today's episode, we're going to talk about why the erotic is the one place where your body refuses to lie, where you can't mask, can't dissociate without consequences.

And why that's not a problem to fix, but a threshold to cross and a secret gift in disguise. So let's get into it.

So I'm going to start by telling y'all how I got into this work in the first place because I didn't become a sexological body worker because I was obsessed with sex. I became one because I couldn't lie to myself and the erotic anymore. If you have listened to the past episode about my personal story of how I got into this work, you will know that I had built a life on managing well, on being good at things, smart, capable, attentive, articulate.

I could track everyone else's emotional states like it was a second job. I could predict needs, fill gaps, smooth things over. And I was praised for being so mature for my age. And what this really meant was I had learned how to perform connection without ever really being in it. And it worked everywhere.

I.

Except in sex,

but not because I struggled with it. Actually. I loved sex. I always have.

Because sex was the one place where all of that performance, the hyper functioning, the cleverness, the control just didn't matter. It didn't land, it didn't work. And sex people couldn't hide, not fully anyway. They couldn't curate their responses. They couldn't intellectualize their way through arousal or pretend their bodies were somewhere they weren't.

It was just a more honest space than I could get anywhere else, and that was such a relief. It was the one place I felt something raw, something real, not just in myself, but others too. Their guard dropped, their voice, shook their body, told the truth whether they wanted it or not, whether they wanted it to or not, and I realized this was the place I wanted to work from.

Not a boardroom, not a social script, not the endless dance of emotional labor and self-editing, but from that moment that like wholly unraveling, that erotic truth, the place where people stop performing and start telling on themselves in the best way. So I started looking for an environment where I could go even deeper into that raw honesty, a space where authenticity wasn't just encouraged.

It was required where I could be surrounded by people willing to drop the act, feel the discomfort, and tell the truth with their whole bodies. And I didn't just want to witness that. I wanted to help facilitate it. To be the person who holds the door open when someone's right on the edge of revelation and help them walk through it with courage and care.

And that's how I found sexological body work. And it didn't just change how I showed up in intimacy. It actually changed how I related to truth because here's the thing. The biggest reason I do this work is because I love honesty. I love seeing people write at that moment when their usual scripts stop working, when they're just slightly off kilter and the truth starts to leak out.

There's something sacred about that crack in the armor when someone's not posturing, not performing, not trying to look wise or sexy, or, okay, they're just real. And sexuality. It takes people there faster than anything else I've ever found

because most people don't have the language for it. They're not used to speaking about it. And so when we go there, when we open that door, it's scrambles the usual defenses.

It stirs up emotion, memory, fear, longing, and that's where the real work actually begins in that moment of disarmament,

I.

That breathtaking, awkward, beautiful moment when someone says something they didn't plan to say, and I get to meet them, not the version of them they've been selling to the world. That's why I do this. Okay, because sexuality, when held with skill and safety becomes a kind of portal, a mirror, a reckoning, and eventually a coming home.

Working in sexological body work felt like watching the surface of a frozen lake crack, not in a catastrophic way, but in the kind of way that means spring is coming, that the ice was never meant to hold forever. That underneath the performance, there was always something alive, and I realized this was the place I wanted to work from

a place where the air was thick with truth and nobody needed to pretend and

I didn't just get to witness it, but I got to midwife that truth to be the person who walks alongside someone, right as their surface begins to crack and says, it's okay. Keep going. What's underneath is welcome here.

And here's what I've seen over and over again, not just in my clients, but in myself. Sex brings up that truth. Even the parts you thought you had neatly tucked away because you can't think your way and to turn on and you can't strategize your way into surrender. You can't control your way into connection.

You can try, but your bodies will always out. You, your breath will get shallow, your stomach will tighten, your jaw will clench, or your throat will catch, or maybe nothing will happen at all, and that will be its own kind of truth. The erotic doesn't care about who you're trying to be. It cares about who you are right now.

Underneath the scripts, underneath the Good Partner Act, underneath the techniques and the toys and the lingerie and the expectations.

It's not just that sex is inherently healing and pleasure is inherently healing. It's also that it's revealing. It's like a pressure cooker. It compresses all the hidden stuff, the shame, the fear, the longing, the need, and it brings it to the surface. And if we're willing to meet it there without running, it can become one of the most honest places we've ever shown up.

And the saddest thing is that most people don't make it that far because the moment something doesn't go quote, right, no arousal or no orgasm, or too many feelings or not enough interest, they think something's wrong with them or with their body or with their relationship, they don't realize is that moment, that breakdown is the work.

That's the place where the healing can actually begin.

And I've seen this over and over again in my clients. There was one client that I worked with who was a corporate attorney, big firm, high stakes deals, a hundred hour weeks. She was brilliant, unflappable, the kind of woman who could walk into a boardroom full of men and hold the entire room in the palm of her hand.

Everyone around her saw her as so powerful and untouchable and in control,

and when she came to me.

What she confessed to me was that she felt nothing during sex. She said she just went through the motions, that she knew how to do it, but that she didn't feel connected. I, she felt like she was acting and she didn't come to see me because she lacked knowledge. She came to see me because she couldn't access herself.

And there was this one session, a simple session where we did

a few foundational somatic practices, breath work, some grounding touch over her clothes. Some slow pelvic mapping. Nothing goal-oriented, nothing dramatic. About 15 minutes in her breath caught. She got quiet and her whole body trembled, and suddenly she was sobbing.

I,

at first it confused her.

She said I don't usually cry. I never cry at work. I haven't cried in, I don't know, years. I don't cry, is what she said. But her body did. Her body felt, her body finally felt safe enough to stop performing and to stop managing and to tell the truth. And her truth that day wasn't about sex positions or libido.

It was actually about grief, like a lot of grief, decades of clenching, of being the one who held it all, of never having a space to fall apart, even in the most intimate moments. And I remember thinking, this is the erotic, this is that pure gold, that complete truth, not performance, not climax. But this wild tender homecoming, because the erotic will always lead you back to the part of you that's been waiting to be felt.

So I'm gonna tell you one more story about another client where this just deep truth was revealed. It was this beautiful woman, so gentle, super warm, super open, the kind of person who shows up to every personal growth endeavor with a highlighted workbook and a full set of crystal infused pens. And she had tried everything.

She'd been to Tanha retreats, she tried jade eggs, conscious kink, womb healing. She could talk for hours about her sexuality, but the truth is she really wasn't feeling it.

The way she described it was that when she was in bed with someone, it's like her body disappeared. So what we did was we slowed everything down and we just started with a body scan and I offered her the option to place her own hand on her body and just noticed and nothing, there was nothing.

Her jaw tensed. Her breath stayed shallow, and when I asked what she noticed in her pelvis, she said, I don't feel anything. It's it's not even a part of me. And she was frustrated and embarrassed and really feeling like she was supposed to feel something that her body was doing it wrong.

But what she didn't realize is that numbness was the feeling that was the body telling the truth. The erotic doesn't always show up as heat and wetness and fireworks. Sometimes it shows up actually as absence, as silence, as an echo of all the times. Your body had to shut down to survive in that moment.

N naming the numbness instead of trying to override it. That was the breakthrough because for the first time, she wasn't trying to fix her arousal. She was listening to it. Listening to her body say, this part of me has been ignored. Can you stay with me even if I don't perform for you? And she did.

She stayed. And over time the numbness started to thaw, not through pressure, not through forcing, but through truth.

That's the magical moment in the work that I do. It doesn't look impressive or sexy, honestly. It usually looks like stillness, a held breath, a hand pausing mid motion, along silence between words, and then something shifts the face, softens the truth, drops in. It's the moment someone stops performing. Not just for their partner or for me, but for themselves.

Because let's be honest, we all perform even when we think we're not doing it. We perform healing, confidence, being into it. We perform presence when really our minds are floating above our bodies, watching the whole thing, like a movie we forgot we already saw, and sex is the great interrupter of that illusion.

Because eventually the script runs out and the technique stops working. The sexy thing you thought you were supposed to do falls flat, and what's left is you and your body and your fear and your longing, your defenses, your truth. And sometimes in that moment people actually panic because the scaffolding they've been leaning on of achievement or people pleasing or control suddenly is gone.

And all that's left is their sensation or silence or sadness they didn't even know they were carrying. And it can feel like a failure, but it's not. It's a threshold when you stop trying to be sexy and start letting yourself be seen when you stop trying to do it right and start letting yourself be real.

It's really tender there, and it's messy and unpolished, but it's deeply exquisitely human. And that moment, whether it comes with tears or numbness or awkward laughter. Is where everything begins, because now we're working with the actual material of your erotic life, not a, not the fantasy, not the idea, but the truth.

And if you can stay there, even just a few seconds longer than you're used to, that will start to rewire your nervous system. It will begin the healing process. That's where the body starts to trust you again, because the body doesn't need you to be perfect. It just needs you to be honest.

And when you start to do that, you don't just have better sex, you start to feel more like yourself than you ever have before. And that's really the heart of what I do. My method isn't about fixing what's broken or adding more techniques to your toolbox. It's about creating the kind of environment where your body feels safe enough to tell the truth, maybe for the first time in years where you can meet yourself without performance, where numbness, overwhelm, craving, fear, all of it isn't a problem, but it's information.

It's your compass.

So I'm going to offer you a little practice

to actually get your body and your awareness to.

Experiment with this new way to frame your eroticism, so if you have space to do it. Or if you are driving right now, you can just let yourself passively listen, but keep paying attention to the road. But if you have some space, go ahead and try to find a place to sit or lie down where you won't be interrupted for a few minutes.

And you don't need to make this sacred. It just already is sacred.

So close your eyes and soften your gaze and let your body be exactly as it is,

and take a breath

and slowly bring your attention to your genitals. Not to try to change anything or to judge what's happening in that part of your body, not to try to fix it, just to listen

and ask yourself what is true right now. And it's not what you want to feel or what you think you should feel, but actually just notice what's really true for you right now. Are you tense? Are you numb? Are you pulsing? Are you bored? Are you irritated that I asked you to do this?

Whatever is there. Just noticing it is the practice. If it's tight, don't try to loosen it. If it's empty, don't try to fill it. And if it's silence, don't try to make it speak. Just stay and witness and just give yourself one minute right there. You can even pause the pod if you like. Spend some more time there,

and when you're ready, just take one last breath and slowly come back to the space that you're in.

So if you stayed with that practice, thank you. Your body. Thanks you too. Not for doing it right, but for being willing to meet yourself without performance. That alone is completely radical. Because in a world that constantly asks us to be productive and pleasant and palatable, the erotic asks us to be honest.

This is the work that I do, not because I think sex needs to be a performance you finally master, but because I believe it can be a path and a map and a place where the body and all its wild and inconvenient, beautiful truth finally gets to lead. if this episode stirred something in you, if you felt seen or unsettled or quietly curious, know that's a sign that your body is listening.

And if you want support walking through that threshold, whether you're just starting to listen or you've been trying to hear your body for years, I'd love to walk with you and you can find more of my work, my programs, and ways to connect@bodycompass.me. And there's no pressure, no performance, just a deep tender invitation to come home to yourself.

You are on the edge of something real, so let it in. I'll see you next time.