Who Says You Can’t Go Home

*** This post gets a little spicy in the physical touch department. Read at your own risk, and for the love of tacos look away if we’re related ***

If you’re all caught up on the last four months of my life, you know that I’ve been doing the work to heal all the things, and utilizing meditation and mindfulness practices to up my growth game. Since my surgery I’ve been tending to some newly reopened wounds. Leading up to the hysterectomy I was feeling very fearful about the fact I would be manipulated and vulnerable while under anesthesia during surgery. Someone would have to insert a catheter, which had a few very triggering implications. It wasn’t even so much about the whole being cut open part; I was concerned only with being exposed and incapable of protecting myself from harm. It would stop me in my tracks, leaving my chest tight and breathless. I would be rendered speechless and terrified at the thought. I had to constantly reassure myself that I would be surrounded and cared for by medical professionals, and would be completely safe. It would dampen my fear for the moment that I remembered those facts, but would quickly return when I wasn’t paying attention, and sucker punch me in the gut. Sneaky bastard.

In “ It’s My (Quarantine) Afterparty” I spilled my guts about my rekindled fear of intimate touch, and how Jonothan and I hadn’t been able to physically reconnect since my surgery. Since then, with the added anxiety from the pandemic, a lack of access to neurofeedback therapy since right before my surgery in February, and a fresh new batch of PTSD flashbacks, I found myself almost running away from him. I was terrified of being intimate and vulnerable, and I made it worse by trying to force it to happen before I was ready. Jonothan remained compassionate, understanding, and consistently reminded me, “I’m not ready if you’re not ready.”

One night while rewatching Scrubs for the millionth time I started to cry after my thoughts were hijacked, and taken for ransom by feelings of inadequacy. I felt like he deserved better than me, better than someone who has to work so hard to be physically affectionate, and even more so to be sexually intimate. I wept at the thought of my progress before the hysterectomy, and how I felt as if I’d never fully heal, that I feared I would always have to make a conscious effort when it came to sex and intimate touch. I sobbed at him, “I just want to come home, but it feels like I’m so far away. I just wanna come home to you,” to which he lovingly replied, “and I’ll be here when you do. You’ve just got a journey to make, you’re closer than you think. You’re almost home, and I’m here waiting to welcome you back. I’ll always be here.” He reminded me of where we started, how we accomplished new levels of intimacy in baby steps, and pleaded with me to be kind to myself, not to rush what required compassion and patience.

All that evening I gently affirmed, “I am coming home, I crave his touch, it is safe to be desired, it is safe to be intimate with him.”

Later that night when we went to bed I found my body reacting to the proximity of his to mine. Yet, the moment I thought I might act on my impulses, my body would shut down and I would be left numb. Finally, after he had fallen asleep, I thought maybe I could start by being intimate with myself * n e x t * to him (brilliant, I’m aware, thank you) but my mind quickly started to fixate on him waking up and “catching me in the act” I started to feel shameful, and again my body started to switch off all the nerve endings that had been so fired up moments before. Suddenly, I remembered a tip from meditating: When your mind starts to wander just focus on a specific body part, and imagine breathing in and out through that area… Let me tell y’all, if you’ve never practiced mindful masturbation, you’re missing out.

Jonothan woke up to me gasping and grabbing at him — he later admitted he thought I might have been suffocating, that is until I breathlessly ordered him to — and I quote, “Get. In. Here.” I came home, if you know what I’m saying…*awkward winking and finger guns*

Here comes reality to remind us we’re human… I’d love to tell you that I came home that night to stay, that I moved back in and locked the door behind me. It turns out I was just visiting — as healing requires consistency and practice. My visits are much more frequent (*more awkward winking*), and I am forever grateful and in awe of the incredible gift that is my relationship with my husband. Never has anyone helped me feel so safe, I can only hope that he feels just as seen and appreciated as I do. To those of you reading that have had to ease your way into intimacy, what are some things that helped you? How have you kept yourself from running away from physical touch?

Per the usual, y’all, I freakin love you.

Peace, Love, and Taco Grease!
Sam 💜

Originally published at https://seventhchakrasam.com on June 26, 2020.