I’m writing about money while I’m thinking about Pussy. To be specific, the new book Pussy: A Reclamation by Regena Thomashauer.

That these two things have come together in my life at exactly this precise moment is no coincidence.

So I ask, what does my pussy have to do with money? After writing letters to money, part two of the exercise is to debunk the lies, poke holes in the stories, uncover the truth.

The truth: I’m uncomfortable with the word, “pussy.”

When I went to a local bookstore looking for this book, it was not on display and I could not bring myself to ask for it. Had it been there, on display, I would have bought it (with a mild case of self-consciousness) but I could not bring myself to ask about it. To say, “Do you have the book Pussy?” I ordered it online. I can already feel the discomfort in walking around with this book, and I consider myself a modern and liberal woman.

I have a dance pole in my living room for fuck’s sake. I have an erotic creature in me who likes to dance stripped down to the bare minimum. Not because it’s hot to be naked but because there is something honest, raw, and pure aching to be seen that cannot stand to be covered up with clothes or costumes or playful personas. I’ve judged her for this. It’s fun to dress up and play the seductress, be the naughty, lustful lover, but it’s just not who she is. 

 

And what I am learning every day is that bliss comes from meeting myself, exactly where I am, exactly as I am.

 

 

Can’t I just have some damn fun?

Dear money, sometimes I wish I could just meet a rich man who will take care of me so I can have the time and resources to live the creative life I dream of. I just want to have some damn fun.

Shit, that was embarrassing to say.

Dear money, I think I grew up believing that men are the source of financial abundance. Yes, I know there is plenty of evidence to the contrary, and still there is a part of me who longs to be taken care of.

Dear money, I want to be taken care of and I can take care of myself, so sometimes when someone tries to take care of me, I get kind of pissed off and weird about it.

Tricky.

Dear money, I hate to ask for you. Whether you are owed to me, it’s a fundraiser my kids are doing, or I need a little help. I have felt this since the first time I went door to door selling Girl Scout Cookies. And the year I was trick or treating for UNICEF. I feel horrified at the thought of making someone else uncomfortable. This is still true today.

Yikes.

Dear money, is this what you have to do with my pussy?

I wonder how many times I will have to say the word, “pussy,” before I can say it without cringing?

Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy.

Dear pussy, what do you desire?

Hmmm, you like it when I talk to you. Truth: I am a single Mama who has raised two boys. I am independent and have lived a life true to what’s important to me. Family, friends, time, creativity, alternative education. I’ve created an amazing relationship with my kids’ father, one that has nothing to do with him supporting me financially. It was not something he was able to do, so I let it go and found the ways that he could be supportive. It was kind of bumpy sometimes, saying what I wanted. Sometimes screaming—in a grocery store parking lot—what I needed. That was a pussy move. The kind of pussy move, that according to Mama Gena makes shit happen. Pussy, the source of pure desire, power, strength, creative force. I desired peace and harmony. Today I have peace and harmony.

 

I am just beginning my conscious journey of pussy and am really freaking excited to see what will emerge. I know the connection between pussy and heart is essential for wholeness, to have a whole body experience. I am ready to dive deeper and I have the power to create the life of my dreams. I’ve been doing it all along. I don’t need a man for that. What do I need a man for then? Well I don’t. Which changes my relationship to men and what that looks like in a passionate, loving partnership is still emerging for me. It’s about choice vs need.

One of my habits of playing small is forgetting all that I already am. It’s a habit and love letters is the antidote. Pussy: A Reclamation is guiding me into unexplored territory and the ever expanding, unfolding, reclaiming of my whole glorious self.

The call of the Goddess.

Mama Gena writes, “And now it’s your turn. My darling, the Goddess is calling. Are you ready to answer?”

Hell yes.

Go out and get this book and let’s play. Let’s connect to our hearts. Connect to our pussies. And watch the old stories melt away as our wildest dreams flow like raging rivers.

P.S. My pussy calls me to share my practice, my writing, myself so that others too may uncover the bliss that comes with embracing our whole selves, exactly as we are.

P.S.S. And my pussy really really desires a home of my own with a private backyard oasis, lush and dripping with nature and views that go on forever.

Today’s post is dedicated to the radiant, inspiring and indomitable force of nature, Mama Gena, and all the sister Goddesses in my life. Thank you, thank you, thank you.