Liberate your sexuality, transform your life!

For thousands of years, in cultures all over the world, sexuality has been heavily suppressed. This is not surprising, as sex is one of the purest expressions of our vitality, our life force. In its raw form it’s threatening to order and structure, so it has been controlled, contained, damped down, restricted, prescribed and made taboo.

Sexuality is tamed and caged. This is one of the strongest pieces of conditioning we receive during our childhood. Sexual repression is handed to us in a thousand ways, overt and covert: being told not to touch ourselves; the hush when we ask an awkward question; being told off for playing innocent games with other kids; the strange distance between boys and girls as puberty sets in; our rather clinical sex education, which focuses on the technical aspects of sex and says little or nothing about pleasure and arousal; the constant use of euphemistic language (‘the birds and the bees’, ‘your pee pee’ and so on) and so much more. Some aspects are more prevalent in one culture than another, and some cultures have a more liberated attitude from the outset; but wherever we are, we receive negative messages about sex from an early age.

Sex is closely associated with shame, the feeling that there is something fundamentally wrong with us. This is blatant in many conventional religious teachings, with taboos around masturbation, homosexuality and sex outside marriage; however, it also prevails in secular cultures, despite good efforts to normalise and de-shame sex. (Scandinavia in particular has made progress with this.)

So sex arrives as something of a taboo, shrouded in shame. At the same time it’s an irrepressible expression of our life force. We feel the tension between these opposing pulls from an early age, since our sexual urges emerge much younger than people care to admit. Many children report knowing they’re doing something wrong when they touch themselves or play doctors and nurses, even if this has never been said directly. Nonetheless, curiosity gets the better of them and they explore anyway. In fact the taboo makes it even more fascinating: partly because kids are curious about the forbidden, partly because sexual desire gets stronger when it has something to push against.

So this is where we start: with the tension between a powerful force within us and societal repression aimed at controlling it.

I believe that liberating your sexuality is a vitally important part of personal growth, a way to destrict your life force, allowing it to flow smoother and stronger. It brings you back to innocence, to the natural state of curiosity and wonder you felt before those negative messages started to land. The process of sexual liberation is an unlearning of shame, a return to innocence. It’s the journey back to loving yourself as a sexual being.

Along the way you learn to work with shame, to embrace it, to turn taboo and repression into playful naughtiness – in other words, to transform your relationship with shame so it stops blocking your sexual expression and becomes an ally on your path.

As you do this, you begin to reconnect with the playfulness you lost as a child, the sweet tender curiosity that asks “What does it feel like when I do this?” This is where it starts to get fun! You get to touch, to kiss, to spank, to lick, to pinch, to punch, to fuck, to suck – and so much more – just because you and the people you’re with want to. You get to find out what your unique erotic landscape looks like: what you love, what you like, what you dislike and what leaves you cold.

In this innocent space of discovery you explore connection and intimacy afresh, shedding expectations about what should happen and welcoming what’s truly there. Part of our conditioning around sex is that it has to be contained within certain frameworks – whether that be a one-night stand, a monogamous relationship, a sexy friendship or something else. Each framework has particular rules and expectations attached to it, constraining a full emotional expression, taking you away from the uniqueness of what exists between you and others.

As you liberate your sexuality and find your way back to erotic innocence, you become freer to explore each connection in its uniqueness. You might find yourself drawn into a wild, passionate frenzy of rough sex with someone you don’t have much else in common with; with another, sharing vulnerable secrets leads to profoundly intimate lovemaking. With one couple you find yourself in a committed triad; with another couple you join them for mutual pleasure but don’t get emotionally involved. As you give yourself permission to explore with curiosity and wonder, the range of possibilities becomes broader and richer.

The most precious and important thing about your journey of sexual liberation is that it’s yours. It is an invitation to discover your uniqueness, to find out what really brings you to life and to move beyond clichés and rigid definitions. As such it’s also a highly creative path, a way to awaken your self-expression. Sexual energy is life force energy. So is creativity. They bubble up from the same wellspring: as you allow more to flow, it flows in all areas of your life. As such, sexual liberation is about much more than sex: it’s a way to access your creative vibrancy, your precious uniqueness, your essential you-ness.

This is not a journey to be taken lightly. Since your sexuality is a wellspring of vitality, opening it up means more energy moves through you. That in turn shakes up everything in your life. That’s why my tagline is ‘Liberate your sexuality, transform your life.’ One leads directly to the other: as your relationship with your sexuality improves, you find the strength and courage to transform your life, bringing it into alignment with who you really are.

Liberating your sexuality is compelling, exciting, scary and rich. It is a process of unlearning shame, discovering your desires, learning to feel your boundaries, uncovering your fantasies, giving yourself permission to explore and becoming fantastic at consent. Along the way you feel more alive, get more creative and start questioning the things that don’t feel good in your life.

Will you take my hand and let me guide you on this wondrous adventure, from repression and shame to innocence and creativity? It takes courage to step onto this path and it’s worth it. Come join me and discover the joy, pleasure, healing and transformation that await you in the sacred playground of your sexuality. If you’re ready, I welcome you!

Newman offers workshops and individual sessions to help you liberate your sexuality and transform your life. To find out more, please check out their calendar to see when they’ll be in a city near you. Take me there >>

Why Brexit Hurt Me

I’ve read plenty about Brexit. I’ve heard why it’s a good idea, how it allows Britain more financial and political independence. I’ve heard why it’s a bad idea, how it maroons us and leaves us weaker. I have my own opinions about this, but that’s not why I’m writing today. I’m writing about the emotional impact Brexit had on me personally. I’m writing about why Brexit hurt me so much.

On Thursday 23rd June 2016 I went to bed feeling confident. Surely at the last minute people would come to their senses and see that we are better together? I thought. I felt certain that in the end we would remain in Europe. How could it be any other way?

I woke up early the next morning. Somehow the vote had slipped my mind. I switched on my phone and saw a message from a friend. It said simply: “Big hugs to you.” Somehow this jogged my memory, reminding me that Brexit would be decided by now. I googled. In disbelief I saw the result: by a slim majority, Britain had voted to leave the EU.

I burst into tears. I was staying in an Air BnB with two friends, one English, the other Dutch. They were in the kitchen making breakfast when I came in, my eyes moist, my face puffy. They came over and hugged me deeply. My English friend said “Why are you crying?”

“Because we just voted to leave Europe,” I replied, “and I’m a European.”

Ever since I was a little kid I’ve felt European. This is partly to do with my heritage: my father comes from Polish and Russian parents who fled to England during the pogroms against Jews in the 1920s. My mother was born in Turkey and moved to Israel when it was ‘founded’ in 1948. When she was 28 she took a boat to Italy and on to England, where she’s lived the rest of her life.

My stepmother, my dad’s second wife, is a Sudaten German born in Czechoslovakia during WWII. Her family were lucky to escape alive, as the Czechs where they lived were particularly brutal to Germans after the war. But somehow they got away and settled near Frankfurt. My stepmother left in her early 20s to start a new life in London, where she’s lived ever since.

I come from a European family: none of us are really English and I don’t feel English myself. Yet London has been my home since birth and I’ve appreciated its open-mindedness, its racial tolerance, its diversity, its cultural offerings and the feeling of potentials and possibilities. Of course London didn’t vote Brexit. London voted strongly in favour of remaining, because London is a European city.

There’s more to this than just my heritage though. When I was 17 I went to a youth conference in Alden Bisen, Belgium. For a week a group of 40 young people lived together in a little castle and discussed politics and society. The theme of the conference was the EuroTunnel, which at the time was under construction. There were 10 students each from four European schools: England, Germany, France and Belgium were represented. The working languages were English and French, both of which I spoke well at the time.

For a week we mingled, hung out, flirted, chatted and talked about the future of Europe. People would start a sentence in English and end it in French. I drank Belgian cherry beer for the first time. We played pool and babyfoot. It was a pretty exciting adventure for a 17-year-old. I loved it.

I was in my element among my Northern European peers. I didn’t feel antipathy towards the French as some English people do. I’ve always got along well with French people: I enjoy their bof, the fact that they don’t care what others think of them as much as we do. I’d not met many Germans or Belgians at that stage in my life and I really enjoyed getting to know them. I belonged here, among smart eloquent young people from around Europe.

This was the early 90s and the mood was upbeat. Jobs were readily available and young Europeans like me felt we could go anywhere, do anything. Of course this was largely the result of white middle-class privilege, as I came to understand later. But there was also something about the trans-national quality of this era, the freshness of being free to live, work and travel anywhere in the EU, that felt compelling.

More than that, though, I experienced a feeling I hadn’t had before: belonging. Compared to the kids in my school, these young Europeans were progressive, curious, intellectual and open-minded. It’s not surprising, as they were the smartest kids in their schools, chosen specifically to represent them (and in a way, their countries) at this youth conference. These were my peers, folks I felt a connection with, the first group to which I’d ever belonged. As someone who’d always felt like an outsider, it was an unfamiliar and welcomed feeling for me. My sense of being a European citizen was born here at Alden Bisen. I never forgot it.

On Friday 24th June 2016 I was disenfranchised from Europe. Because of a decision made by a slim majority, for dubious reasons, I was forced to become British: an identity I have never and will never fully resonate with. I was told that in two years’ time I will be separated from Europe, the place to which I belong.

It’s hard to put into words how much this hurt me. It felt like a blow to the tenderest part of the heart. It felt like being smacked in a vulnerable part of myself: my identity. It wasn’t abstract, it wasn’t political or economic. It was deeply personal. It sounded the death-knell for my relationship with England, a country I’ve always felt ambivalent about.

Since then I’ve not felt comfortable living in London. I watch with horror as nationalism rises up across the UK; along with homophobia and hatred of other difference. Suddenly all those Little Englanders feel free to shout their bigotry from the rooftops. They hated us weirdos, queerdos, people of colour and foreigners all along; they were just keeping quiet because they knew their attitudes were anachronistic. Now they think they’re back in fashion. They think they’re the majority, even though they probably aren’t. Brexit has given them permission to be proud little haters.

I’ve spoken to many European friends about Brexit. They don’t understand it but they feel it, just as I do. They feel a bit less welcomed in England now, wary to come here (or to stay here), less keen to be involved with a country that doesn’t seem to want them.

This is an emotional thing. Plenty has been written about the (as yet unknown) implications of Brexit for business and the pound. Plenty has been written about the mess Theresa May’s government is making of the negotiations. But beneath this I feel the shock, hurt, anger and alienation that Brexit is for me. Put simply, I no longer feel at home in England.

In 2018 I will live as a nomad in Europe, while I can still do so easily. I’m probably looking for a new home, since London no longer feels like it. I’m taking the chance to find out what life in other European cities feels like. My friends in Berlin, Copenhagen, Barcelona and Utrecht seem more chilled than my friends in London. I would probably just have stuck it out in my home town if Brexit hadn’t happened. Even though it seems to get tougher each year being part of Generation Rent, I would’ve stuck with it. But now I’ve been flipped the bird, told I’m not welcomed, sent away, kicked out. Some things, once said, can’t be unsaid.

I don’t know yet what this means for me and for my business. Probably it means expanding Sacred Pleasures into a pan-European operation, a direction in which it was already starting to move. Probably it means finding a way to live somewhere that isn’t England. Much remains unknown: I have to wait and see what I learn while I’m on the road.

This much I know: Brexit has hurt me in ways I can’t fully explain and which will never fully heal. It has struck a blow to a very tender part of me. It has left me reeling. I never recovered from the impact of this referendum and I probably never will. Even if I come back to live in England after my roamings, I’ll never feel completely safe and welcomed here anymore. Something got released that day, something dark and ugly, and I’m afraid of it. It slapped me good and proper, along with many other European citizens who happen to live in Britain.

So fuck you, Not-So-Great Britain! Enjoy the illusion that you’re going to make it on your own. Enjoy the distance, until you realise what a stupid thing you’ve done. Enjoy being British. It’s going to be all you have left soon, so I hope it feels good when you lose everything else.

Me, I’m off. I’m off to find out where I belong and see if I can settle there. I’m off to find home now London isn’t it anymore.

The Doll’s Revenge: a Shadow Healing Ritual

I lean in close to the Doll’s ear and whisper: “You’re so much better than a real girlfriend.” I continue kissing her, enjoying her passivity. After a minute or two I’m surprised to feel her hands and arms starting to move; and then, suddenly, she’s alive! She turns me over onto my back and straddles me, overpowering me, pinning me down firmly. As she looks down at me below her, her eyes blazing, I feel a shudder of fear.

“You’re a horrible person,” she says in a cold, robotic voice. “Look at how you treat women. No wonder they leave you.” I feel scared, angry and hurt at the same time. How the hell did this Doll come to life?

Shadow Healing Ritual with Newman Alexander and Dossie Easton

The scene is going perfectly to plan. As negotiated, I spent the first twenty minutes playing with M____ as if she were a sex doll: only responding to my kiss and otherwise totally inert.

This scene is for me. It’s a Kinky Healing Ritual to help me look at the fear of abandonment that arises around the women I fall in love with. In the scenario she’s a sex doll and I’m treating her like my girlfriend. For the first half of the scene she’s completely still, but then when I say the magic words (“You’re so much better than a real girlfriend”), she comes to life and starts taking revenge on me – for the way I’ve treated both her and my previous girlfriends.

It was hot at first, pretending to come home from a busy day at the office and finding this beautiful, almost-real girl dressed like a Manga character, lying inert on the bed waiting for me. I hugged her tight and whispered that I’d missed her. She didn’t respond. I stroked her face and kissed her cheek. She didn’t respond. I asked her if she wanted to have sex before dinner. She didn’t respond. I told her I was happy that she wanted to have sex too and started to undress her. Then I kissed her full on the mouth, the only action to which she was allowed to respond. (She kissed me back, but in a very soft, still way.)

She turned out to be a fantastic kisser and I spent ages making out with her while exploring her inert body with my hands. Normally passivity is a turn-off for me, but in this “Real Doll” scenario I find it quite exciting. More importantly though, there’s something in me that does control the women in my life, that does treat them a bit like dolls, and this is what I wanted to bring awareness to through the Ritual.

After a while of kissing and touching her, I noticed that I was feeling shame as well as pleasure. How could I enjoy touching someone who doesn’t respond? There’s this ambivalence in me around empowered women, a fear that they’ll overwhelm and hurt me. And they all leave, of course. So some part of me is always striving to have control, to keep things safe. In real life it tends to express itself more subtly than in this scene: as with many of the Healing Rituals I create (for myself or others), the aim here is to make the pattern explicit, to bring it to the surface.

I get back into it with The Doll, pushing my tongue into her mouth and stroking over her panties. I can feel from the slightest quivering that in reality M_____ is quite turned-on by this – the Doll fantasy is something she enjoys too – but I try to put that to the back of my mind. For this to really touch me, I need to believe that I’m in love with a doll because I can’t handle an actual flesh-and-blood woman.

After a while of exploring her body, I say the magic words: “You’re so much better than a real girlfriend.” This is her cue to start coming to life. We’ve talked about this at length, about my guilt for the way I’ve treated previous partners, my longing to get punished for it, how I want to be free of the pattern.

As she overpowers me, I feel a lot of fear. I know this place from childhood, being small and weak in the hands of an angry woman. Back then it was my mother; now it’s this irate doll who’s been abused by the loneliest, most hurt version of me.

Theatre plays an important role in this work. It seems that our brains don’t quite know the difference between something that really happened and something that we recreate. For this to work though, the scene needs to be done with enough conviction that the players can lose themselves in it. I find it hard to really immerse, but somehow I’m in it enough for the emotions to come up. When I was holding her as a Doll and telling her how happy I was that she’d never leave me, I felt a deep loneliness rising in me. Now that she’s coming to life, I can feel my shame.

She begins to bind me: quick, precise, aggressive. “No wonder your last girlfriend left you, look at how you treat women,” she says, barely looking at me as she pulls the rope up to the hanging O-ring, raising my left leg with it. I let out a little howl, the insult smarting more than the rope. “You’re not a real man,” she throws in for good measure.

After she’s secured me she starts to hit me with her hands, the flogger and the Stick of Joy. As I’m rather scared and tense, I feel the strokes intensely. The pain smarts and stings, full of aggression and female rage. I sense that a small part of her is saying this for real, sharing the frustration of many women who dislike being controlled by men. I sense that there’s something archetypal and profound, about the scenario we’re playing out.

She ties me some more and says more mean things. At some point I get angry and tell her to fuck off. I struggle against the bondage but she’s done a brilliant job and I’m not going anywhere. It’s not the nurturing bondage I’m more accustomed to so it’s hard to let go into it, but I feel her presence holding me and I relax a bit. And I’m still on edge, not knowing what’s coming next.

She starts to pinch and punch me. It’s right on my edge. I feel the hostility and even some hatred in the strokes. It’s what I want: I want to touch that place of deep shame in me, the part that feels I really deserve this. I want to feel it so I can access it more fully. It’s not that I want to release it – I know all too well that this only happens when something’s truly ready to move, especially something as deep as this. It’s more that I want to be able to go there, all the way down, to touch the murky damaged parts inside. Although I’ve tried many approaches, I find this type of psychological theatre the most effective for healing deeply-held patterns.

The pain gets more intense, the words meaner. I don’t have much resistance left, I start to wail and howl with each stroke. There’s something brimming, a barbaric yawp, a giant FUCK YOU waiting to be roared out. But just as I’m getting close to that point, the two women doing bondage near us ask if we can quieten down. It’s an awkward moment, as I’m close to a fuller expression of hurt and anger, but M_____ switches direction and starts untying me.

She keeps hitting me though and I tell her I might need some tenderness. So she sits on top of me and asks me if I’m really ready to stop mistreating women. Will I promise to do better? I say I’ll try. She looks into my eyes again and tells me that she’ll hunt me down if she sees me doing anything like this again. Another shudder of fear. It lands.

After a little while I’m unbound and we cuddle softly. I know I could’ve gone deeper and it also feels like a good start. This topic runs very deep, beyond the personal to the collective, and I need to keep digging.

After some time we go to get food together and hang out in a friendly way. It feels right to transition slowly in this case rather than bringing things to an abrupt close. I’m feeling rather fragile and a bit disoriented, and it’s good to still be with M____ as things begin to settle.

The release comes the next morning, as is often the case with me. I wake up groggy but in a bright mood, feeling the energy of Xplore still running through me. I’m exhilarated by all the adventures I’ve had and the connections I’ve made. Suddenly without any warning I begin to weep. I realise it’s not just the session – my best friend died suddenly a few weeks ago and I’ve been trying to give space to the grief. Here it comes, along with a rush of gratitude for my life and all the people in it.

I cry in fits and starts for nearly an hour as waves of emotion move through. It’s a powerful release, the first since Jon died, and I sense that the session had a lot to do with it. These layers of shame are hard to reach; once they’re revealed, my body-mind has a natural wisdom in knowing how to deal with them. But they’re also clever layers, well-concealed, resistant to being brought into the light of day. It feels good to give them space to breathe and for anything that’s ready to go to be released.

This theme is very close to the surface for me right now and it felt good to do the Doll scene with M____. I know I can work more in this area, uncovering deeper layers of the controlling patterns I have with women and finding ways to do things differently.

M____ felt like a good counterpart, especially as it was her first time doing this kind of Healing Ritual and also being so mean to someone. In fact I didn’t realise quite what it was going to touch until we got into it – initially I thought it would mostly be erotic while touching into the issue. But as soon as the switch happened and I went into a strong fear response, I realised that the scene would go much deeper than I’d expected and I let myself go into it.

I am constantly fascinated by how we can heal our body-minds through scenes like this, where we enact (or re-enact) something that carries a strong charge for us. In this case, the scene grew out of mutual fantasies and desires, things that turn us both on, with some of my ‘stuff’ woven into it. I often find this to be an effective approach: the erotic charge brings more libido to the scene, which in turn supports us both to open up more.

There’s something about these Shadow Healing Rituals that’s so effective, so potent and so surprising. They tap into our body-mind’s natural healing intelligence, our ability to befriend things and transform them ourselves. The enacting, or re-enacting, works beautifully because it turns an abstract problem into something lived and experienced, both visual and kinaesthetic, that allows a dialogue between the conscious and unconscious parts of us.

As with all things we need to be careful to find the right line between recreating a situation and retraumatising ourselves. This takes skill and awareness, but more than that it requires compassion from both giver and receiver. As long as we stay tender and open in our hearts and allow things to flow, we can feel and sense the moment when it’s about to tip over the edge into something that’s too much for us. And the healing often happens right on that exquisite edge.

Next April I’ll be co-leading a week-long residential retreat with the legendary Dossie Easton, author of Ethical Slut and Radical Ecstasy. In this week we’ll be exploring this profound work and giving you the chance to create your own Shadow Healing Rituals. Find out more >>

Becoming whole

A client of mine recently asked me an excellent question: what is the process of transformation? It was so simple and disarming that I had to stop for a moment before answering; and as is often the way with such things, it provoked an answer that was both inspired and helpful. In this blogpost I’ll elaborate on what I said to her.

The process of transformation is a journey to becoming whole. The way I picture it, each of us has a unique ‘map’ inside us, a guide to our psyche that reveals everything that exist within us. When we look at this map some parts are easy to read and the territories they describe are places we know well. If you’re a caring person, the areas called Empathy and Taking Care Of Others are beautifully mapped and thoroughly explored; by contrast, the parts called Asking For What I Want and Knowing When To Stop Giving might be less clear.

When we begin to know the unique map of our individual psyche, we typically find three things. Some areas are clear and easy to read. These are the places within ourselves we already know. Some areas are completely blank. These are the places we either don’t know yet or we’re terrified of. And some areas are kind of fuzzy: places we know to an extent but aren’t very clear on the map or well explored within us.

This analogy is useful because most of us know what a map is. It’s an image we can relate to and a reference-point we can return to again and again. It reminds us that what we’re setting out to do in this journey of transformation is to learn more about who we are, not to become someone else. And it enables us to say things like “I’m in that unfamiliar territory again – but now I can see some of the paths through it more clearly.”

With this image in mind we remember that the process of transformation is an exploration, something we can often enjoy and take pleasure in. All too often people talk about healing and personal growth as if they’re the most difficult and painful things in the world. While it’s definitely true that the journey can be tough at times – just as climbing a high mountain can be physically challenging – keeping the map in mind reminds us that the essence or spirit of our process is to explore and discover ourselves.

It also reminds us that the purpose of all this ‘work’ is to become whole. Throughout the world, where shamanic traditions arose independently of each other, there were certain common features. One of them is soul retrieval, where the shaman goes with you (or on your behalf) into the non-physical realm to get back a part of you that got splintered off earlier in your life.

In psychological terms this fracturing is called dissociation and is usually the result of trauma: an experience is simply too difficult or too painful so we suppress the memory in order to carry on living. While this is often a necessary strategy and is much better than falling apart, it leaves deep traces in our psyche. When a part of us is splintered off from our conscious self it exerts a profound influence and this is not something we can control.

An example of this is the bullied child who becomes a bullying adult. Ask them outright and they’ll probably deny that they bully, giving a bunch of pseudo-rational justifications for the way they behave. These might seem like excuses but usually they’re not: in very real terms they simply don’t know what they’re doing. This part of them has broken off from the rest of them as a survival mechanism and now controls them unconsciously.

Coming back to the original analogy, this part of their personal map is either fuzzy or completely blank. It’s a part of them that exists but they don’t know it very well (or at all). So the process of transformation is a process of becoming whole and discovering all of what’s inside us. It’s about exploring those parts of the map that are fuzzy or blank and getting to know those aspects of ourselves better.

With this in mind, we might choose a guide to accompany us through a bit of forest that looks particularly dense, scary or full of hostile creatures. Similarly when it comes to the map of our psyche we might ask a therapist, shaman or other practitioner to go with us into the darker, scarier parts of our personal map.

And here’s where it gets interesting! A guide to the forest has usually walked through it hundreds of times and knows it really well. By contrast a guide to parts of our psyche is exploring this territory for the first time as much as we are. Each person’s map is unique and therefore no-one has ever been in your uncharted areas yet.

So a practitioner is useful because they have the right gear and lots of experience in similar terrain. A therapist who’s worked with many sexual assault victims develops an expertise that means the hazards of going into that territory with a new client are more familiar to him or her than they are to someone else.

Two things are worth bearing in mind here:

It’s still your journey. I can’t stress this strongly or often enough. A guide is just that: someone who travels with you through parts of the map that are blank or fuzzy. They should be helpful and have the equipment needed to navigate this terrain, but it’s still your journey and that never changes. If they start telling you something that doesn’t make any sense to you or try taking you to places you don’t want to go, they’re no longer serving you as a guide to your personal map.

You should enjoy their company. Because of the way a lot of psychotherapy works, there’s a residual notion that practitioners should be somewhat blank and have no personal relationship with you while you work together. Having been in therapy with a Freudian analyst who did this blankness with consummate skill, I can definitely see its benefits. At the same time it isn’t the only way. There are many approaches more personal, friendly and relaxed than these ‘traditional’ forms of psychotherapy. What’s right for you in exploring one part of your map may be totally wrong for another part. There are no hard and fast rules here and you’re the best person to determine when and where a certain approach or person is right for you.

Since developing this analogy a couple of months ago I’ve been able to see more clearly which terrain I’m good at navigating and when I’m able to access those places. An example of this is a client who wants to explore certain territory with me but the areas all around that territory are dark and uncharted. Sometimes I can gently work with them to map the surrounding areas and approach the places they want to reach; but at other times they’re better off working with a different practitioner first and coming to me later. And sometimes the reverse is true: they’ve been unable to get somewhere with someone else and working with me opens up the approach to those areas perfectly.

Working with a practitioner is one way to explore your map, but it’s not the only one. A loving, conscious relationship is an amazing way to open up parts of the map that were previously fuzzy or blank: for example, the part called Sexual Intimacy might only be accessible when you feel close enough to someone and safe enough with them to go there.

Similarly, some parts of us can only be reached in groups. Often we are looking to reach those parts of us through the social groups we belong to, and often those groups give us just what we need. But sometimes a held group, facilitated with skill to ensure that we are safe when exploring the scary places, is a great way to map things quickly and well.

Whatever you’re working on and whichever bits of the map you want to open up, I encourage you to use this analogy as a way to see the big picture. Your journey of transformation is a process of becoming whole. Stop from time to time and recognise how much of the map you’ve filled in. Look around and see what’s still fuzzy or blank. And remember that it’s your map – always was and always will be.

May your explorations be fruitful and joyful – and may the tough bits be thoroughly worthwhile and rewarding.

Newman offers one-to-one coaching sessions. Sacred Pleasures run workshops in conscious kink, sex-positive community and whole-hearted living.

What goes up …

It’s exhilarating when we drop our defences and open up. We are lucky to have some many places where we can have these ‘expansive experiences’: from the wild spontaneous creativity of burningman (and its many satellites), through sex-positive events like The Summerhouse Weekend or Xplore, to personal growth workshops that Sacred Pleasures and others offer. The content may be different but the end result is the same: you feel expanded, fearlessly vulnerable and vulnerably fearless. Wide open.

Returning to the ‘default world’ after one of these events can be tricky. In these spaces we glimpse how we can be with others and how groups of people can be together – and it’s often breathtakingly beautiful. We dare to do things we wouldn’t otherwise, stretching boundaries, pushing out of our comfort zone, showing up with more of ourselves than we usually do.

Then it’s time to return and we realise that, even though we’ve changed, the world around us has stayed the same. What the fuck? As well as this realisation, there’s a natural come-down from getting so open and high – whether that’s been achieved naturally or by other means. This article gives a few tips for riding ‘the drop’ and coming out the other side with the learnings integrated, ready to expand and open up once more.

As with any advice, it’s general and not every point will apply to every person. So if there’s something here that doesn’t work for you, please ignore it – you know what you need better than I do. Still, I hope that there’s something herethat’ll support you through those tender droppy feelings.

(Note: some years ago I wrote an article about ‘the drop’ from a more spiritual perspective. If you want to read that one, you’ll find it here.)

I really welcome your thoughts on this article and also any strategies you’ve found more or less effective for dealing with the drop. Please post at the bottom if you feel like it.

Know that the drop is normal

There’s nothing weird about feeling a drop – in fact, it would be weird if you didn’t. Why? Because you just let your guard down, opened yourself up, dared to take risks and had new experiences. Just this alone would be enough, but you might also have generated (or ingested) chemicals that put you into an altered, ecstatic state. (Cool aside: research found that yogis who do ecstatic meditations showed very similar neurochemical patterns to those who take ecstasy. There are many ways up the mountain.)

After a high there comes a low; after expansion there comes contraction. This is normal and natural, it’s the Law of Return. We can’t go out there without coming back, but it’s helpful to know and recognise that the journey back is uncomfortable, even painful at times. Knowing that this is normal and not beating yourself up about it (“why can’t I just stay like this forever?”) is a great place to start.

Be kind to yourself, do lots of self-care

There are many ways to be kind to yourself. Self-care is a highly personal business and it’s important. For some folks, it’s holing up at home and not speaking to anyone for three days. For some it’s meeting up with friends to share the experience. For some a hot bath is pure heaven; for others a dip in cold water does the trick.

Although there are no hard and fast rules about self-care, there are a few things worth mentioning:

  • try to eat nutritious and tasty food regularly
  • do something to get your heart-rate up – whether that’s a trip down to the gym, a walk in the park or a playfight
  • avoid emotionally-draining people and situations
  • don’t overpack your schedule

Whatever makes you feel nourished and loved is worth doing in the days following an expansive experience. Not only does self-care make you feel better in itself, but you also feel better about yourself for doing it – so it’s a double-win.

Reflect on what you’ve experienced

One of the things that really helps us to integrate a big experience is to reflect on it consciously. This can take many forms, including creative ones. I love to share my experiences, as talking about what I’ve done helps me to cement the memories and provides me with learnings I might’ve missed during the experiences themselves. (An important note: please be aware of what you say as many of the experiences you’ve shared involve others. Talk about your own experience but don’t breach confidentiality.)

You might like to draw, paint, write, dance or sing your reflections. The medium doesn’t matter as long as it helps you reflect on what’s happened.

As well as reflecting on all the amazing things that happened, it’s worth going back over the challenges you faced. I’ve had a lot of expansive experiences over the past 15 years, and I notice a pattern: at each event there’s a moment when things become really tough, then there’s a big letting-go (usually a cry) and then I’m ‘there’. After a few times of reflecting on my experience I spotted the pattern – and as a result I’m able to move through the sticky moments quicker and find that valuable let-go with less struggle and resistance.

Whatever you’ve experienced, there’ll be some gifts in it for you to take into the rest of your life. Reflection helps you to harvest these gifts.

Reach out & connect

One of the things I find hardest after an expansive experience is being alone in the days that follow. It’s not surprising: I’ve just spent several days with wonderful people, all of us letting our guards down and being as authentic as we can. Now I’m back in my flat in Dalston and it can feel lonely on my own there. (Of course this isn’t true for everyone, some people are overjoyed to have alone-time after all that people-ing. I talk about this more in the next part.)

It’s a great idea to reach out and connect with people if that feels supportive for you. This could be a bunch of people you went to the event with, the wider community via FB groups or just a few friends who ‘get it’ and will give you space to be yourself while you navigate the drop. I find it helpful to share a bit about my experience and to allow myself to be vulnerable about how I’m feeling now. But you might find that just hanging out and talking about other stuff works well too.

I really like to arrange an Afterglow, a little gathering for me and some friends I hung out with at the event. This is a great chance to reflect together on what you’ve experienced, get some oxytocin flowing and share some mellow times together a few days after the event.

Many of us are blessed with an emotional support network to help us through the drop; however if you don’t have that or you feel nervous about burdening friends, there are other ways. A lot of events offer post-event support structures: for example, The Summerhouse has a Wellbeing Team who are available after as well as during the event. So if you don’t find you’re getting the emotional support you need from those around you, please reach out to whatever support the event offers. Whatever happens, I recommend not suffering alone.

Take time for yourself

Reaching out is very important. So is me-time. For those who are more introverted (i.e. those who recharge their energy by being alone), this is pretty obvious. For those who mostly get energy from being around people, it can sometimes be harder to see how valuable this me-time is.

Although there’s a temptation to crave more and more contact after an expansive experience, taking time for yourself supports the contraction that naturally wants to happen. Expansion isn’t inherently good and contraction isn’t inherently bad – though you might have a preference for one over the other. What’s important here is balance, the recognition that ‘what goes up must come down’.

Finding the right balance between reaching-out and drawing-in is highly personal. There are no right or wrong answers here and it might vary from event to event even for the same person. The key is to bring attention to what you’re doing and try to find the right balance for yourself.

Feel your feelings

I hate it when people give this advice so I forgive you for getting annoyed with me at this point! However it’s generally true that feeling your feelings is the quickest way for them to move through you and not get stuck.

For the past few months I’ve been using the metaphor of rooms in a house. When difficult feelings come up, I often sit in the room next door to them. This means that I can hear them banging away and they disturb me, but I’m not able to engage with them fully and find ways to befriend them.

What I’ve been practising lately – though it’s still very much a work-in-progress – is to get into the same room as my feelings and allow myself to be deeply engaged with them. I was a bit skeptical about this at first, fearing that it might feel like wallowing in negativity. But in practice I’ve been finding it surprisingly effective: when I let myself feel the feelings more intensely, they pass quicker.

You’ll have your own way of feeling your feelings and I’m sure you’ll know some of the ways in which you might avoid or numb them. (I wrote more about this here.) As you’re navigating the drop, I recommend finding ways to feel your feelings so they can move through you.

Seek out the next adventure

As I wrote this headline I wondered if it’s good advice or not, since there can be a compulsivity to rushing onto the next thing. However, done right it can be powerful to begin looking for the next expansive experience as part of ‘coming down’ from this one.

One of the reasons for this is that it gets easier to have these expansive experiences the more (and more often) we do it. I have often used the metaphor of big iron gates. The first time we try to open up, our gates are rusty and heavy from having not moved for many years. (Most of us develop fears around opening up through painful experiences and learn to keep our gates closed. The default world supports this.)

As we open up more often, it’s like we’re oiling the gates, cleaning up the rust and helping them to open and close more smoothly and with less effort.

As well as being a valuable way to step in and out of expansive experiences more easily, this skill of opening and closing your emotional gates yields other gifts. It means that, when there’s a possibility for deeper connection to happen (either with one person or in a group) you can open just the right amount. By working those gates regularly, it becomes second nature to drop-in with just the right amount of openness. But this takes practice and going through the cycle of opening-up and closing-down regularly helps with that. (I wrote more about this in a previous article, which you’ll find here.)

This too shall pass

There are very few things that are universally true, but this adage seems to be one of them. Whatever is happening right now, it shall pass. Whatever you’re feeling right now, it shall pass. In the end, you too shall pass. Nothing stays the same forever – particularly not our emotions!

The cycle of expanding, revelling in our expanded self, contracting and assimilating the experience is normal, though each person experiences it differently. This too shall pass. You’ll find your way back to somewhere similar to where you were before the event, with hopefully a bit of extra joy and wisdom from the experience you’ve had. And just as this drop will pass, the next expansion will pass too. These ebbs and flows are completely natural and the best way to ride them is to accept the inevitability of the passing rather than grasping and holding on.

Meditation and mindfulness help to live ‘this too shall pass’ as a daily practice. These practices teach you to observe things as they are, and through this observation you learn how often and quickly things change. This ‘witnessing’ enables you to create a bit of space from your emotions, so you can observe them without being ruled by them. By doing this you keep a bit of yourself still and calm, even when it hurts, knowing that this too shall pass.

There’s always more to say but hopefully you’ll find something in these suggestions to navigate the drop more smoothly. The drop is an inevitable part of the process, but it doesn’t need to be torture. As you cultivate more skill at navigating the difficult emotions that arise after an expansive experience, you’ll feel more confident to dive in deeper, knowing that you can hold yourself through the drop that inevitably follows.

And in case you’re having a particularly tough moment and forgetting why you keep doing this to yourself, let me share this beautiful passage from Jeanette Leblanc’s article Let Yourself Be Moved:

We all have moments of brilliance – experiences that wake us up to the sheer beauty of the universe and chip away at our cynicism and distrust. Interactions that feed our souls, open our hearts and convince us that just possibly-maybe-perhaps life really is inherently good. And those moments, my sweet friends, only occur under certain circumstances. When we are safe, or brave, or distracted, or bad-ass-crazy-enough to lower the veils, dismantle the walls, and blast the hell through that numbness into a place of deep feeling.

Brilliance never settles for superficial. Brilliance only happens when we let ourselves be moved. And brilliance rarely feels entirely gentle. Yes, it can be transcendent and awe-inspiring and all kinds of fabulous. But it can also be utterly terrifying.” (Read the full article here.)

You were brave enough to step into an expansive experience. If right now you feel bad, remember that any high is accompanied by a balancing low. You can’t have one without the other: you’ve let yourself be moved and life won’t be quite the same again. Thank you for daring to do it and good luck with navigating the drop. This too shall pass!

As I said earlier, I really welcome your feedback and any strategies you’ve found to be more or less effective for dealing with the drop. Please post below if you want to, to support yourself and others to navigate the drop.

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