My feminine has been stirring within me, begging for acknowledgement, visitation rights, and a place in the daily business of my life.

Over the years, I unwittingly shut much of her down. I pretended she was weak, not to be trusted, and a scatterbrain. Yet, it’s now obvious to me that I was afraid of her power.

A few months ago, I met my match in the bedroom, and it changed everything.

His masculine desire awakened my feminine side—I fell into his arms, body, and energetic field.

I fought it, at first, and then, as if I was touched to my core by the whisperings of my soul, I relinquished the control I had been holding on to for so long.

I let go. 

Like a pink powder puff, I dissolved into the powerful receptive energy of the feminine. I allowed my desire to be felt, heard, and be fully expressed in the sensual alignment of our bodies.

Then my feminine flowed like liquid gold—the yearning for his body, the merging with his being, and the melding with his masculine. Oh, the creative force that surged through my veins, my soul, and my sound—the moaning in the exquisite connection between us.

This was like nothing before. I knew I had come home to myself in a deeply profound way that I hadn’t previously experienced (or allowed).

Living in a world that predominantly rewards the masculine energy for output, logic, and rationalisation, I learned to minimise my feminine and my feelings. I kept a ledger for what was sensible and created a guard to protect me from humiliation or a broken heart.

It started with me feeling shameful about masturbation at six years old, after being told off by my family. I learned that my feminine and her desire were not safe, not valid, and not allowed. That caution rippled into many areas of my internal and external life.

Humiliated, I decided my feminine was not safe. Yet, as much as she was shunned, she never left me.

Shoved aside and asked to take up residency in the caretaker’s shack of my humanly persona, my masculine took over, keeping everything in check and making sure life’s daily needs were met.

My feminine was only allowed out on occasion—under strict instructions to not muck up. Her natural attraction was potent, and she used this before to lure in the “wrong” type of man (or at least, that’s what her masculine side told her).

They thought her force was too strong, her imaginings were unrealistic, and her belief in herself was dangerous because she dreamed too big.

So my feminine was submerged into the deep wells of my psyche, only invited to participate when it would benefit the outcome, which my inner masculine was after.

She was given the calm role—to meditate and stay in the outer realms where she couldn’t get herself into trouble in the daily life of human existence. She became the composed one, the good girl, the nurturing mother, the kind sister, the dutiful daughter, and the supportive partner and friend.

But much has changed now. My feminine came out in her wild, sensual, creative force, and I feel the power ignited within me from a deep space that continues to infiltrate all areas of my life now.

She is here to stay, and she is present in the fullness of my being.

Her softness is my strength.

Her rawness is my ally.

Her fullness is my triumph.

Although she’s no longer with the man who cocreated the portal to reclaim her power, my feminine now finds her own way of expression, each day.

She dances naked, erotically, sensually, and playfully in the privacy of her own bedroom in the morning.

She relishes the water as it falls on her body in the shower, feeling its tantalising touch as it stirs the remembrance of the sexual being who resides within her.

She sensually applies her moisturiser and body oil, caressing her skin, and tracing the curves with implicit care and touch.

She adorns her body in clothes that ignite her femininity—flowing, body hugging, and leaving space for her chest to breathe, where the air can kiss her skin.

She exercises the self-pleasure that reminds her of the pink powder puff and the golden liquid that enliven her with the touch of her body and each exquisite orgasm.

And she writes and speaks from her heart, not filtering and tempering her inner words.

My being hums with a symphony of rich creativity as the dance between my masculine and feminine now deepen the artistic force of my output.

My relinquishing of the guards I had around her provides me with a gateway to my innate wisdom.

She wholeheartedly deserves a seat at the table of my life—of every woman’s life.

She is my beauty.

She is my creative power.

She is my life force.

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