Like many women, my relationship with sexy is a complicated one. It took me a long time to figure out how to feel sexy, to decide if I could ever even be sexy in the first place. Like it was something only afforded to the most conventionally attractive women in the room.
The first time I felt a grown man’s eyes run up and down my curves was well before I started high school. I was on my way to take a yoga class in summer, in an unairconditioned three story walk up, so naturally I had a tank top on. I remember feeling really cute in this outfit, excited to be taking an advanced class, ready to step on to the mat and into my power. As per my parents, I started wearing a bra by the time I was seven or eight, not really knowing why I needed one, but the most vivid first experience with my sexual body was watching these two middle-aged men stare at my cleavage without breaking eye contact.
I know I felt uncomfortable, dirty even, but the really emotional memory came from my mother watching this experience, her face turning red and quietly telling me to never wear that top again in public. I had felt shame about my body before, but this was the first time I could remember feeling ashamed in a sexual way. I was embarrassed for simply existing in my glorious female body, and this mentality still creeps in from time to time. This moment is when I started to feel that sexy was something to be ashamed of, that it was dependent on how others saw me.
In case you are wondering, no I don’t blame my mother for her reaction or this memory. I know she was doing the best she could in that moment, like her mother before her, and hers before, but the fact is women have been shamed for their bodies for as long as most of us can remember.
Whores, harlots, and sluts when we dare claim our sexy.
Ugly, frumpy, lazy, and cast aside when we don’t.
It honestly took years of being in a committed relationship with an amazing partner to show me that sexy could be putting on makeup, picking out a tight dress and going out on the town, but it could also be a messy bun, prescription glasses and sweats on the couch. Sexy could be the way I spoke about something passionately, or the way my bookshelf buckled from too many books. Sexy could be wearing a pair of heeled boots that made me walk with a swing in my hips. Sexy could be doing my makeup on a Saturday night while in pajamas just because it made me feel good. Sexy was about how I felt, not how others saw me.
It’s high time to take back sexy as the internal, personal experience that it is. It took me three decades, but I finally learned that sexy is completely and utterly a feeling of claiming something authentic to you, and you alone, not a look, not a style, not the way your body measures up to someone else’s expectations.
Sexy is for us, not them.
So how and when do I feel sexy?
These days, sexy looks a little something like taking selfies when I get my hair done and then smiling every time I look back on those pictures because I remember how good I felt.
Sexy feels like running my fingertips across freshly shaved legs because I like the feeling, not because anyone else is seeing or touching my legs.
Sexy sounds like an old song I used to have on repeat the year I met my partner, and no matter how hard I try, I have to sing and dance my heart out, because it reminds me of some of the happiest memories we share.
Sexy smells like the perfume I chose for my wedding day, simply because it was named after my cat and makes me smile.
Sexy tastes like a recipe built on fresh summer produce that I picked up at the farm, while the sun kisses every inch of my exposed skin.
For me, at this moment in my life, sexy is being 30, ditching the bra most days no matter who is watching. Sexy is doing my makeup for fun, not because we are going out. Sexy is feeling my partner hug me from behind while we make dinner together.
Sexy can be as simple as stepping into your Divine Feminine power, feeling good in your skin, feeling soft or strong, slipping into your happiness. Sexy is one of the most beautiful feelings in the world.
So my darlings, strut your sexy.
Fiercely.
Quietly.
In public.
In private.
Without shame.
Unapologetically.
Strut. Your. Sexy.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Natalie is an Educator, Intuitive Healer, and Creator that gives voice to the Sacred and Divine Feminine through her own Earthly experiences. She has been a visual and written artist for many years and sees creativity as a meditative process that unlocks messages from Spirit and the Ancestors. Her creative pieces are published under the name, Ishva Auset, The Daughter of Stars.
To connect with Natalie and learn about her programs designed for Sensitive Creatives and Awakening Intuitives, join us over in The Calabash Community!
