Though I live in New York City as a teacher, artist, and textile designer, I was raised in England, and I felt bound by a certain conditioning about my physicality. Victorian aunts brought up my father, so he was very traditional, very British, in that way of ignoring the physical functions. My mother was a bit livelier there, but this was the 1950s, and you were supposed to be very discreet.
I went to art school and liked the idea of being a vivacious teenage girl, but at the same time, I was very inhibited. I was embarrassed about my body and thought that I was different from other women somehow or that I wouldn’t be loved. This was underneath the façade of being a free 60s girl. So, it was a strange sort of duality. Something was holding me back, and I pretended it wasn't there. I would act as if I were free and open and having a good time. But underneath, there was a kind of container, the inside of which I didn't want to admit.
As an adult, I lived with somebody for a long time, 23 years, though we didn’t marry. I’d chosen the relationship because it was safe and secure. I was loved. But it was not answering my wild side. I also wasn’t allowing myself to have pleasure. I was a workaholic. I love designing and my work, but I didn’t make space for nurturing and pleasure.
Feeling weary and depressed, I turned to Sufism. I’d always had spiritual practices, but I got more deeply involved. Around this time, an old boyfriend came into my life. He was married, and we had an affair, which made me realize I had to leave my relationship. This was traumatic yet healing and liberating, too. I left my relationship and went deeper into spiritual practice, doing more artwork and other things I love.
One day, a friend in the Sufi community told me about Orgasmic Meditation (OM). He encouraged me and others to do it, and I went back and forth on whether to jump in. It was part of my daring side. Do I dare do that? What would happen? I eventually tried it, and I could feel that there were two parts of me—one holding back but curious and the other one saying, This feels incredible. Joy came up. I walked out of there feeling like a whole woman.
I felt a sense of wholeness. I felt open and expanded rather than constricted and compartmentalized. The safety of the practice helped—not just the container of Orgasmic Meditation (OM), but the relationship with other people and the agreement in how you interact. I loved the reverence and silence of the practice. I also felt permission not to speak or smile but to know I was accepted, no matter what. I didn’t have to be a certain way.
The practice of Orgasmic Meditation sharpened my awareness of what was happening in my body. I might have denied it before, but it made everything more real and tangible. I started to experience a full-bodied feeling of love. This warm quality came into my life—a feeling of connection with others and compassion. But it wasn’t just mental or spiritual; it was physical, body-based, and delightful.
Orgasmic Meditation (OM) also helped open up my artist self. I was always struggling with inhibitions about my artwork. I decided to commit to doing a drawing a day and being spontaneous about it. It became a practice, like OM, to do it, see what comes up, and be with what is. I had also been inhibited about showing my work. In a way, Orgasmic Meditation (OM) lets me do the groundwork of preparing myself to be vulnerable because I feel very open and vulnerable when I OM. Being vulnerable about my artwork and then going out into the world as me was like opening a huge door. It was about being seen.
Eventually, I did meet somebody, and I've been in a relationship with him for five years. It’s been great, though it's a complicated relationship. We don’t live together, and I’m constantly adjusting things to have my own time. I just feel much more fulfilled as a woman, being myself and owning myself.
