This morning I read a piece by Alex McCann called “The Death of the Corporate Job.” His argument: a lot of us have stopped believing in the performance, but we keep performing anyway. Out of habit. Fear. Survival. What’s underneath is numbness.

I read it and immediately thought: we’re doing the exact same thing with intimacy.

Read McCann’s “The Death of the Corporate Job” here.

We’ve built an entire infrastructure of frictionless attention. Apps designed so you never have to sit in the awkwardness of not having anything to do, the discomfort of not knowing what to say, or the rawness of being genuinely *seen* by another person.

Social media didn’t invent this, but it weaponized it. We started using it to keep up with friends

, and ended up feeling close to people we’ve never met. We watch influencers daily but haven’t called our best friend in months. The intimacy feels real. It just doesn’t require anything from us.

Porn took that further. A person who exists only for your pleasure, no reciprocity required. AI girlfriend apps took it to the logical end: connection without any risk at all.

Each step removes a little more of the thing that makes intimacy actually work — the part where it could go wrong. Where you could disappoint someone. Where they could see you and decide to stay anyway.

But what’s happening underneath: We’re losing the ability to tolerate being looked at.

The Gaze Thing

There’s a specific vulnerability in being seen while seeing. It’s mutual. Uncontrolled. She notices you noticing her. And suddenly you can’t hide in the fantasy anymore, you have to feel the actual tension of that moment.

Porn flattens this. She’s performing for a camera, not for you. You’re alone. Safe. She can’t see you; you can’t disappoint her or bore her or trigger her judgment. The fantasy does all the labor.

But here’s the cost: you’re not practicing actual relational presence. You’re practicing the opposite.

What If It’s A Skill

What if real, reciprocal intimacy, is something that atrophies without practice?

I built an app called GAWK that is built on a weird premise: you’re not the voyeur. You’re the one being seen. She’s noticing. Assessing whether you can hold her gaze. Whether you’re numb or awake. Whether you’re capable of being present with another for longer than your scroll threshold allows.

It starts short. Because that’s where most people are now, unable to sit with unmediated eye contact for more than a few seconds. But something shifts as you practice. You start to notice the difference between numb-scroll time and actual connection time.

You unlock longer not because the app rewards you, but because you realize you want to. Because holding someone’s gaze and being held by theirs is a completely different experience than porn delivers.

And in between, in those moments where you’re assessing what you felt, there’s a card. A small interruption. Maybe it’s about desire without performance. Maybe it’s about what numbness actually costs you. Maybe it’s permission to notice that you’ve forgotten how to tolerate being genuinely seen.

The corporate job is dying because we all see through the performance. Real intimacy is dying for the opposite reason: we’re losing our tolerance for the uncontrolled version, the mutual vulnerability, the part where it could actually go somewhere. We don't know how to want something we can't control.

GAWK isn’t a peep show. It’s practice.

Try GAWK for free

Bad Bunny closed the Super Bowl saying “the only thing more powerful than hate is love,” and I sit here today thinking: why is he the one saying this for 13 minutes at halftime, and not the person leading us?

How did we get here?

How did we end up being led by someone who actually enjoys cruelty — who gets off on it — while someone talking about love, about culture, about dancing and loving without fear... he gets a stage for a show, and then it’s over?

I don’t have an answer. I just find myself dreaming about the inversion of it.

The people with power right now are using it to hurt. To scare. To make people hungry, sick, poor, afraid — on purpose. And we all just... keep going. Keep refreshing. Keep doomscrolling. Keep watching it happen.

And then this sweet Bad Bunny gets up there and names the thing we’re all avoiding: that the opposite of this isn’t winning or being right or being louder. It’s love. It’s connection. It’s refusing to be afraid.

And I guess I caught myself sitting with the heartbreak of that.

Just me?

If you’re new here, I usually write about love, connection, and loving without fear in our sexual and intimate lives. This felt connected.

The time I cried during my cone biopsy was long before I knew anything about medical consent. I knew why I was there, but I had no idea what the procedure would actually feel like—or what it meant to be in a teaching hospital with so many people in the room.

It’s been thirty-five years and two kids since that day in college. I remember lying on a paper-covered table, staring at the ceiling tiles while tears slid into my ears. The doctor said, “Just a little pinch,” but what I felt was deeper, sharper, and nothing like a pinch. I felt scared, surprised, and alone.

I tucked that moment away.
I didn’t talk about it.
I didn’t even think about it. Totally forgot about it.

But my body didn’t forget.

Fast Forward to This Year

I needed a hysteroscopy. We’d attempted an in-office sample earlier, but it wasn’t enough, so the topic came up again.

When my doctor mentioned trying the procedure in-office a second time, I winced.

She caught it immediately.

She paused.
She asked questions.
She explained options.
She clearly clocked my body language and checked in with me.

This was a very different experience from my college years. This time, consent and choice were woven into the conversation.

For years, I thought my unease around medical procedures came from visiting my dad after his open-heart surgery—seeing him connected to tubes and wires. It made sense to me. He didn’t make it in the end. I used to call it “little t trauma.”

But on the morning of my hysteroscopy, this other memory rose from deep inside—quiet, old, and sharp:

That moment on the table during the cone biopsy in college.
My younger self crying silently.
My body bracing without support.

It was the reminder I didn’t know I needed.

The Choice I Made for My Body

Because that old memory resurfaced—and because I know myself better now—I was able to make a choice that felt safest for my nervous system.

Not because it’s what everyone should do.
Not because it’s automatically better.
But because it was the right situation for me.

When I arrived, I put one hand over my heart and my other hand over my lower belly. I breathed slowly, telling my body:

Inhale love.
Exhale fear.

Pain-free? Pretty much.
Emotionally supported? Yes.
Comforting for me? Absolutely.
(And for anyone wondering, the hysteroscopy results were fine—no cancer.)

Why “Routine” Procedures Don’t Always Feel Routine

Clinicians perform these procedures every day. For them, they are routine.

But for the person in the paper gown?

Your legs are in stirrups.
Your pelvis is exposed.
Bright lights overhead.
Strangers near the most vulnerable parts of your body.

Even when everything is clinically “normal,” the body may interpret the experience differently.

Some people get tense.
Some get quiet.
Some shake or cry.
Some faint—a close friend of mine had a vasovagal episode after a prostate biopsy. His vision tunneled, his skin went clammy, and his body went limp and collapsed. Simply said, nope.

These reactions aren’t dramatic or embarrassing.
They’re biology.
The nervous system doesn’t negotiate.
It responds.

Every body is different, and none of these responses mean anything is “wrong” with you.

How I Prepared My Body (And Why It Helped Me)

This isn’t medical advice.
And honestly, it’s probably going to sound a whole lotta… woo.

It’s just what supported my nervous system:

Hand on heart, hand on belly.
A way of telling my body I’m with it—not abandoning it.

Slow, intentional breathing.
A direct message to my parasympathetic system: “We’re okay.”

Explaining to my body what was happening.
I know, I know. But it worked.

Choosing a setting where my body could settle.
Especially since my body remembered that earlier procedure.

Taking my time afterward.
Sitting, sipping water, letting my body reorient.

These were support strategies.

They don’t eliminate discomfort entirely.
They help the body stay in partnership with the mind.

Why This Matters More Than We Think

Most of us know to be “good patients”:

Stay polite.
Don’t complain.
Don’t slow things down.
Don’t make it awkward.

But ignoring discomfort doesn’t make it go away.
It buries it.

And buried experiences—like mine from college—tend to resurface when we’re older, wiser, and finally ready to choose differently.

(There’s even research on this—how the body stores past experiences and brings them forward when something in the present echoes the past. [link])

You deserve to feel informed, seen, and supported.
You deserve collaboration, not compliance.
And your nervous system deserves a seat at the table.

Final Thoughts

I didn’t write this as a guide for what you should ask for during a medical procedure. Every person, body history, doctor, and clinic is different—and not everyone has the same access to settings or support.

This is simply a story about:

• remembering

• listening to your body

• attuning to what helps you feel safe

• and letting those truths shape your choices

If an old memory resurfaces before a procedure, it doesn’t mean you’re weak. It could be your body getting ready to tell you what it wished you’d known back then:

You’re allowed to feel safe.
You’re allowed to speak up.
You’re allowed to choose what supports you.

That’s not being difficult.
That’s honoring your whole self.

If this resonated with you…

I write about connection, embodiment, nervous-system wisdom, and the moments our bodies carry quietly for years.
You can subscribe — free or paid — to support this work and stay connected.

Thanks for reading!

Lanae

Every time I hear someone ask, “What do you bring to the table?” I want to flip the damn thing over, stomp on it, and throw it out the window.

That question has become the go-to mic-drop in dating podcasts and online debates. It’s smug. It’s lazy. And it’s built on a lie.

Let’s talk about it.

What That Phrase Really Means

When someone asks “What do you bring to the table?”, they’re not actually curious.
They’re setting up a scoreboard.

Translation:

“Convince me you deserve me.”

It implies that love, partnership, and connection can be itemized like a grocery list.
This isn’t two people meeting as equals. It’s one person auditioning for approval.

And that’s why it hits so deep.

The Real Problem Isn’t the Table. It’s the Math.

Subscribe now

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There’s a part of me I’ve had to get to know better—the people-pleasing part. The one that says yes even when deep down I know the answer is no.

A while back, early in my sexuality studies, I tried a boundary exercise that showed me just how strong that part was.

The first time I tried the exercise, my practice partner touched my face—brushing my cheek, near my mouth. I just sat there, letting it happen.

Later I realized: I hadn’t liked it. I hadn’t said anything. I’d just tolerated.

The next time, I caught myself sooner. I noticed the feeling right before discomfort, and this time I said no.

That one small shift—from tolerating to choosing—changed so much.

When I learned to notice my body’s signals earlier, I stopped just tolerating and started choosing. That changed the way I show up in intimacy, in work, and in life. But I gotta admit: it’s a practice. It certainly wasn’t one-and-done for me.

If you want the full breakdown (including two practices I teach to help break free from the hold of people-pleasing), you can read the full post here.

I’ve created a simple, printable Boundary Mapping Exercise to help you practice noticing your body’s signals. Subscribers can grab the exercise below.

(Not a subscriber yet? This guide is one of the tools I usually share with clients—and you can get it when you’re a paid subscriber.)

Subscribe now

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The first time I noticed it, Marcia was a toddler.

Thunder rumbled, low and steady, and there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes—reading somewhere between curiosity and fear.

I crouched down next to her to reassure and said:
“That sound? That’s thunder. They’re bowling in heaven and someone just rolled a strike. And the flashes? That’s lightning. Think people taking pictures.”

Maybe, without even realizing it, I was tying the noise to something more tender—that their grandpa, the only grandparent they never met, was up there having fun too.

Her little shoulders softened, and the tension gave way to a little smile.

When Cindy was old enough, I told her the same story. And soon enough, both of them learned to love, not fear, thunderstorms.

Growing up in Iowa, I never had that luxury. Tornado season meant hiding in the basement, listening to sirens squeal through the air and wondering if the house would still be standing when we came back up. Even an ordinary thunderstorm felt like a warning shot. The sky turned pea soup green, the air went still, and my stomach clenched. Fear was a language I learned young.

And fear wasn’t just in the weather. It existed in my home.

One time, I visited my mom with my girls. We were in her small Midwestern city, grabbing lunch downtown. I had run to a store nearby, and by the time I got back, the kids were restless—hungry, wiggly, waiting for their food.

Just then, a siren wailed in the distance. Police, fire, ambulance, I couldn’t tell. But I clocked the sharp gasp of my mom’s breath, her eyes almost wild. She leaned in close to my daughters and, whispered intently:
“They’re coming… the police are coming. You better behave.”

That gasp—dramatic, exaggerated, meant to reign in my hungry, wiggly kids—still gets me even as an adult. I froze. That old, familiar chill of fear.
But this time, it wasn’t landing on me. It was aimed at my children.

I stopped, stunned, and said:
“What did you just say?”

She blinked, startled. My daughters looked at me, not her. And in that moment, the spell broke. That old trick—control through fear—stopped with me.

Looking back, I can also see that for my mom, fear of sirens may have been real. Rooted in growing up Indigenous, police weren’t always protectors. But the way she passed that fear along—tying the sound of authority to her granddaughters’ restlessness—was something I refused to carry forward. My girls weren’t going to learn fear in that way.

Instead, my girls got thunder as bowling. Lightning as paparazzi. Storms as play.

They didn’t inherit the basement panic or the green-sky terror. They inherited joy, laughter, imagination.

That’s the work of breaking cycles—not with grand gestures, but with tiny rewrites.
Storm by storm, story by story, choice by choice.

Now, when thunder cracks, my daughters don’t flinch.
They listen for the strike, waiting to see if someone in heaven is about to roll another perfect game. Maybe grandpa is playing too.

Why I’m Sharing This Here

Fear doesn’t only show up in storms and sirens. It shows up in sex, intimacy, and relationships too.

So many of us inherit stories of fear, shame, and control—about our bodies, about pleasure, about desire. Sometimes those stories are whispered into us as children. Sometimes they come from partners, culture, or silence itself.

And yes, reframing works. Not just in a feel-good, “cute story” kind of way—research backs it up. Playful reframing, whether through humor or deliberate cognitive reappraisal, has been shown to reduce cortisol and anxiety in children¹ and to decrease activity in the brain’s fear center, the amygdala.²

So just like I rewrote thunderstorms for my daughters, you can rewrite those internal scripts too. Fear doesn’t have to be your language. It can be play, imagination, and joy.

And that is where intimacy begins—not with control, but with the courage to tell a new story.

xxoo

Lanae

p.s., If this resonated, I’d love to hear: what’s a fear you’ve turned into play, or a script you’ve rewritten for yourself or your family?

Footnote

¹ Saliba, F., et al. (2024). Humor intervention with clowns reduces cortisol levels, pain, and anxiety in children undergoing venipuncture. Pediatric Research. PubMed

² Buhle, J. T., et al. (2014). Cognitive reappraisal of emotion: A meta-analysis of human neuroimaging studies. Cerebral Cortex, 24(11), 2981–2990.

It starts with pink frosting or blue balloons.
And somehow ends with a lifetime of assumptions.

It’s commonly called a “gender reveal.”
But really, it’s a genital guess wrapped in a party.

Girl = soft, sweet, obedient.
Boy = strong, wild, confident.
Baby = blank slate? Nah. That cake already picked their personality, their wardrobe, and their entire vibe.

We want to believe we know who this tiny human is, right from the ultrasound.
We want to believe we’re bonding. Preparing. Getting it right.

That’s the emotional appeal of the gender reveal:
A moment of certainty in an uncertain world.

But let’s zoom out for a second...

The Problem Isn’t the Celebration. It’s the Script.

Babies totally deserve celebration. That’s not up for debate.

But when the very first thing we celebrate is their genitals,
what else are we doing?

Because whether we admit it or not, the “reveal” carries weight.

It suggests:

• How this child is expected to behave

• What toys they’ll “like”

Maybe even:

• Who they’re allowed to love

• What emotions they’re encouraged to show

• Which colors they get, which dreams they chase

And none of that has anything to do with their soul.

That’s not gender.
That’s marketing.
And tradition.
And control.

Spoiler Alert: It’s Not About the Baby

Gender reveals are joyful, meaningful moments.
Because the idea is: if we know the baby’s gender, we can connect with them better. Prepare. Understand them.

But that logic falls apart fast.

Because we’re not actually knowing them—we’re projecting onto them.
We’re guessing who they’ll be based on what’s between their legs,
and throwing a party to celebrate that guess—before they’ve even taken their first breath.

That’s not preparation.
That’s prescription.

What If We Did Something Different?

What if—just what if—we let our kids tell us who they are?

What if instead of a gender reveal, we had a wonder reveal?

What if we said:

“We can’t wait to see who this human becomes.”
“We’re raising someone curious, kind, and free.”
“Unicorns welcome. Stars too.”

Not a gender reveal.
A wonder reveal.

Because this new little human?
They’re not a category.
They’re not a color.
They’re a whole new story waiting to unfold.

A Party with a Purpose

So if you’re already planning a gender reveal—or you’ve done one before—this isn’t shade.
Most people are just trying to mark a moment. Make a memory. Share some joy.

But what if that moment could do even more?

What if, instead of guessing who this new human will be…
we made space to support whoever they become?

Throw the party.
Get the cake.
Make it beautiful.

And maybe—just maybe—instead of just gifts for the baby, guests bring something else:

✨ A wish we hope for them.
✨ A dream we have for them.
✨ A promise to show up.

This is a new acorn on a strong family tree.
What can we do or say to help it grow?

This is a new star in our sky.
What role can each of us play in helping it shine bright and free?

Want a bonus? Set out a few cards or prompts at the party. Let your people speak into this little one’s future:

🪩 What do you hope this little human teaches the world?
🪩 What’s something you’ll commit to modeling for them?
🪩 What’s one way you’ll help make the world safer for their becoming?

Your “wonder reveal” just became a celebration of community, too.

Because the truth is—we don’t need to “know” who they are.
We just need to leave the door open long enough for them to tell us.

The Things We Can’t Unsee

Most people throwing gender reveals aren’t trying to box their kid in.
They’re trying to share joy. Celebrate life. Mark a milestone.

But here’s the thing about memories: they last.
Especially the ones caught on camera.

And when a video shows a dad (or aunt or grandparent) visibly disappointed that the baby isn’t the gender they were hoping for?

That moment becomes part of the family lore.
Before the kid has even arrived, there’s already a sense of who they should’ve been.

That’s not just awkward. It’s heartbreaking.

So if we are going to celebrate, let’s do it in a way that leaves room for every possibility this new human brings.

xxoo,
Lanae

P.S. You don’t have to cancel the party. Just widen the frame.

Swap “We know who they are” for:
“We can’t wait to find out who they become.”

Because that leaves space for real connection, not just decoration.

P.P.S., What would you bring to a Wonder Reveal? A wish? A promise? A unicorn plushie? Drop it in the comments.

Years ago, I sat down to write what I thought was the beginning of something big.

I was deep in parenting mode. Deep in sex education mode. Trying to make sense of why so many smart, thoughtful, well-intentioned women—including myself—felt so shy, quiet, disempowered, or just plain confused about sex.

I thought I was writing to moms.
Moms like me.
Moms who wanted to raise kids with healthier, clearer, more conscious messages around sexuality.
Moms who got the shame-based, awkward, incomplete “sex talk” and didn’t want to pass it down.

I imagined calling the work something like:

The Science of Sexuality for Smart Mamas

And by “smart,” I didn’t mean book-smart. I meant the kind of smart that lives in your gut. The wisdom of intuition. The part of you that knows when something’s off, even if you can’t name it yet.
And by “mama,” I didn’t just mean mothers with children. I meant creators. Visionaries. People who birth ideas, nurture people, tend to growth—whether or not a child ever came out of their body.

I loved the concept. Still do, honestly.
But as time passed, something felt off.

The moms weren’t finding me.
Or if they were, they were whispering their appreciation. Quietly. Privately.
But the louder messages came from other places—
Men wanting to be friends.
Men wanting me to watch them.
People who missed the point entirely.

And I started to wonder:

Maybe this wasn’t about moms at all.
Maybe that was just my first attempt at naming the real thing.

The Real Thing Is This:

There is a common enemy.
It’s not people.
It’s a pattern.
A set of cultural messages and inherited beliefs.

👀 Fear-based sex ed
🫢 Silence from the people who raised us
🧠 Binary, outdated ideas about gender and desire
😞 Shame passed down like a family heirloom
😡 Disconnection dressed up as “normal”
😬 An overly sexualized culture that still refuses to teach what sex actually is

And we absorbed all of it.

Even the smartest among us.
Even the most “progressive.”
Even those of us who thought we’d grown out of it.

And now we’re here, trying to build intimacy, communicate with partners, raise good humans, or just feel whole in a body and a life that was shaped by those messages.

So… what now?

This Isn’t a How-To. It’s a Reckoning.

The people I’m writing to now?

You’re not just moms.
You might not even be moms.

You’re the ones who:

• Want stronger relationships

• Want better sex but not performative, copycat, media-mirrored sex. Real sex. Connected sex. Sex that honors your body, your pace, your truth.

• Are curious about what you never got to learn

• Have an inkling that there’s more to intimacy than what you’ve been taught

• Maybe even feel a little ashamed that you don’t already know

• Are tired of tiptoeing around what’s real

• Are ready to explore, even if it’s messy

You might be a woman. Or not.
You might be partnered. Or not.
You might have kids. Or not.
Doesn’t matter.

What matters is that you’re done being handed shame in place of knowledge.
You’re done feeling like sexuality has to be confusing, embarrassing, or out of reach.

I’m Reclaiming Too.

I’m not writing this from a mountaintop.
I’m writing this from the middle.

My writing has changed. My clients have changed.
I have changed.

The work I do now goes beyond sex ed.
It’s about connection.
To self.
To others.
To your body.
To your freedom.

This old note I wrote about “smart mamas” isn’t wrong. It just wasn’t complete.
It was a stepping stone.
And I’m sharing it now as a reminder to myself (and maybe to you):

We don’t have to throw out old ideas.
We can compost them.
Let them break down.
Let them feed the new stories we’re writing.
Let them point to the truth that was always underneath.

If this resonates…

If you’re reading this and thinking:

“Oof. This is me.”
“I didn’t know I could talk about this out loud.”
“I want to learn what I was never taught.”
“I want to stop feeling broken or behind.”
“I want to connect more deeply—with myself and with the people I love.”

You’re in the right place.

You don’t have to know exactly what you want yet.
You just have to want more than what you were handed.

Let’s go there.

Lanae
aka The MamaSutra

P.S. Tell me who you are.

P.S. I’d love to know who’s here.
Are you a parent, a seeker, a late bloomer? A bodyworker? A quiet rebel?

If something in this post made you pause, nod, or exhale—drop a comment or reply to this email.
I’d love to know who I’m writing to—and it’s always better when we’re in conversation, not just broadcast.

Can you thrive at something you’ve never been taught?

(This is the question popped into my head at brunch recently.)

Seriously. Let it simmer a bit.

We don’t expect people to drive without lessons.
We don’t hand someone a scalpel and say, “Go. Be a surgeon.”
We don’t assume you’ll magically ace cooking, personal finances, or taxes without some kind of guidance.

But sex? Relationships?

We throw people into the deep end and say, “Good luck.”

No lessons. No skill-building. Just vibes and viral TikToks. 🤷‍♀️

And when things feel off, when sex gets awkward, when connection dries up, when desire dips, nobody questions the sex education.

We blame porn.

We blame ourselves. We assume we are the problem.

We assume we’re broken. Or our partner is. Or the relationship is doomed.

Noooo. It’s not you. It’s the system..

No wonder so many folks feel stuck, disconnected, or unsure what real intimacy even feels like.

Esther Perel said it best:

“Nobody sees maintenance sex in a movie. You only see passionate sex. And while maintenance sex is very important in erotic couples, not everything is a big production.”

Exactly.

The pressure to perform intimacy, instead of learning how to build it, has left so many people feeling like they’re doing it wrong.

I know some folks like to blame porn for “unrealistic expectations,” but here’s the truth:

It’s not just porn. It’s the entire cultural script.
RomComs feed the same myths: that great sex is spontaneous, passionate, cinematic, and constant. They just stop there and don’t go into the graphic detail like porn does.

But for every couple I work with, there’s one TV or movie scene lodged in their head that sets that as the standard: “If it’s not like that… something’s wrong.”

🤯 That’s the damage.

Remember Don Jon? That 2013 film where Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays a guy who’s addicted to porn—and real intimacy confuses the hell out of him? Ahead of its time. It called out the gap between fantasy and connection long before most people were ready to talk about it.

It’s not just porn that skews our expectations. It’s the entire media machine—from rom-coms to TikToks—that sells a version of connection that’s sexy and cinematic.

Porn exaggerates sex. Rom-coms exaggerate love. And both get more screen time than actual sex ed.

We don’t teach people the difference between fantasy and reality—we just let them absorb both and hope they figure it out. Spoiler alert: most don’t.

I’m not saying porn and romcoms should be banned. I’m saying they both deserve a place in a real curriculum. Not because they’re accurate, but because they’re influential.

And if we don’t talk about what they teach, we leave people to fill in the gaps - and they will - with shame, assumptions, and silence.

The problem? There’s never “enough time in the school day” to teach this stuff. So where does it go?

We need to normalize sex, love, and relationships in the day-to-day. Not just in health class. But in how we talk at dinner tables, in community spaces, in media, in what we model—not just what we avoid.

That’s where it gets tricky. This is where the “boots-on-the-ground” plan gets fuzzy.

But just because we don’t have the perfect system yet doesn’t mean we should stay silent. It means we start somewhere.

And this is me starting somewhere.

We don’t teach people the difference between fantasy and reality—we just let them soak it all in and hope they figure it out. Most don’t.

This is exactly why Fantasy is one of the core elements in my Five Building Blocks to a Healthy Sexuality (which I wrote about in my book). Not because fantasy is bad—but because we need to know what it is, how it works, and how to keep it in conversation with reality.

When we ignore it, we don’t get rid of it—we just let it run the show in silence.

Let’s break it down. Here are 3 (okay, plus one) myths that fantasy sells us—and the reality we’re rarely taught:

Myth #1: Great sex is spontaneous, passionate, and constant

Reality: Great sex is co-created, communicated, and sometimes planned.

Movies show the sex scene as the pinnacle of connection. Clothes fly off. Nobody pees first. No one talks about what they like. And yet somehow, both partners finish at the same time, in perfect harmony, usually against a wall.

But in real life? Most people need time, context, and actual communication to feel ready for sex. Spontaneous desire is a real thing—but so is responsive desire, especially in long-term relationships or for people with caregiving fatigue, trauma histories, or hormonal shifts.

Anecdote: I had a client once tell me, “I thought if I didn’t want it on my own, there was something wrong with me.” Nope. They just weren’t taught about responsive desire. Once we reframed that? Total game-changer.

Myth #2: Chemistry = Compatibility

Reality: Chemistry is a spark. Compatibility is the fuel.

We’ve been trained to prioritize “the spark”—but the spark fades. That’s what it does. The question is: what’s left after that?

Hot sex does not mean you’ll agree on how to communicate, raise kids, spend money, or handle stress.

Anecdote: One commenter on a Facebook Reel said the reason relationships fall apart is because of porn. I get it—porn does shape expectations. My response? Rom-coms exaggerate the romance just like porn exaggerates the sex. And yet neither makes it into our actual education.

We need a whole new framework for teaching what intimacy really looks like. Because fantasy isn’t the problem. Mistaking it for a manual is.

Myth #3: If your partner really loves you, they’ll just know what you want

Reality: Nobody is a mind-reader. We have to teach each other how to love us.

Rom-coms love a good montage: the grand gesture, the “you complete me” moment, the perfect first kiss. But they skip over the real work: asking for what you need, revisiting boundaries, and checking in before resentment builds.

Anecdote: One couple I worked with hadn’t had sex in over a year. The partner with lower desire felt broken; the one with higher desire felt rejected. But when they finally had the space to talk it out, what came up was parenting exhaustion, grief, and the fact that they’d both internalized this myth that if they really loved each other, it shouldn’t be this hard.

Newsflash: It’s not a failure of love. It’s time to learn (or unlearn) some things.

BONUS Myth: Porn teaches sex and rom-coms teach love

Reality: Both teach fantasy—and that’s okay, if you know it’s fiction.

Porn is stylized, exaggerated, and often produced with male pleasure at the center. Rom-coms are emotionally driven, idealized, and often skip over messy parts that might derail the plot/fantasy.

Here’s the kicker: neither is inherently bad. But neither is a substitute for real sex ed or relationship tools.

That’s why I created resources like my Confidence in Bed Starter Kit—because I want you to have a real-world map for navigating sex and connection that actually works. No shame. No myths. No scripts that set you up to fail.

Want to rewrite your story around sex and connection? Check out the Confidence in Bed Starter Kit

Confidence In Bed Starter Kit

It’s packed with some cool tools, tips I use with my clients, and no pressure. Just clarity, a bit of confidence, and the kind of education we all should’ve gotten in the first place.

Because real connection isn’t magic—it’s a skill.

And you deserve to be supported in learning it.

xxoo,

Lanae

Heads up: This post contains affiliate links. I might earn a small commission if you buy through them—thanks for supporting my work!

My dad once pulled me aside when I was dating my ex and said:

“I don’t think he loves you enough.”

And I brushed it off. I told him he didn’t understand. That he didn’t see what it was like when we were alone.

But he was right.

He saw something I didn’t want to see. Or couldn’t. And then he died before I could ever ask him what he meant. What he saw. What he wished for me.

I’ve thought about that moment more times than I can count, especially as I look back now at the men I’ve loved, the ones who tried and failed, and the ones who never really tried at all.

And lately, with tears running down my cheeks, I’ve finally put words to the thing I didn’t want to admit:

I have never been cherished in the way I needed.

What That Looked Like

My ex bought me things. Nice things. But we weren’t connected, not really. Not as good, true friends. He didn’t confide in me. Not in the way that creates intimacy—the quiet intimacy that says, “You’re my person.”

And I didn’t ask for more. I wore the title of “low maintenance” like a badge of honor. I didn’t say what I needed or felt. I wanted to be the Cool Girl. The easy one. The “Pick Me” girl—before we even had language for that.

And my dad? He saw something. At least a flicker of something. Enough to say that one thing. And yet not enough to press. To protect. To stop me. And maybe I’m mad about that too.

The Lie I Grew Up With

“Men only want one thing.”

It was stated as a fact. Baked into my childhood. Folded into what little sex education I got.

But beneath it was a deeper message—one I didn’t understand at the time:

“You’re not a person to be known. You’re an object to be wanted, protected, or claimed.”

And if that’s your starting point—if you grow up being taught to be desirable instead of being known—how would you ever learn what it feels like to be cherished?

How could you even know what to look for?

I didn’t. So I mistook being chosen for being valued.
I thought being wanted meant I was loved.
I thought affection meant intimacy.
I thought low-maintenance made me worthy.

And I accepted crumbs, thinking they were a feast.

What Cherishing Actually Looks Like

This, I think, is what my dad didn’t see—and what I didn’t know to name.

It’s not a vibe.
It’s not jewelry or flowers (though those can be lovely).
It’s not public declarations or being on your best behavior when others are watching.

Cherishing is a verb. A practice. A pattern.

It looks like:

• Listening when I speak—and remembering.

• Asking, “How can I support you?”—and meaning it.

• Protecting my peace, my time, my dreams.

• Checking in before hard days, not just reacting after.

• Uplifting me in rooms I’m not in—honoring who I am, even when no one’s watching.

• Respecting my inner world, especially when it’s inconvenient.

• Being proud of my growth, not threatened by it.

No one taught me what to look for in love.
I didn’t have a roadmap for emotional safety.
So how could I know what to expect—or what to ask for?

Cherishing is active. Intentional. Mutual. Safe.

It’s something I’ve seen other women receive.I didn’t know it was possible—until I saw it.
And I didn’t know I was missing it—until I finally named it.

What I Don’t Want My Daughters to Learn

Not the settling.
Not the shrinking.
Not the idea that being “easygoing” is what makes you lovable. Not the idea that affection in public equals intimacy in private. Not the habit of biting your tongue just to stay chosen.

I want them to know they deserve more. That being chosen isn’t the same as being cherished.

That “low maintenance” isn’t a personality type. It’s a survival strategy. And I want them to thrive.

What I’ll Say to Them Instead

You're not broken for wanting more. You're not too much. You're not hard to love.

You probably picked up a script that taught you to expect less.

But you don’t have to keep reading from it.

And you get to write a new one for yourself, and for those who come after you.

What I Want You to Know:

• You’re not here to be chosen. You get to choose, too.

• Mockery isn’t connection. Remembering what you care about is.

• It’s okay to show someone how to love you better, but if you’re the only one trying while they coast, that’s labor.

• Wanting sex doesn’t make you bad. Treating people like they’re disposable does.

• You’re not weak for having feelings. You’re dangerous without them.

• Being good at love means being good at listening.

• Pay attention to how you feel after you’re with someone. That’s your nervous system speaking to you.

• You’re allowed to want. And you’re allowed to walk away when you’re not met.

What I Wish I Could Tell My Dad

You were right. He didn’t love me enough.
But you should have said more.
I wish you had helped me see it then.

Still—I see it now. And I won’t pass this silence along.

If my daughter ever asks me what to look for in love, I won’t start with warnings about what men want.

I’ll tell her this:

“Love isn’t being wanted.
It’s being known.
And still chosen—over and over.”

I’m not sharing this because I need sympathy. I’m sharing it because I know I’m not the only one who’s lived by the wrong script.
And if this helps even one person stop settling, speak up, or walk away—then maybe that’s what my dad was trying to do for me.

And maybe now, I’m doing it for you.

xxoo

Lanae

P.S. I know this one was more personal than usual for a Friday afternoon. I don’t always write from this place, but today it asked to be written. Thanks for meeting me here.

Did this resonate? I’d love to hear your story—drop a comment or share this with someone who needs to hear it.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a situation that came up recently in coaching, how sex became the go-to shortcut for connection in modern relationships.

Not because it's wrong, but because it's… limited. And that limitation leaves so many people feeling broken when sex slows down, shifts, or stops.

I just wrote about this on my blog—it’s the first in a 3-part series—and I want to invite you into the conversation. Most folks use Substack for full essays, but I’m keeping it light here and saving the full story for my site.

Think of this post as the flirty hello before the main event. If you’re curious, come join me over there for Part 1 of the series.

It’s called:

Sex Isn’t the Only Way to Connect: Why We Need a Better Map for Intimacy

I hope it gives you a breath, a little relief, or a reminder that you’re not broken, you're navigating a culture that gave you a pretty limited map.

I’ll be back on Monday with Part 2, which is for the parents, because sleep deprivation and spit-up don’t exactly scream “let’s get it on.”

xxoo

Lanae

When I first started answering questions on Quora, it was never about the money.

I saw it as a place to offer some words of wisdom in a space cluttered with opinions, overconfidence, and a guy shouting on a yacht about high-value women. I thought it could use some new input, especially around sex, intimacy, and relationships. So I showed up fairly consistently, answering with honesty and compassion. I brought my professional experience as a certified sex coach and educator. And over time, something wild happened…

Over 7 million people read my answers.

One post, “How does Tinder work?” was read over 646,000 times. But I don’t know who those readers are. I don’t see their faces. I don’t know if they felt relief, frustration, clarity, or connection. I don’t even know if they made it to the end!

But I do know this: I showed up. I brought my education and coaching experience to a public platform that doesn’t always reward truth-telling, especially about topics like sex and relationships.

Then Quora introduced monetization. And I thought, “Why not? If I’m giving away professional-grade insights, maybe it’s okay to receive a little something for it.” So, I flipped the switch.

And then, the views dropped.

My writing became harder to find. Unless readers were paying, the algorithm quietly pushed it out of sight (note the dip in 2022).

To date, I’ve made $188.05 from 7 million views.

That’s about 0.0026 cents per view.

Just as I was sitting with these thoughts, I received an email from Planned Parenthood Mar Monte, the largest affiliate in the country.

They made the painful decision to walk away from $3 million in federal funding rather than compromise their values. New regulations meant accepting the funding would require them to promote abstinence-only education programs that are proven to be ineffective, exclusionary, and harmful.

They chose integrity over funding, knowing exactly what it would cost.

It’s been this way for a while, but it seems to be getting worse. We live in a system where the educators, counselors, and organizations doing the most important work are asked to do it invisibly, quietly, and for free—or worse, to compromise their values for the sake of survival.

And if you’re wondering why this matters to you, it’s this:

• This is why our kids receive outdated, inadequate sex education in schools.

• This is why people stay stuck in unhappy relationships, repeating patterns they can’t even name.

• This is why so many wrestle with shame, confusion, and unmet needs around their own pleasure and connection.

Because the people doing the work to change those things are often the ones fighting the hardest to simply be seen—let alone supported.

So yes, this is the part where I practice what I teach.

If my writing has ever helped you name something you couldn’t before…

If it reminded you that you’re not broken or weird or alone…

And you’d like to say thank you—

You can do that directly here: Paypal link to Donation

Tipping is entirely optional. But it’s available—because this work has value. And I’m done pretending otherwise.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for being curious. And thank you for standing with me to value the kind of education that changes lives—even when the platforms and systems don’t.

xxoo

Lanae

If you aren’t feeling horny anymore but you want to have sex, then let’s explore why and how to get horny again.

10 Reasons Why You Don’t Get Horny Anymore

Your whole life can impact your libido level. From mental health challenges to lifestyle factors, hormonal changes to relationship issues, there are a wide variety of reasons why you’re never horny anymore.

Let’s explore all of the reasons why your sexual desire may be on the floor and how to address them.

1. Too Stressed or Tired

When you’re wiped out from daily hassles or just super tired, sex might be the last thing on your mind. It’s like your body is saying, “Nope, not today.”

• Stress Response: When you’re stressed, your body goes into “fight or flight” mode, releasing adrenaline and cortisol. These hormones are great for short bursts of energy needed in emergencies, but when they’re constantly flowing, they can reduce your interest in activities that are, well, not about surviving the next few minutes. This includes sex.

• Energy Conservation: Think of your body like a smartphone battery. When the charge is low, your phone might go into power-saving mode, shutting down non-essential apps to keep going. Your body does something similar when you’re tired. It conserves energy, and unfortunately, sex is one of the first things it cuts back on.

• Physical Effects of Fatigue: Being overly tired can mess with your nervous system, making it harder for your body to experience sexual arousal or reach orgasm. It’s not just about feeling sleepy; it’s about your body not being able to do its thing.

• Emotional Disconnect: Fatigue and stress can also make you feel less connected to your partner. If you’re mentally and emotionally exhausted, it’s tough to find the emotional bandwidth to share an intimate moment.

Getting enough rest and managing your stress are key to getting your sex drive back on track. Simple things like ensuring you get enough sleep, taking breaks during a busy day, or finding stress-relief techniques that work for you can help reset your body’s reactions and improve your overall mood—and possibly your interest in sex.

2. Relationship Rough Patches

If things aren’t great with your partner, it can definitely affect how you feel sexually. It’s hard to want to get close when you’re feeling distant.

If you feel more like roommates than lovers, here’s what you can do to fix that:

• Talk It Out: Just be real with each other. Sit down and share what’s on your mind like, “Hey, I’ve been feeling kinda distant. Can we figure this out together?” It’s all about being open without pointing fingers.

• Hang Out More: Sometimes you just need to hang out to feel connected again. Plan a regular movie night, start a puzzle together, or just chill and chat about your day. Little moments can lead to big changes in how you feel about each other.

• Get Some Help: If talking between the two of you feels like walking through a minefield, maybe it’s time to bring in a pro. Seeing a couples therapist isn’t about admitting defeat; it’s about leveling up your relationship skills.

• Show Some Love: Don’t underestimate a quick hug, a peck on the cheek, or a sweet text in the middle of the day. These little bits of love can make both of you feel better and closer.

• Try New Stuff Together: Shake things up by doing something fun and different. It could be as simple as trying a new restaurant, or maybe something wild like ziplining. New adventures can make you see each other in a new light and spark up some excitement.

By tackling these relationship snags head-on, you can get back to feeling good around each other, which might just make you want to snuggle up a little closer.

Want more tips? Read my guide to making relationships last.

3. Hormones Out of Whack

Sometimes your body’s hormones just aren’t in sync. Whether it’s your sex hormones like testosterone or estrogen, or even your thyroid acting up, it can really mess with your mojo.

• Testosterone and Estrogen: Yup, both dudes and ladies need these. When they’re out of whack, your desire for sex might nosedive. Guys need to watch their testosterone levels, and ladies, those estrogen levels can be a wild ride, especially during menopause.

• Too Much Thyroid (Hyperthyroidism): Makes you feel all jittery and anxious—definitely not in the mood for love.

• Not Enough Thyroid (Hypothyroidism): Leaves you feeling too tired or down to even think about getting busy.

• Cortisol Overload: Stress has this annoying habit of pumping out cortisol, which basically tells your sex hormones to take a hike. So, when you’re stressed to the max, your sex drive often hits rock bottom.

It’s totally normal for your hormones to go a little haywire every now and then. But if it’s messing with your life or your happiness, it might be time to chat with a doctor. Getting your lifestyle into gear with some good food, exercise, and chill time can really help get those hormones in line.

Find Out the Other Reasons

If you’re feeling like your sex drive just isn’t what it used to be, reaching out for help is the first step toward regaining your confidence and rediscovering pleasure. Let’s work together to find solutions that reignite your desire and bring joy back into your intimate life. Book a call with me to get started.

xxoo,

Lanae

P.S. I have a few other resources for sexual difficulties that you might be interested in…

• How To Revive A Relationship Sexually (From A Sex Coach)

• Why Am I Never Horny Anymore? 10 Common Reasons

• How To Increase Female Libido: Tips for Rekindling Passion

• How To Have Better Orgasms That Are Stronger And Longer

You can use this experience to deepen, connect, and even entertain yourselves. I wouldn’t say this is a tool to repair broken connections, but perhaps vulnerably sharing answers can create some space for eventual repair conversations.

And vulnerability can be sexy. Opportunities to connect like this sometimes have an unexpected impact in the bedroom as well.

If you’re anything like me, you might think you know what the other person might say, but they may surprise you. This tool is fantastic for getting to know one another (over and over again).

So now: Schedule your Questions Night, grab your favorite beverages, snuggle up in a nice blanket and get cozy, then begin the questions with each other… 

1. If you have a day to yourself, how would you spend it?

2. What part of yourself are you working on?

3. Does having sex together make you feel closer to me, or does it make you feel something else? 

4. Is there anything you want from me but have stopped asking?

5. What would you like to do but are afraid to ask?

6. What do you wish to see in a relationship? 

7. What are your goals for our relationship?

8. What changes need to happen to reach those goals?

9. Is there anything you need from me that you have given up on getting?

10. Is there anything I'm doing or any way I'm being that's losing your respect?

Let me know how this exercise goes for you!

xxoo,
Lanae

P.S. One note of caution: Questions can be a good thing or a “bad thing” for your relationship, depending upon what the questions uncover. I know some folks avoid questions like these for fear of what they might reveal. You may find that you don’t have the same values. You may find that the person’s future view doesn’t match what you want in your life. Honestly, I look at those revelations as “good things,” though. If you come to the realization that you’re not a good fit, then hopefully you can still be friendly and respectful to each other. 

I was on a flight where I sat in the exit row- the kind that has the flight attendant jumpseat directly opposite on the wall. 

Across the aisle was a 20-something hetero couple. He was an average, casually dressed SF tech guy. She was super femme and pretty, but her voice was the type that always asks to talk to the manager (a Karen, if you will). 

Somehow I knew this meant trouble. 

As the flight got underway, the young woman (let’s call her Karen) pulled the jumpseat down and put her feet up, shoes and all. A flight attendant politely asked her not to, but as soon as the flight attendant turned his back, she ignored the direction and put her feet up again. Another flight attendant walked by and saw her and politely asked her not to. She must have said something about the shoes because Karen kicked off her sandals and put a napkin down so she could put her bare feet on the jumpseat again. That second flight attendant asked her not to again. Karen threw the napkin on the floor and then put her bare feet up again (!) without the napkin. The staff saw this and went to get the purser. 

The purser arrived and there was much discussion of not following flight crew instructions and Karen was given a form to fill out as acknowledgement of the discussion. As soon as the purser left Karen pointedly tossed the form on the floor. When the purser came back to get the completed form, the woman said she wasn’t going to fill it out. “What’s your name?” she demanded, as if that would intimidate the purser. 

All the while, Karen’s male partner looked on, sort of dazed and ignoring the scene. 

Why am I telling you this?

This story is an example of what I call: “You know it when you see it.” 

I have an exercise for people working to figure out their relationships, especially pre-marriage. Talking about your thoughts, feelings, and experiences helps you understand each other better. This exercise is made up of conversations starters that encourage openness, support, and fun, making your connection even stronger.

Read more

Our current culture thinks sex should be limited to reproductive purposes—and fails to acknowledge that sex is equally healthy after 40, 50, 60, and on and on.

The truth? I’ve heard many times from my sexologist colleagues that sex only gets better as we age.

As a 50-something myself, I can offer my own support of that view but don’t just take my word for it! There are plenty of sex positive resources to support this – many of whom are also graduates from the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality, like me. Anita Hoffer, Gina Ogden, & Betty Dodson are just a few. 

My favorite current example is Jane Fonda, age 74, who recently did an interview where she shared happiness, sexual satisfaction, and having found “true intimacy” with her current partner. Can I just say, that’s f’ing beautiful? 

The depth of Jane’s experience includes communication, consent, respect, pleasure, and I’d bet there’s a healthy dose of fantasy present as well…

So, today I want to tackle the question: why do so many people have a hard time accepting others who are older being sexual? – while at the same time asserting that we plan to be sexual when we reach that ripe age?

Sex is a very healthy aspect of our adult life and such a tremendous part of who we are in general – why would we think that would change as others get older?

It’s SO important to understand how sexuality changes with age. I’ve outlined all the stages for you here so you can know everything there is to know.

Ultimately, your sexuality is a lifelong journey, shifting with your needs, experiences, and the rhythms of your body. Embracing these changes with open arms can lead to a fulfilling, rewarding life, at any age.

Let’s move away from celebrating youth as the only true source of “beauty and perfection”. Let’s be kinder to ourselves and embrace the aging process especially as it relates to sex.

Love the wrinkles. Embrace the gray hair (ok, admittedly I’m working on this one…).

And if you have children, help them understand that sex between two lovers can be a beautiful thing… and just like the animals they see having sex in the zoo, grandmas and grandpas do it too. ;)

xxoo,
Lanae

P.S. Want to read more of what I’ve been writing lately? Here’s a few other articles for you to browse:

When To Talk To Kids About Sex

How To Increase Female Libido: Tips for Rekindling Passion

How To Have Better Orgasms That Are Stronger And Longer

You know self-pleasure feels good—and it’s essential for a fulfilling and pleasurable sex life. When you indulge in self-love (or partner love), you promote healing, confidence, and get a chance to celebrate your body and sexuality.

Sex toys and accessories are a great addition, whether you go it alone or with a partner(s). They offer a variety of sensations and can help you discover new erogenous zones as well as add exciting novelty to your experience.

Whether you want to enhance your experience or just try something new, adding in some help can be a fun and exciting way to experiment. And that’s why I’m giving away a FREE Limited Edition CRAVE Pleasure Jewelry set with two black cuffs and a black vesper (a.k.a. vibrating necklace).

All you need to do to enter is visit the giveaway page and enter your email address.

Need a few more reasons why this luxurious set might be for you?

• During orgasm, the brain releases dopamine, endorphins, oxytocin, and serotonin, which can improve mood, reduce stress and anxiety, and help you feel relaxed and satisfied.

• The release of these feel-good neurotransmitters can help reduce symptoms of depression and make you feel more positive and energized.

• Plus, lowering stress levels can have health benefits like better sleep and an improved immune response.

• Most importantly, enhancing your time in the bedroom can help you feel comfortable and confident with your body.

Pleasure is a deeply personal and empowering journey. It's about breaking free from societal norms and shame while embracing your body and your sexuality.

So, go ahead and enter this no-cost giveaway. It ends tonight! (U.S. shipping only and we never share your email).

Because you are deserving of pleasure, happiness, and self-love <3

xxoo,
Lanae

P.S. Remember: sharing is caring! Forward this email to someone who might want to win too :)

I’m so excited to announce my first-ever, feel-good giveaway!

I’ve partnered with CRAVE to offer YOU the chance to win this Limited Edition Crave Pleasure Jewelry set with two black cuffs and a black vesper (a.k.a. vibrating necklace).

All you need to do to enter is click here to visit our giveaway page and enter your email address. Done and done!

Why might you want this?

• Elegance and Style: The Crave Pleasure Jewelry set is designed to make you feel special, confident, and sexy. With two elegant restraints and the vesper necklace, you get to wear your self-love and positivity, everywhere you go.

• Feel-Good Factor: Ummmm…need I explain? ;)

• It's Free, No-Cost: Entering the giveaway is quick, easy, and completely free!

This feel-good giveaway lasts for one week so enter before Sunday, June 23 at midnight Pacific time. This is for U.S. shipping only. And we never, ever share emails.

I’ll be announcing the winner the following week!

Enter the giveaway and get your chance to win

Wishing you the best of luck!

xxoo,
Lanae

P.S. Sharing is caring! Forward this email to your partner, lover, friends and neighbors who would love to join in the fun!

First, I have a BIG announcement coming next week… If there’s ever been an email to look out for, it’s my next email - so keep your eyes on your inbox! ;)

I am thrilled to announce that I am now offering pre-marital classes online and specialized sex coaching services tailored for couples preparing for marriage. These new services are designed to help couples build strong, healthy foundations for their relationships, enhancing intimacy and communication as they embark on their new life together. If you know anyone who could benefit from this, please LMK.
You may have noticed my absence from social media, particularly on Meta platforms. I straight-up GHOSTED. Why? I was increasingly exasperated with their sex-negative stance and the inconsistency in their content policies. While they allow content that borders on pornographic, educational content like mine often got shadowbanned.
This has been a battle for YEARS, and I’ve thrown in the towel. I have decided to focus on my client work and this email list where I can reach you without interference.

Finally, for now, our email communications will be managed through Substack. There’s nothing you need to do on your end. You will continue to receive all updates and content directly in your inbox.

During this transition, there is a chance that my emails might land in your junk or promotions folder. Please check these folders and mark my emails as 'Not Spam' or move them to your primary inbox to ensure you don’t miss any updates.

Your continued support and understanding mean the world to me. If there is something you need or want, please reach out and let me know.

Thank you for being a reader/follower/fan of my work.

If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

xxoo,
Dr. Lanae St. John

American adults tend to sexualize so much. A few years ago, I discovered a tool that helped me experience a profound personal shift around body image. One that brought me to tears.

…But before I tell that story, let me give you some background.

Back then, I told my kids that I felt like a fraud. Teaching body acceptance has been second nature, but I was not feeling strong and healthy in my body. This was new for me. I shared this inner struggle of loving my body but hating my tummy specifically with my adolescent daughters.

Of course, after hearing it so much from me over the years, they told me how beautiful they thought I was. Well, that went in one ear and out the other, to be honest.

After a while, my 12-year-old started to ask me, “Can I kiss your tummy?” with this adorable, almost cartoon-like face of glee and excitement. The older daughter began to join in as well with “sneak a tummy” – sneak attacks where she showers me with love. It was silly for a while until I got tired of the question and annoyed with the constant silliness. After fending off the request over and over, I finally asked, “Why do you keep asking if you can kiss my tummy?” Cindy said with a smile, “Because I want you to love your tummy as much as I love your tummy.”

So flash forward to a few weeks later. I was performing a Self-Touch Exercise. Lots of you are already thinking this was something lewd but this exercise was not with the goal of stimulating to orgasm. This 15-minute exercise of nonsexual self-touch was one where the goal was to explore the sensations of my own touch on my body, feel what it felt like, bookmark all of that in my own database (brain), and enjoy the pleasure of it all. While I laid on the rug of the workshop space, I felt the various clothed and unclothed surfaces of my body. I noticed that I consciously avoided my belly. Knowing that the method I’m learning does not avoid triggers, it was almost in an exasperated manner that I thought, “FINE! I’ll touch my stomach.” I lightly ran my hands over my belly and scrunched up my face in disgust. I thought to myself, “I don’t like how it’s so squishy. I don’t like how soft this is.” and then I heard my daughter, “Can I kiss your tummy?”

Fuuuuuck. I started to cry.

Her loving words were writing over my shitty self-talk.

Helping women uncover and overcome body image issues is really challenging in this American culture. I’m raising two daughters, and I can attest: this shit is hard. My strategy for them has been to avoid tabloid magazines and commercial television while also talking to them about so many of the images and messages that are prevalent about women (and men, frankly) that we encounter together. The expectations of beauty, the pressure to conform, the standards of “what is beautiful”… it’s a lot.

If you struggle with body image issues or think bad things about your body, imagine the “ideal” that you do have in your head. Now go to a public space and notice how many people are NOT that.

I’m humbled and hopeful by the words of my daughter. Her words are proof that my shitty, negative self-talk can be overwritten like a computer program that is out of date. Thank goodness for that.

So, today I want to share a powerful exercise with you, to help you with your body image too. Because when you improve your body image, you improve your sex life.

This is called the Mirror Exercise…

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