Most relationships aren’t starved for sex—they’re starved for attunement. In this kickoff, we unpack why “I don’t want sex” often means “I don’t feel safely, slowly, specifically known.” The episode opens with a real call from a friend questioning divorce, then moves through safety rituals, curiosity as foreplay, and “mother-grade noticing” you can practice tonight. “I’m not into sex” often means: I don’t feel safe, seen, or specifically known. We address why we need to connect first and why it’s not asking for a lot. Want to know me! Don’t ask me to open my body before you open my mind.

What you’ll learn

Why “I don’t want sex” often means “I don’t feel safely, slowly, specifically known.”

Performance vs presence: date-night checkboxes vs reading the body.

Consent as architecture (negotiate → check-ins → aftercare).

“Mother spidey senses” for everyone: notice need before words.

Self-knowledge first: the Gesture Glossary + a 60-sec self-scan.

Try one of these tonightOne slow kiss (no goal)

• One real question you don’t know the answer to

• One sensory upgrade (light/music/scent)

• Ask: “What helped your body breathe?”

Pull quotes

“We’re not asking for more performance. We’re asking for attunement.”

“Safety didn’t kill the thrill—it made the risk taste like freedom.”

“Curiosity is foreplay.”

“Know your tells to read theirs.”

Felicia traces the quiet deaths we live through—leaving a home, shedding an identity, choosing motherhood and self at once. From fallen leaves to umbilical cords, she explores how change asks us to release control, face pain, and tell the truth about who we are becoming.

Key Themes:

Micro-deaths: identity, place, and roles

Change as nature’s law (trees, decomposition, renewal)

The umbilical cord as a metaphor for attachment and release

Pain as a necessary passage—not a bypassable step

Christ as exemplar vs. outsourced savior

Integrity as daily practice: tiny honest moves

Listener Takeaways:

Notice where you’re clinging; name one cord you can loosen today

Choose one small act of integrity and do it before the day ends

Reframe pain as the doorway to alignment, not a detour

Felicia explores the everyday altar of motherhood—where care becomes love when it’s shared, not hoarded. Through a Dark Goddess lens (Dancing in the Flames), she reframes “self-sacrifice” as a broken cauldron and argues for boundaries, shared labor, and the courage to receive as prerequisites for giving. Pop-culture moments (a “Gatsby gala,” The Hunger Games, and “They were careless people”) help teach our kids what not to emulate—and what to build instead.

What you’ll hear:

Children as initiations, not nuisances

The altar vs. the martyr: why love requires reciprocity

Grief, regret, and the tenderness of shared care

The Dark Goddess as a guide to wholeness (laundry-room altars, Baba Yaga questions)

Why boundaries, rest, and pleasure keep the “cauldron” from cracking

Teaching discernment in a spectacle-driven culture

References & resources:

Marion Woodman & Elinor Dickson, Dancing in the Flames: The Dark Goddess in the Transformation of Consciousness

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (“They were careless people…”)

Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (the Capitol as spectacle)

Takeaways:

Caring is love’s teacher—but only when it’s shared.

You can’t pour from an empty body; you also can’t pour if you never receive.

Ordinary rooms can be altars; ordinary tasks can be rituals.

Our magic isn’t gone—it’s waiting for a stronger pot.

If this moved you, share it with one friend who’s carrying too much—and subscribe on Substack for essays, early drops, and members-only conversations.

Felicia reflects on the question, “Why did you get divorced?” and traces an answer through embodied pleasure, the deadness she refused, and the ways women’s sexuality is outsourced and commodified. An intimate meditation on erotic aliveness, consent, and coming home to the Divinity inside our cells.

Key Takeaways

Self-pleasure can be a practice of presence, not performance.

Women’s sexuality is often commodified and policed; liberation must be self-owned, not traded.

Erotic aliveness counters numbness and “deadness,” reconnecting imagination, emotion, and sensation.

Safety is the precondition for opening; the body tells the truth first.

Halloween, divorce, and the everyday test of wills. In this tender solo, Felicia invites us into the messy middle—the school parade you weren’t ready for, the “you’re so strong” comments that land sideways, and the private moments where the storm threatens to rip you to pieces. This is an episode about soul-holding: tiny acts that keep us human when the to-do list stretches to infinity. Not a bypass. Not grit theatre. Practice.

We talk about: letting pain move so it doesn’t poison you; why one small action unlocks big ones; how to “do what I can and let go of what I can’t”; and the quiet grace of being held—by a brother’s “I got you, sis,” by a hug, by your own steady breath.

If you’re walking through something hard today, come sit with this one.

Felicia traces a lineage of women who never rested grandmother, mother, herself—and the moment she burned down a “perfect” life to make space for truth. This is a tender, feral meditation on rest, eros, and the inner girl who only appears when she’s loved. A rebel’s theology of transformation, usable, embodied, a little dangerous.

Episode Highlights

The women who never sat down: inherited hustle, tender pride, and the cost of being “good.”

The pedestal and the cage: how “perfect wife/mother” scripts sanctify our exhaustion.

On virgin myths and hidden bodies: why purity culture tries to sterilize the erotic.

The fire moment: choosing truth over optics and watching the old house burn.

Meeting the inner fairy: rescuing the malnourished self from the cave.

Rest as resistance: moving from self-betrayal to self-belonging.

Boundaries as mercy; desire as compass; devotion as daily, embodied practice.

Mary Magdalene’s subversive gospel: the treasure is within; rules without love are cages.

Learning to be seen without apologizing—and the holy art of posting, deleting, and trying again.

What it means to mother four souls while re-mothering yourself.

Who this episode is for

Women who are tired of being the exhibit of “having it all,” mothers who feel guilty for wanting more, ex-good girls, and anyone ready to trade performance for presence.

Listener Takeaways

A simple reframe: “I don’t need to be better; I need to belong to myself.”

A mini-practice for rest you’ll actually do (bath, sun, nap, movement, kiss, post, delete, try again).

One permission slip: Your desire isn’t the problem, it’s the map.

Today’s devotional wrestles with where—or if—God lives, and why the body was my first church. I talk about hiding from “knowing” with busy perfection, getting brought to my knees, and the strange alchemy where the pain of alignment expands our capacity for joy. If “up-there God” never worked for you, this one’s for you.

Timestamps

Coffee + confession: “I don’t believe in an up-there God.”

The gendered God problem; why a half-God can’t hold a whole life

The body as the beginning: tight, trapped, spinning wheels

How I hid from knowing (babies, birthdays, busy)

Letting myself out: color floods back, but so does shadow

Pain as teacher: brought to my knees until I listened

The equation: capacity to hold pain = capacity to receive joy

If prayer never fit, try presence: “God as the love I house”

This episode traces how want eclipses love, why our nervous systems cling to the status quo, and what it looks like to re-center care—personally, politically, and on the block where we actually live.

In this episode

The “want machine” vs. the memory of love

Need as interruption—and why that’s the point

Motherwork as a political ethic (remembering, soothing, staying)

Homeostasis/allostasis 101: why change feels impossible

From dominance to care: reframing “strength”

Micro-rituals for turning your sight inward (bath, breath, boundaries)

Neighborhood resilience: co-ops, block pantries, bees & barter

Five takeaways

Want is loud; need is quiet. Train your attention toward the quiet.

Biology isn’t destiny. Stability bias (homeostasis) explains the resistance—and invites patient, repeated, embodied reps.

Motherwork is governance. Remembering and soothing are political acts.

Care scales locally first. Start with neighbors; build small systems that keep people sane and fed.

Strength ≠ dominance. Try courage with compassion.

If you prefer to read ….

I watched a show last night…

A tiny superhero girl crawls through a man’s brain. I can see the relief.

But isn’t it connected? You’re like, whoa, that is MORBID. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s perfectly normal. That feeling, I mean.

Bear with my ramblings. Normally they churn into something productive. I must have some audacity to think people want to hear anything I say. Is that at the heart of our suffering? Do we deem ourselves unworthy by default? Is that why we seek a God—validation outside of ourselves?

Just questions. That’s what my brain is full of. I won’t ever answer them all, will I? So… do I just chill?

Do people just chill? I shouldn’t even have a phone. I wake up every day expecting to save the whole world from my kitchen table—with the last of my food in the fridge, unsure how I’ll feed my babies next month. I see babies across the world starving, girls walking the streets of LA selling their souls, the man on the corner outside the concert venue. Our position to the right of him—leaving the joy of a concert with full bellies, hand in hand with a lover, laughing with friends—our position is temporary. Life can remind us of our equality in a split second.

A world revolving around power.

A world revolving around money.

A world often devoid of love, full of souls that require it.

So it’s no wonder that when religion is used as escape, it haunts our world. It promises an exit from this pain-body, somewhere to end up when we blow this world to hell.

The world is frustrated.

The women are frustrated.

We’ve been ignored so long.

But we are lovers. We smile at rainbows and the sun shining through the crowds. Lovers trying to love a world that bypasses love because it bypasses feeling. Because a bomb can end it all. Because physical life “doesn’t matter,” because we’re going to Heaven.

When religion forgets embodiment, it becomes isolated, forgetful. Religion is isolated. Religion is forgetful. Religion is not embodied.

And what of non-dualism? It can also become an escape hatch: “We’re all one,” so pain becomes abstract. Any path, Christian, secular, mystical, can drift into bypassing when it refuses to feel. A chance to escape reality. To know that we are all one. So pain is numb. Pain in the body becomes irrelevant. We will POOF into the cosmos. . . ENLIGHTNMENT NOW. Mmmmm, I am cosmic now that these mushrooms have shown me the way out of myself.

Have you ever held an infant in your arms after they ripped through your womb, as your labia pulsed from the pressure, blood clots oozing like jellyfish from your open core? God, cosmos, forever and this moment in your arms? Have you ever held the hand of the dying? Promised them comfort you knew nothing of. That you loved them? Have you lost someone too soon? Your brain repeating the last moment you saw them on loop, psycho torture device.

Our true understanding lies in our blood, our heart, our love (feminine) … “God”, cosmos, intellect (masculine) illuminates this work. So though the pain of facing this world threatens to destroy me I seek to illuminate it.

I will not push aside the pain of this existence. I will not deny the truth of our birth, blood covered and helpless, dead unless for love. Love the body, the milk of a human mother, the pulse of her body sustaining my existence. An offering. One made against wills, against abilities, against desire. We are nothing without The Mother and we have forgotten her.

We have followed a half truth of our existence. We KILL AND FIGHT in the name of a God who is trying to illuminate love. God sent his Son, through woman … God sent us to feel. He gave us this weak body to experience pain. We age and die to show us we are limited. To teach us to give, to offer the dregs of ourselves to another. In small consistent ways we are taught to mute our bodies.

As I woke to the sensations of my living body truth flooded me. I crashed into despair and confusion. Waking up felt like “ruining a good thing,” but my body was screaming a truth I couldn’t come to with my mind, so conditioned I was. Aliveness is messy and merciful; it breaks false order. It forces us into alignment if we choose to listen instead of ignore ourselves.

TODAY’S PRACTICE

Practice (today): Put a hand on your sternum. Inhale for 4, hold 2, exhale for 6—three rounds.

Whisper: be here.

Question: Where am I buying “peace” with self-abandonment? Name one micro-course-correct you’ll make today. I choose presence every second. Some seconds, minutes, hours slip away in mindlessness; and I recorrect.

Blessing: May your honesty gather the right people and release the wrong rooms. Go gently, not quietly.

Until tomorrow, keep your throat chakra open.