Sexy Starts with Me

Sexy is a word I have struggled with in the past, mostly because I have not really known what it means, both in general and in regards to myself. I guess I can point out what I think is sexy, or what society thinks is sexy, but feeling sexy is a whole other story. So, I recently came up with the idea that sexy must be something that comes with growing up and gaining confidence. After all, I have never run into someone that is down on themselves and considered them to be sexy, thus leading me to believe that sexy is not all physical, but has emotional components as well. So, that was one missing piece to the puzzle, but I was still looking for something else. So I turned to the dictionary for moral support and these are the definitions I found.

Sexy - 1. concerned predominantly or excessively with sex

2. sexually interesting or exciting; radiating sexuality

3. excitingly appealing; glamorous.

This then led me to look up the word sexual.

Sexual - 1. of, pertaining to, or for sex

2. occurring between or involving the sexes

3. having sexual organs or reproducing by process involving both sexes

So, by definition, sexual is someone who likes sex, likes to reproduce, and isn't afraid to show that. And sexy, by definition, is someone who is interested in sex, is exciting because of that, and just basically radiates sex. Now I think I get it and am onto something.

When I was in my early twenties, I considered sexy to be mostly a superficial and surface thing. I would never have considered emotional maturity, self-confidence, or spirituality to be sexy or sexual qualities. But now, years later, I am not as drawn to "sexy" based on anything tangible. And in regards to sexy and me, if sexy is anything like loving, then I need to find myself sexy before I can fully relate it to someone else. So I think I will start with my own definition of sexy...

Sexy, for me, is being genuine and real, true to myself and other people. Sexy is hot steam pouring from the shower and midnight stars above the ocean. Sexy is my strand of hair that falls in my face as I lean over, and sexy is my laughter echoing from the inner child of my soul. Sexy is making love in the early morning hours and sun kissed skin after a day in salt water and sand. Sexy is when I share my feelings and pour my heart out and whisper good night in my lover's ear. Sexy is the natural curves of my body, the chicken pox scar on my stomach, my long eyelashes, and the moles that only I can see. Sexy is when I write in my office in the early morning and drink juice from a mug with my name on it. Sexy is when I take photos of what I find to be lovely. And sexy is knowing myself from my ears to my toes and as far deep as my soul goes. Sexy is about loving myself and feeling free, motivated, and deeply loved. Sexy is what happens when I really love myself, and feel brave enough to share it with the world. And most of all, sexy is something that comes from within myself.

So for now, I am putting aside my make-up and taking down my mirror. My validation is going to start coming from the inside because I just love myself that much. Because now I know that first comes the loving, and then comes the sexy.

I've wanted, for so long, to be able to relate to this word, though now I realize that it is so much more than that. I have become very connected with the loving part of myself, and now I am ready to explore myself even more. So here I go, hand in hand with my loving, on my journey to finding sexy. More updates to come.

A Journey to the Center of my Heart

I woke up on my 27th birthday, just a few weeks ago, and everything felt different. I sort of chalked this up to being some kind of weird birthday energy, and continued through my day. The feelings of love, however, had an idea of their own. All day I found myself overcome with happiness and would cry, though they were tears I had not felt before. By the end of the day (a very heartwarming, spiritual day filled with self-love), I realized something very important. I love myself. I love myself to pieces in fact. It was the first birthday (and possibly the first time ever that I can remember) where I felt so much unconditional love for myself that I actually cried. I felt (and still feel) so happy to be me. I fell asleep that night with tears in my eyes, thinking there must be something wrong, and if not that, then I must be really close to my period. Either way, I felt in love. The next morning, I woke up crying as well and so I pulled out my journal and just let it all out. I felt this sense of love, gratitude, happiness, love, motivation, excitement, and so many other things. I felt like I was holding my heart in my arms and was surrounded in a bubble of white light. And this is how I have felt since that day.

Love is an interesting thing for me. As a child I learned that love means taking care of someone else and making them happy. I can remember always wanting to make everyone around me happy. I did not learn until later on, about four years ago, that in order to be able to take care of others, I first needed to care for myself. I viewed taking care of myself as loving myself. About six months ago, I realized that to love myself is so much more than to just care for myself. Love is more than taking a shower or cleaning my house or staying on top of my laundry. Love is self-nurturing, self-forgiveness, fun, playing, relaxing, resting, tapping into and allowing my creative side to show, dancing, and just really listening to myself. Love is not just about caring for my body, but also about caring for my mind. So, is it ironic that since I have begun to learn about love, I have completely stopped writing? A little. I used to write a lot as a kid, but mostly stories about the sort of life I wanted to lead. This stopped when I was about ten, and after that I would write only about wanting a boyfriend. Then when I finally did have a boyfriend, I wrote my heart out, but it was all very dark, sad, negative, and mostly had to do with how much love hurt. When I got into the relationship that I am currently in, I felt love, but I could not write about it. I felt like my muse for writing was pain. I had no idea how to write about love and things going well in my life. So aside from a few birthday cards here and there, I had given up on writing, until now of course. Suddenly I want to write only of love, both of life, myself, and my love for other people. I want to pour my heart out and allow others to read it. I want to share my love for myself and my views about love, life, and the world and my own experience as a human. I am coming out a "shell" that I created a long time ago, and I am making myself vulnerable and it feels so GOOD. So this is my journey, and I invite anyone to follow along and watch me write my way through my process of finding my way to my heart, and staying there.