The Life-Changing (Practical) Magic of Pleasure and Inspired Friendship
The Life-Changing (Practical) Magic of Pleasure and Inspired Friendship
A Tale of Creative Awakening | Sunday Honey
After the fallout from my almost-marriage in 2016, I lived with a sassy, beautiful, wildly creative photographer, Kady, in the most incredible house I’ve ever lived in. Our space felt like Practical Magic through and through.1 Glimmering trinkets on the ornate side tables and mantles, pillar candles everywhere, strands of pearls and lace draped just so, incense, always, gold rimmed mirrors on the walls, the moodiest lighting (no overheads, ever) a brooding playlist in the background (unless there was a horror movie on, which was Kady’s favorite, especially on the sleepless nights she spent editing photos). Oh, and a black cat named Boo.
We were quite like The Owens sisters: in love and lust with men in wild whirlwinds, entrenched in various dramas, drinking bourbon and singing on the rich brown hardwood floor at 3 am. We were joined at the hip, each a bit broken, confused and floating, yet we had a tether to each other. I did not realize this then.
Eventually we went our separate ways. Six years have passed since then, our lives shifted, we grew and changed. But I always missed our friendship; small things, absences in my life, reminded me of how myself I felt when I was around her. How seen and cherished I was for who I was. I remember she once told me about this glimmer she saw in me even during my darkest days.
We spoke a couple times over the years intermittently, but life always happened and we never got around to catching up like we intended to. Until a couple weeks ago, when Kady reached out about getting together and asked if I’d model for a photoshoot she was doing for a yoga event. It felt like the perfect opportunity to reconnect while sharing the things we both love — movement and art.
Fast forward to yesterday. I arrived at her studio and immediately the aroma washed over me, incense and a hint of palo santo and it felt like home before I even walked in the door. And then her hug. Kady gives the best hugs, rich and full of life and like she isn’t afraid of touching you. You know those hugs some people give, the ones that feel like they’re worried you might burst into flames if they embrace you, really? Yeah, hers are the opposite of that. So I walked in the doors and we hugged and I was overwhelmed with a sense of warm familiarity and ease and “ahhhhhh, yes, this. THIS.”
The past few years have been challenging for me on the friendship front. Every friend I’ve made has felt… lackluster, and not for lack of trying. I bopped around to different communities, and really invested myself in some, but there was always something that didn’t feel quite right. The sense of sisterhood just wasn’t there. And this isn’t a new phenomenon. I’ve felt this way most of my life. Save for one other long term friendship (hey Jo), I can safely say all my female friendships have felt more distanced than close. More competitive than connected. More a game of weighing each other up than supporting each other.
As we got into the flow of shooting and moving and started talking, we ventured around to our pre-2016 days through which we were deeply embedded in the world of climbing, and both in long term relationships with “serious climbers.” We were staples at the gym where we climbed, part of the “strong climbers who were all so freaking obsessed with training to be THE BEST CLIMBER2 and devoting all our time and energy to getting better at this silly sport of prancing around on neon plastic “rocks” that nothing outside our delusional bubble mattered” group.3
Well, that’s not quite true. That nothing else mattered. Kady was always invested in her art, staying up till all hours painting and drawing and generally letting her creativity flow. It was inspiring. I wanted to be like that. But even so, we were surrounded by people to whom all other life pursuits, interests, accomplishments outside the climbing realm were irrelevant.
I grieve for the version of me who admired Kady in her vibrant creativity, but was afraid to speak it. And for the one who was afraid to so much as acknowledge her own desire to pursue a creative life, fearing she’d be cast out of the group.
We were in a sorry state of disconnection back then. Like tangled up bunches of seaweed floating in a polluted ocean, every so often brushing up against each other.
Our unspoken dictate was: forget art, forget friends who aren’t climbers, forget eating anything yummy lest you be anything less than ripped, forget your body has a purpose other than to get you up a wall…
Wait. What? Why?
I’m sure we never asked ourselves, “why?” because if we had, we would’ve had to confront a shocking truth: the purpose of our pursuits was missing. We didn’t know why we were doing what we were doing save for some carnal impulses. Have rippling abs. Be fuckable. That is not even close to enough. Not for women like me. Not for women like Kady. And if you’re reading this, not for women like you. Nor for anyone, regardless of gender.
It’s deeper than that, though. The body thing. As I drove home it started hitting me like hail. The group of people we spent all our time with — the environment — the pervading mindset, was fundamentally abusive. There we were, perceiving the body as this thing to be whipped into shape. This thing to be disciplined if it wasn’t “perfect.” This thing that was an object to run and run and run until it would run no longer. And then, to be ashamed of and angry with and embarrassed by if it wasn’t running perfectly or if it was hungry or tired or wanted to do anything other than be dragged up and down a wall ad infinitum because… that was it’s sole purpose, apparently. The means to the end of getting us wanted and approved of by our equally misguided peers.
For years I’ve wondered just how I got so entrenched in my eating disorder, so blinded by the obsessive need to exercise. How I came to believe waking up at 4 am to do hours of calisthenics before going to work (at the climbing gym) was a good idea. How I thought denying my very human, very basic needs for nourishment, connection, joy, and pleasure would ever make me happy.
Our conversation during the photoshoot pulled this thread that had long been hiding in the shadows of me.
I remember reading somewhere that female athletes often have trouble reaching orgasm. The article cited something about tight abdominal muscles being the “root cause,” but that's just the surface. Yes, I’m generalizing a bit here; I know not all female athletes have disordered eating habits and shitty relationships with their bodies, yet I do believe that women in general, and athletes in particular, are prone to seeing their bodies as sources of approval rather than canvases brimming with potential for pleasure and connection. So sure, on a mechanical level it may be even more difficult for athletes to let go of the endlessly rehearsed tension in their bodies and receive pleasure, but the issues of how we abuse, shame, and disconnect from our bodies in a broader sense are all too pervasive in western culture.
If you’ve been around here for a while you may know that my pleasure practice is a deep source of insight and wisdom in my life. So let me tell you about a little gem I discovered last night. Well first, let me tell you about bodily stockholm syndrome.
Bodily stockholm syndrome is a transitional threshold between realizing something cognitively and embodying it. In other words the space between having a grand realization in your mental awareness — like acknowledging that your body is just a breath away from experiencing deep pleasure and joy, and that this experience is not shameful or something you should resist — and actually feeling that truth come alive in your body, in your lived experienced.
Okay, well I guess I spoiled the gem. That's what I realized. That there were still muscles in my body that believed they had to tense against the pleasure coursing through me. There were still gossamer threads of that decades-long story woven into my fascia — the story that I was doing something wrong by surrendering to the state of pleasure inherent to my body. Inherent to every body.
Whoever you are, wherever you are in your journey, know this: beneath the layers of shame, fear, rejection, tension, self criticism, unprocessed emotions, doubt, embarrassment, anxiety, confusion… there is an infinite source of pleasure and power within you. There is eros, coursing beneath it all.
Beneath every thought that distracts you, every habitual brace against feeling, every moment you tell yourself you are “too much,” eros is still there, the constant pulse of desire, whispering sweetness through sensation, waiting to incarnate through you.
Of course, eros is not confined to sexual pleasure. And here’s where I’ll circle back to how yesterday’s photoshoot went. What actually happened is we shot for an hour or so, then delved into a conversation about our creative passions and life journeys. Now we were talking about purpose, about why make art, why move, why just making something pretty or appearing “hot” as defined by a shallow culture isn’t enough. We were talking about meaning and passion and growth in a way I haven’t experienced with another woman in god knows how long. We were plotting photoshoots and workshops and sharing creative visions. Eros entered the conversation and it spiraled and opened and sparked something beyond us. Magick happened.
P.S. I have an invitation for you:
Because I am so damn turned on by the beauty of the creative process… and because the world, (even the wondrous substack world), is currently flooded with “how to succeed in xyz” guides that blind us to our own processes of magick…
I’ll be hosting a free 5-day challenge, YOUR OWN MUSE. This challenge will help you:
••• expand and enliven your creative practice
••• anchor into your feminine flow
••• show up for yourself and your practice on the daily
••• channel your art with ease and pleasure
••• experience your body as a source of wisdom, pleasure, and power
••• connect with and receive support from others on the journey of crafting turned on, creatively inspired lives
••• stop worrying about if you’re “good enough” or if you’re doing it the “right way”
It’s your way or the highway, baby.
»»»The challenge will begin April 22nd and run through April 26th.
Leave me a comment or reply to this email letting me know you’re interested and I’ll send you the link to join in a few days! And please feel free to share with friends you think may be interested as well ♥️
xx Faye
if you haven’t watched Practical Magic, the 1996 masterpiece starring Nicole Kidman, Sandra Bullock, Stockard Channing, and Dianne West, get outta here and come back when you’ve done your homework
“Best” climber | Noun | (distorted definition): the most ripped, hardest climbing climber often at the expense of being a good human or taking care of yourself
not knocking climbing - it’s great fun, and an amazing way to move in different shapes and planes and rhythms and to feel the connect with your body, IF you do it with the right mindset
This really resonated for me, I always find myself falling back into the thoughts of needing to change my body and whip it into shape like you said. This made me remember that pleasure can transform the body in deep, cellular, unseen ways.
Isn’t it more important how our bodies feel than how they look? Shouldn’t we be more concerned about the way it feels to be inside our body, attuned to sensation than to be floating outside of ourselves, overly concerned with how we are perceived? This is what this piece made me think. It also made me feel grief at how our world has steered us away from pleasure and connection to our bodies.
I love your writing. It is so alive and embodied. I’d love to hear about the 5 day challenge!
"Bodily stockholm syndrome is a transitional threshold between realizing something cognitively and embodying it. In other words the space between having a grand realization in your mental awareness" How interesting! I learned something new there. I'm always interested in the 'space between'!