The Sexually Liberated Woman: A Conversation With Kate

It’s been two years since I opened my sexual liberation coaching practice, and since then I’ve had the honor of facilitating a diverse group of women into lush erotic and sensual awakenings.

slw-evyanBeing a sexuality doula—that is, one who helps facilitate, educate, and hold space for women who want to transition out of sexual shame and into their erotic power—is my deepest, truest passion, and through this work of intimate counseling and gentle coaching, I’ve witnessed some pretty gorgeous transformations.

I’ve watched timid wallflowers bloom into vibrant, voluptuous exhibitionists. I’ve seen the sexually traumatized heal their wounds with the mindfulness and power of a medicine woman. I’ve been filled with awed as I witnessed the raw vulnerability it takes to stand in the truth of who you are.

With each session I’ve had, with each woman I’ve held space for, I have been changed, challenged, and cracked wide open, and their stories continue to inspire me long after we’ve had our final session.

So for the entire month of August, I’m going to be highlighting and celebrating the Sexually Liberated Woman. Not the idea of her, not the vague notion of her, but her true-blue sexual empowerment in the flesh, featuring some of the courageous women I’ve had the privilege of working one-on-one with in the last few years.

First up. . . Kate.

Kate came to me with a desire to have her erotic life be in full bloom. She wanted to be wildly feminine and was curious about what “the Divine Feminine” meant to her. She wanted to feel a deep connection to the world around her—in both a sensual and an intimate way.

But she felt closed-off, numbed out, censored. She was struggling with feeling at home in her body and didn’t have a clear connection to her intuition. And all of this was completely stifling her innate sexuality.

So, when she found out I was beginning to accept clients for one-on-one work, she followed the impulse of her heart and invited me to facilitate her journey.

Soon after, we got to work.

One thing I loved about working with Kate was the depth of her resilient spirit. Even when things were topsy-turvy, even when she was unsure and right in the middle of intense self-discovery, the core of who she was—her strength, her tenacity, her curiosity—remained sturdy, hopeful, open.

And it wasn’t long before she began to bloom radiantly into her feminine, self-loving, and deeply erotic self.


“I feel like I got my fierceness back. I don’t waver at the core of who I am anymore.”

It’s been almost two and a half years since we worked together; lots of things have changed for Kate. And we recently sat down together to discuss where she’s at in her sexual liberation journey now, while reminiscing along the way.

Take a listen to our candid conversation below.

(Player not showing up? Click here.)


> The moment she knew her heart needed some attention.

> The connection between her fear of lack of control and her enjoyment of sex.

> On following her intuition: “I had spent my whole life suppressing it so no one could tell me I was wrong.”

> The hard points: “Pain was more familiar to me than pleasure.” And. . . “I didn’t feel seen as a woman at all.”

> The perspective shift that changed everything.

> “Sex before felt like a performance.” Now? It’s a completely different experience.

> Being sexually liberated isn’t just about the sex, “it’s a liberation of yourself.”

Where to find Kate: // Blog // Facebook // Instagram

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Ready to become a Sexually Liberated Woman?

I’m not accepting clients at this time, but put your name on my wait-list and get notified as soon as I open my coaching practice again. I’d love to create some magic with you.

 *I’ll never, ever send you anything other than helpful updates about my coaching practice. Promise.

6 Simple Ways To Be In a Long-Distant Relationship With the Moon


// photo from Tumblr \\

I’m in a long distance relationship with the moon.

I pray to her. I sing to her. I worship her. Depending on what mood she’s in, I sometimes do rituals in homage to her. And many, many times I’ve made love underneath her pregnant milky light, so conscious of her hovering presence over me that the pleasure I felt was magnified and devoured with fervor.

Lately I’ve become so intensely hyperaware of the moon’s existence and influence on me that whenever I’m feeling off or generally unlike myself, I look up to the sky to see what phase she is in. And usually, just knowing that makes everything—my outer world and my inner world—make sense.

I feel her and breathe her, and she opens me and nourishes me. It’s a beautiful relationship.

However, it wasn’t always this way. It took me quite some time before I actually began to pay full attention to her beyond a surface level fascination. Our long-distance relationship was consummated when I began to fully honor and become more aware of my body and its cycles.

For me, I couldn’t begin to establish an intimate relationship with my body without noticing the moon.

The moon has been a longtime symbol for and of womanness. In ancient times, she was seen as a figure of holy wisdom and a metaphor of the feminine. She’s also been tied intimately to female body—many believe that just as the moon governs the sea’s tides, she too rules our innermost tides, particularly our blood.

I’ve been so curious about that part of our relationship—how the moon and I are supposedly intricately connected simply because I have a uterus and other inner anatomy. The idea of this sounded overly romantic to me, right on the cusp of cheesy. But as I continued exploring total body awareness, the moon kept popping up.

I would read articles on stepping more into the feminine or books about honoring your body’s natural cycles, and there she was. When I researched menstrual cups as an alternative to tampons, “moon” was in the title. My friend referred to my belly as my “moon belly” when I was struggling to love its roundedness.

With all this moon talk, naturally I started to become curious. . .

What if my body was intricately connected with the moon?
What if the key to honoring my own cycles resided in her?
How differently would my life be if I fostered a lasting relationship with her?

And so began our courtship.

It was a slow process. I was cautious at first and afraid of being carried away by weird new-age woo-woo-ness. But she was patient and gave me plenty of time to work through my issues.

We’ve been together ever since.

There’s something incredibly powerful about reconnecting with nature as a means of self-discovery. For me, it has always felt like a returning back to my roots, to my ancestral ties of honoring and celebrating and worshiping the earth and the life it provides.

Truly, it just makes sense, and I find so much pleasure in it. And that sense of pleasure and curiosity has found its way into both my work and my coaching practice.

Mostly by accident I’ve facilitated several of my clients on how to begin and nurture a relationship with a moon as a way to find peace with their own natural cycles as women.

I am not a moon expert, just a longtime crazy-in-love admirer who is deeply astounded with nature and the way it influences our earthly bodies.

So, if you’d like to being to honor your body’s natural cycles and get a little more connected to the inherent wisdom of nature, I suggest starting with the moon. Here’s how.

How to be in a long-distance relationship with the moon:

1. Notice her. Simply look up into the sky and lock eyes with her. Notice what phase she is in—is she waxing or waning? See if you can make out her softs lines and scars. Say hello. Say goodnight. Make it a thing.

2. Buy a moon calendar. This’ll enhance the noticing process. This’ll make her presence more concrete in your life. There’s something really special about seeing all the ways she changes form and cycles through light to dark. (Get your moon calendar here.)

*BONUS! Track your menstrual cycle on your moon calendar. Use a red marker to fill in the days when you’re bleeding.

3. Chart your moods to hers. Notice the moon is dark? Check in with your body. How’s it feeling? How’re you feeling? What’s your mood? Be prepared to honor whatever is coming up for you.

*BONUS! Create a moon journal where you can jot down your findings and observations.

4. Bathe in her light. When the moon isn’t dark, sit and let her milky rays shine directly on your bare skin. Drink her in. Try to get as much contact with her as possible.

*BONUS! Find a room or a window in your place that has a straight shot of the moon. Spend some time there. Sleep, journal, meditate, dance.

5. Fill your space (or adorn yourself) with her likeness. Buy a crescent moon necklace. Keep a moonstone on your bedside table. Paint a picture of her likeness. Buy and frame a moon poster and put it in your office or above your bed (I have this one in my studio space).

Do this so that no matter what, you have her near you always.

6. Read up on her astrology. Know the moon’s impending or current phase and see what lessons that phase can teach you. For example, today’s full moon in Capricorn is asking us to restructure, balance, and prioritize.

Read more about today’s full moon here:

> Chani Nicholas
> Virgo Magic
> Mystic Mamma

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A crazy-beautiful thing begins to happen when you start to attune yourself to the moon:

You become deeply influenced by her.

So, while I’m sure you’re ready to dive right into a courtship with her, use caution. This relationship is a beautiful one, but it can open you up to the raw, watery feelings that come with syncing up to the moon.

Only begin this relationship with the moon if you’re ready to fully honor your natural inner cycles and hers—even the ones that are hard to cuddle up to.

What To Do When You’re Going Through a Dry Spell


// photo by Edie Sunday \\

I’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch lately.

Life has been really hard ’round these parts. All areas of my world are being tested: my body and immune system, my relationships and friendships, the state of my work life, the entirety of my emotional fortitude. Everything, everything feels like it’s in upheaval.

And it’s been wreaking havoc on my sex life.

And not just my sex life, but my erotic life—the way I feel in my body as a sexual woman, the attention (and intention) I give to my sexual expression, the space I take up in that place and the amount of energy that is available there.

I can always tell when I’m under-fucked because the symptoms of this show up vibrantly in all areas of my life. I live more in my head rather than fully inhabiting my body. I feel creatively dried out. I feel especially disconnected from my partner, as though the cord that keeps our love electrified has been severed.

I become irritable. And painfully cynical. And I feel so ungrounded.

I also have a lot of nocturnal emissions—which, in their own way, give me a sense of release but really just goes to further the sexual tension.

It would seem that the easiest cure to being under-fucked would be to fuck more. And sometimes that fixes things. Sometimes all it takes is me getting bold and wild and jumping my partner’s bones, kind of overriding my emotions and my body’s current state of inaction. Sometimes that works.

But during these particular times, wherein I feel deep uncertainty and generally overwhelmed by how up-in-the-air everything feels, sex is the furthest thing from my mind and from my body.

It’s hard to feel sexy when your entire world at the moment feels so utterly unsexy.

One of my philosophies as a sexuality doula is that, for women, everything is connected. Love-life is connected to home-life is connected to work-life is connected to emotional wellbeing is connected to sex-life. And if just one of those things are out of alignment—say, emotional wellbeing feels funky—everything else (particularly the sex) feels off.

That’s where I am right now: feeling off—as in not turned on. And there’s no way that I can be present for my erotic desires, let alone engage in sex wholeheartedly—whether that is with myself or with my partner—if I don’t feel totally aligned.

So. . . what is there to do? If having sex isn’t the automatic cure here of being under-fucked, what should I do instead?

Because there’s got to be something done about it, right? I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to work to change the situation. I cannot stay here in this place of un-sexuality. It’s so uncomfortable. It’s so unnatural. I cannot stay here. I cannot stay here.

This is what my mind says.

But my body? My body just wants to be.

My body wants to rest and sprawl itself on the cool floor, arms outstretched, heaving audible sighs.

My body wants to be acknowledged for its tiredness, for how hard it’s working, for how much it’s trying.

My body, really, wants to be left alone, to be left untouched only until it cannot stand to be without physical contact any longer.

My body, honestly, wants to surrender to all the madness that’s happening, to not try to fix anything, but to let it all be—including this dry spell.

And it’s hard, because dry spells (and rough patches) often feel like they’ll last forever. And sometimes they do.

But usually, at least in my personal experience, there’s always another side to the inactivity. I know that it’s not totally resistant to the kisses my partner leaves on my shoulders or the glances we exchange while watching television.

Sometimes, it’s best to just wait it out.

Last year in my self-defense class, I learned that waiting is just as active of a choice as fighting is; that waiting it out can be an effective way to get through a situation alive or with at least a little less emotional or physical damage.

My teachers told us that waiting lets us breath and think about what to do next.

And so for this I wait. And breathe. And think about what to do next to get through the situation alive.

Knowing that this too shall pass.

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Can’t wait it out? You might need a more potent medicine. And I’ve got just the thing.

I Went to Queer Summer Camp & Came Back More Gay


// view from 8,000ft; via Instagram \\

Recently someone asked me, “How can you be a feminist when you’re married to a man?”

Now, while this question was jam packed with all kinds of heavy complexity—things that I’d rather not get into right now—I realized that answering it was a lot easier than answering the other question I’ve been tossing around in my head for almost 10 years:

“How can you be bisexual when you’ve only ever dated men?”

I’ve written about this before. About my first real understandings of my sexuality; about opening up my marriage so I could date women; about disowning and then re-embracing the word “bisexual” to describe my orientation. But learning to take up space and fully accept myself as a bi-slash-queer woman is what I’ve been navigating and processing the most.

For as long as I’ve known that I wasn’t straight, I didn’t think I was allowed to claim a spot in the queer community. Partly because I had come out so late in life, and partly because I was married to a cis (albeit, queer himself) guy. I felt that by identifying as bi (or queer, or pansexual) and not having had sexual or romantic experience with women, I was being dishonest—with myself and with others.

Because on the surface, me and my life can very easily pass as hetero. I’m in a long-term committed relationship with a dude. My sexual history is comprised almost entirely of the opposite sex. I’m super femme. I don’t have an alternative and / or multi-colored hairstyle.

Bi-erasure is very real, & I’ve often felt like I contribute to my own invisibility.

Sometimes I’d get curious about whether living a more out and “queer lifestyle”—whatever that meant—would help assuage my feelings of disconnect. But mostly, I’ve felt strangely separated and disallowed from non-straight circles because my sexual identity didn’t seem to qualify within the explicit confines of queerness.

Which bred self-doubt. Which spurred spiraling inner denial. Which exacerbated my otherness.

Of course, these things would’ve worked themselves out eventually. I would’ve figured out how much leniency and flexibility and acceptance queer spaces and identities contain. And I think I would’ve eventually found peace in my queerness, enough to finally take up space and claim my sexuality with pride and consistency.

But it’s hard to do these things alone. And it’s hard to try to transform and transcend yourself out of nowhere without an experience that anchors you to what’s true.

Sometimes you have to just go for it; take a risk and expose yourself to a whole new element to figure out once and for all who you really are.

I’m really good at doing that—taking risks and exposing myself to new things. Not so much for the pleasure of it, but more so because I like resolution and closure.

So, in hopes of finding resolution to the question “Can I really be queer if I’m married to a guy?”, and with determination to get closure around the separateness of me and the queer community, I went to queer summer camp. 

The details of the camp—the who, what, where, why—don’t matter (though you can read all about it here). What’s most important to me is how this adventure helped to validate and solidify my beingness as a queer woman of color. How I was seen and heard and accepted fully for who I was—even though I’m married to a guy and have bare minimum experience with women.

In a word, camp was cathartic, and I came back home more gay than I was before I left.

Not more gay in the sense that I like women way more than I like men now, but more like I can stand tall and big and proud in my queerness. That I finally feel free to take up and claim space in the queer community. That I can call myself queer (or bi, or pansexual) and not have a quiver in my voice or a tremble in my knees.

All because I was seen, heard, accepted.

It helps, too, when you’re suspended on a giant mountain 8,000 feet above sea level, surrounded by wild terrain and incredible humans.

While I was up there, I took many moments to myself to collect my thoughts and re-center myself back to my True North, and on the second-to-last day of camp, I wrote this in my journal:

I am a pretty cool person. last night, I danced until 2am; I moved my body in ways that felt so fluid, so sexually charged & sensual. I went to bed with my ears buzzing—perhaps from the blaring music, but likely from the delightful energy radiating throughout my body.

today, who I am feels so bottomless, so vast that I cannot measure it, so wild that I cannot tame it. I am enjoying it. I am enjoying the freedom & independence of this trip. I am loving how I am leaning into spontaneity & openness.

it’s so beautiful up here. I feel a deep connection to this place. it almost feels like home, & essentially it is. the desert is where I grew up—where I began my journey of selfhood. & I’m doing it all over again. in these woods. I am truly happy to be here.

Being affirmed is the most healing of medicines.

It gives you the courage to stand fully in your truth. It restores the parts of you that feel withered and worn. It reminds you of where your home is.

Your Self-Pleasure Story: “Because of Masturbation, I Love My Body. . .”


// photo : Tumblr \\

“I love masturbating. I love solo sex. I love fucking myself. I love being able to come home, lay in my bed, take off my panties, and let my fantasies go wild.

Masturbation inspires me, gives me passion, makes me feel like the sexiest woman on the planet.

It’s because of fucking myself that I have so much appreciation of my body. Masturbation makes me love my hands, face, breasts, tummy, thighs, legs—everything.

I love my body more and more everyday because of masturbating.

My imagination to this day has been more creative, more inspiring, and more dirtier because of jilling off. Porn, erotica, my lavish and salacious imagination get me off. I love using my fingers, vibrators, humping my pillow.

I love getting off solo because it connects to me everything. My body, nature, the air, my mind, my being, my soul. When I touch myself I feel so connected to my body inside and out.

Expressing my sexuality, sensuality, desire and lust through masturbation is the ultimate experience and the ultimate love.

It’s because of masturbation that I love my body more, I love my sexuality more. I love myself more because of jilling off.”

Written by Serene

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I want to say a giant thank you to everyone who submitted their self-pleasure stories in celebration of National Masturbation Month. Even the ones that didn’t get published (there were far too many to choose from!)—thank you. I see you.

Through reading your stories, through witnessing your boldness, I myself was able to heal unknowable parts of me that were still hindered by shame around masturbation.

And I know intuitively, others were healed too.