Last week, I put on a workshop called “The Cherished Woman.” I designed it for both healing and fun. I wanted the day to be profound for every participant – what I didn’t expect was its impact on me.
We did some relaxation and movement exercises and then one by one, we shared important experiences from our sexual histories. The stories were full of pride and joy and sometimes grief and frustration. We found a safe place with each other that set the stage – just as I had hoped – for the second part of the afternoon.
Every woman was aware that the workshop included a volunteer experience called vagina gazing. As the phrase suggests, in this practice, a woman would undress from the waist down, lie on some cushions and allow the group to look into her most private place.
What the group didn’t know is that I had never facilitated that exact practice before. Loyal blog readers may remember my impassioned post (Happy, Healthy Pussy) a few months ago where I was struck with a lightning bolt of intuition that I was meant to create this very workshop. And so with the faith that this event and practice fit into the meant-to-be category, I proceeded with confidence and curiosity.
The first surprise was that several woman during the earlier part of the workshop expressed excited, nervous anticipation of the vagina gazing. I started to realize that the promise of that activity was a main draw for the group.
The second unexpected element was when I realized that some women might benefit from being able to select from a variety of experiential options. And so each of us could choose whether she wanted to show only her breasts or show just her lower half or strip nude – whatever would be helpful. She could ask the rest of the group to make factual observations about her body or she could request compliments. She could also ask the group to send her positive energy or even lay hands on her if that felt safe and good.
One by one, each woman shared her vulnerability, beauty and unfortunately for many of us – feelings of shame. Oh, what a pleasure it was to tell one woman how fascinating her surgery scars were and to cheer for another woman who wanted nothing more than to strip naked and strut her stuff for us. And how loving it felt to touch a third woman’s stretch marks while reassuring her that not only were they not that noticeable but her obsession about them was crazy. It gave me a deep sense of relief to have a venue to express love, compassion and acceptance to other women.