When I was a baby, I had a huge piece of glass fall on me when I was in my crib.
I grew up during the war in Lebanon and explosions were not unusual. And on one random day, as I was sleeping in my crib, another explosion tore open the window above me and the whole thing came crashing straight down on me. Luckily for me, my family had just added window films on all our glass so although the window broke into many pieces, it remained in tact stuck to the film as it came crashing down on me, and as a result could not wound me.
Do I remember this? Not in my consciousness. I’m sure my body does. But I heard this story when my dad was first telling me about it, proud that I had not cried. Apparently, I had just lay there waiting for someone to rescue me from under the glass, not even whimpering.
I haven’t thought much about this day or this story. Until yesterday. I’m newly working with an ordained Priestess who is also an amazing somatic psychotherapist. And you know how it goes, childhood shit comes up. And I’ve been called into the Temple of Great Mother. In layman’s terms, people, this means I have been called to really examine the extent of my own self love.
And we all know what a bitch self love is, right?
So it’s been on my mind. And I keep thinking about the window. Why did I not cry? Was I in shock? Had my father gotten his “don’t cry” attitude into my bones THAT early on? Did I sleep through it?
Or maybe, just maybe, I had faith. I trusted. That all was going to be ok. Even though it must have felt super painful and scary, I somehow knew that I was held. Even though my whole baby nervous system was probably shivering from the reverberations of a massive explosions, I somehow stayed calm. I somehow knew that someone would come for me. That someone’s got my back.
I’ll never know the answer. But what I do know is that if I had panicked and moved and cried, I may have gotten A LOT more injured.
Interesting the way that goes, right? How sometimes in our moments of fear and panic, when we are not trusting, we feel the need to DO something. And what we don’t realize is that in the DOING itself, we are harming ourselves. Sometimes, we just gotta lay back and have faith in the instinctual part of us that is telling us to not move, to not say yes to the deal, to not try to “fix” it. And to wait.
I have no idea how long I waited under that glass. Probably not long. But it probably felt like FOREVER being under there. And still something in my little innocent baby brain knew to wait it out.
Makes me wonder. How often are we stuck under a metaphorical piece of glass, plotting our way out of a shit situation, squirming under the weight and end up cutting ourselves a lot more than if we just surrendered and had faith that it was all gonna work out somehow?
Sometimes, the ultimate act of self-love is to stop trying to fix the shitty situation or push your way out of it. Sometimes, the ultimate act of self-love is just wait it out and love yourself through it.
Often, this disguises itself as defeat. But it’s not. It’s just surrender. You see:
Surrender pairs itself well with self-love. Defeat only goes well with self-loathing. – CLICK TO TWEET
Sometimes, we aren’t strong enough to lift the big piece of window glass off our own bodies. Sometimes, we need a force bigger than ourselves to help us out.
And that doesn’t mean you are any less. That doesn’t mean you didn’t try to save yourself. It just means that you are patiently loving yourself through it.
If you want to explore this form of self-love and surrender more, I’m bringing together an elite group of badass chicks ready to take their nourishment and pleasure to the next level. Are you one of them? APPLY HERE.
I’m the pleasure girl. My brand is the pleasure plate. I advocate pleasure pleasure pleasure.
But don’t be fooled. I can rage. I am a passionate, dark double Scorpio and when I rage, I RAGE.
And today happens to be one of those days.
I’ve been trying to write for the last hour. I literally have like 6 word documents open.
And I realized, the reason I can’t just focus on any of it is because I was trying to write from a place where I was denying my anger.
But today my body will not have it. She is pissed and she has DEMANDED that I speak to you about it.
Last week, I owned up to being a feminist and so today I deliver to you the RAGING feminist. (And just in case this isn’t obvious, I am raging against the paradigm of MASCULINITY being the answer, I’m not raging against MEN. I love me some good man.)
You might be asking, where is the health coach? What happened to the funny, happy health coach I subscribed to? She’s taking a nap right now but she’s totally signed off on this.
You know why? Because she does what she does BECAUSE of the raging feminist. I turned to treating my body like a temple because those around me didn’t. And for the longest time, I didn’t either.
(If you want to hear the whole story, and ways to turn your body into your temple, I highly recommend signing up for my FREE webinar this Thursday.)
Women are drowning.
We are drowning under an invisible veil that shames our bodies.
That teaches us that the feminine is unsafe.
That our erotic body is dangerous and that our emotionality is a burden.
That our intuition is witchcraft and that we are most powerful when we do things the linear, masculine way.
I see so many beautiful women whose shine has been dulled; so many women who are suffering because they don’t feel safe in their bodies. They have cut off connection to parts of themselves, whether it’s their hearts, their womb space or their vagina because they have taught to value their minds and their productivity over any of that other “stuff”.
I was at the top of that list of women. I was denying my feminine strengths by subscribing to all of this as much as anyone else. I did everything to shush my body. To shut her up when she was telling me anything.
A nudging feeling that something is off with this job? Nope, it pays well. Screamingly painful period cramps? Grab the strongest painkillers you can get your hands on. Constant exhaustion? CAFFFFFEEEIIIIINE to the rescue. Feeling heart ache? Suck it up. You have to “win”. No time for emotions.
The joke was on me because I was participating in a losing battle. My health was deteriorating under the mask of caffeine & medication and my heart’s aching desires were completely muffled by “shoulds” and “musts” and a rational, responsible game plan.
I didn’t realize how much of that was because I felt unsafe. Because I had been living in an environment that fostered that belief. The world around me didn’t revere my feminine body. It shat on it, to be quite frank. From little incidents like “close your legs” to bigger incidents of sexual molestation, I was taught to cover it up and disconnect from my erotic body.
At work, with my father, around my bosses, I was taught that my emotional body was an obstacle. And everywhere else, I was taught that my spiritual/energetic body was a figment of my imagination. “What do you mean you feel other people’s energies? That’s crazy talk!”
And so I adopted these views. I learned to distrust everything about my feminine body and trusted only the plan and the mind and productivity. And I was miserable.
If any of this speaks to you, please know, please trust that I have been there and I find myself there occasionally, still. And I understand. And I want nothing more than for all of us to feel free of this paradigm and to learn to trust the feminine again.
This is why I created The Pleasure Plate. I want to live in a world where women trust their inner body voice over the media’s voice. – CLICK TO TWEET
The one that tells us eat this way, or eat that way. Fuck them. They don’t know what your body needs. Only you do.
I won’t be raging as much as today but I will be addressing tools I’ve adopted for myself and the women I work with on this Thursday’s webinar. And I want you to be well-equipped, darling.
So join us here.
And if you can’t make the time, I want you to still be able to grab the tools on your own time. Register and we’ll send you the recording.
I’m a motherf***in’ hippie.
I don’t know why I’ve been resisting it for so long.
I mean, I believe in free love. Like open, infinite, enough-to-go-ten-times-around-the-world love. My favorite place on earth right now is Ubud, Bali. My second favorite place on earth is Burning Man. If I had the choice, I’d wear flower crowns and gold tattoos A LOT. Wait, I do wear flower crowns and gold tattoos a lot.
I’m a motherfuckin’ hippie.
I used to sell alternative menstrual products at Mcgill University’s women’s union when I was 19. Most of my job is about leading women back home into their bodies, into their feminine wisdom, into their strength. I believe that the paradigm “the feminine is unsafe” no longer serves humanity.
I’m a motherfuckin’ feminist.
I started the Lebanese chapter of Jane Goodall’s environmental organization at my highschool at 15. And I led students through the streets of Beirut in a march against sectarianism. I believe in justice and using our voice to change shit.
I’m a motherfuckin’ activist.
So then I ask myself. Why do I resist these labels so much?
I think it’s because I sometimes don’t realize I’m buying into a myth, a belief … that I cannot wear flower crowns and a leather jacket. That I cannot fight for women’s rights while listening to Lil’ Wayne. That I cannot speak for the voiceless when I, too, sometimes feel voiceless. That just because I believe in radical love and yoga and green juice doesn’t mean I’ll ever grow out my pits and ban showers. Or only listen to Loreena Mckennitt. And there’s nothing wrong with those choices. I may have a Loreena Mckennitt album somewhere in my iTunes. So then why does it worry me so much to be labeled any of these?
When I sit with it, I think it’s because I don’t want to be reduced to a stereotype or be put in a box or dismissed into a category.
“Oh that’s the card-reading new agey girl”
or “That’s the angry feminist” (ß Is this really still a thing? I guess it must be if I’m triggered by it, yeah?)
or “The preaching, rigid, adrenaline-junkie activist.”
I am Nadia. I love me a pair of hot as shit heels as much as I love walking barefoot. I love dirty, filthy, misogynistic hip hop as much as I love fuckin Enigma. There I said it. I love chanting at a cacao ceremony and working with a priestess as much as I love drinking tequila and dancing to dark techhouse. I love watching The Kardashians as much as I love devouring a Milan Kundera novel. I love New York as much as I love Bali. I am Nadia and I am me.
So enough is enough.
From here on out I pledge to be fully, wholly, 100% me. All parts of me.
The OCD and the messy, the nurturing and the needy, the fashionista and the nudist, the pole-dancer and the healer.
I so want to hear from you, gorgeous.
What do you wanna come out and pledge?
And if you’re interested in diving deeper into the different parts of you, join me on my FREE webinar, Your Pleasure Potential: Learn 3 NEW ways to tap into your Full Feminine Power.