Rebuilding Erotic Trust
The slow, non-linear work of coming back — after harm, betrayal, or years of numbness. Shutting down was smart. Coming back is a process, and there's no right speed — only your nervous system's truth. In her words: "You get to start again. With yourself. With others."
I've sat with enough bodies to know that erotic trust isn't rebuilt by jumping back into bed. It starts way before that — with a hand on your own chest, noticing the breath. With saying out loud, 'I'm tense right now,' and not having to fix it. The nervous system doesn't lie, and it doesn't rush. When someone has overridden their no for years — for love, for survival, for approval — the body learns that speaking up changes nothing. So it stops speaking. That's not brokenness. That's wisdom. It kept you safe.
Coming back isn't linear. Some days you feel a flicker of wanting, and the next day you're numb again. That's not failure. That's the rhythm of repair. I teach people to track sensation like data: 'That felt warm.' 'That made me pull away.' No judgment. Just information. If you're healing with a partner, make a safe word for cuddling. Say 'I'm starting to brace' before you disappear. Celebrate the moment your shoulders drop, not the moment arousal arrives. Arousal is the byproduct of safety — not the proof of it.
If you're healing alone, solo practice isn't a consolation prize. It's the first classroom. Five minutes of honest touch — one hand holding, one exploring — teaches your system that you're not going to abandon it. You get to matter to you. That's where sovereignty lives. And when — or if — you choose to let someone else in, you'll know the difference between performing willingness and actually being ready. You don't owe anyone your healing. But if you step forward, I'll be right here, steady hands, no rush.