As I entered the room on the day of my yoni massage, my heart fluttered in anticipation, like a restless butterfly. I felt nervous and excited, but without any expectations. I reached for my late grandmother’s lavender and royal blue silk scarf, folded into a perfect triangle and tucked into my bag. It still smelled like her.
During the preliminary sessions with my massage practitioner, she suggested I bring sacred objects of my choice to make the setting more personal and intimate. My late grandmother’s scarf was not only sacred, but represented the healing I hoped to accomplish during my session. She thought she was going to go to hell simply for having sex for pleasure, not just procreation, because that’s what she was told.
The scarce messages I received surrounding sex was that it was sacred, special, only suitable within the confines of marriage—but the conversation ended there. Naturally, I was intrigued by this forbidden fruit. What was this ominous, even dangerous-seeming thing that one had to “save themselves” for? What if I didn’t listen and “lost my virginity” preemptively? The church had a simple answer: I would go to hell.
The first time I masturbated, in middle school, I was fascinated by the immensity of the sensations pulsing through my genital area. I wanted more. But because talking about, much less experiencing, sexual pleasure was so taboo, I felt a burning shame that I had no name for at the time—I just knew I was doing something wrong.
In high school, I began exploring my liking for boys and hiding my liking for girls. Senior year, I “lost my virginity.” With that first “sin” committed, I began a long journey of confusing and disempowered sex with multiple men throughout my early twenties.
I spoke about my immense guilt surrounding my sexuality, my disgust towards myself for being a “slut,” my deep-seated beliefs that I was useless, dirty, ruined, revolting.
Years into therapy, the healing journey is still slow, ugly, arduous. But I've now realized that I can unlearn the messages I grew up with and regain autonomy over my sexuality in a way that my grandmother and other ancestors were never permitted to. I've begun to understand that sex is sacred, but not in the way I was told.
Related Story
Even as my mind begins to know this, my body still clings to stories from the past, stored in the hips and pelvis, deep in the ligaments and fascia.
Recognizing that talk-therapy could only take me so far on this journey, I knew I needed somatic healing.
“The word yoni comes from the Sanskrit word meaning sacred space, abode, or home,” says
Candice Leigh, a sexological bodyworker, sex + intimacy coach, and Erotic Blueprint coach. “A yoni massage can look several ways, but the essence and intention is to unite one with the sacredness of their body, finding their body to have a deeper resonance of home.” (I’d begun studying Sanskrit during intensive yoga teacher training several years back, which was another aspect that drew me to yoni massage.)
For others, yoni massage might be recommended by a therapist. “As a sex coach, I work with my clients (through conversation, not touch) to get them out of sex ruts,” says Amy Levine, sex coach and founder of Ignite Your Pleasure. She suggests yoni massage to certain clients based on where they are with their sexual confidence and empowerment, but it’s not something she necessarily recommends right away. That said, she encourages “every person with a vulva to experience yoni massage when they feel curious, ready and wanting to check it out.” I was ready–I knew this type of bodywork was the medicine I needed to reconnect with my vagina’s sacred essence.
I began researching different yoni massage practitioners, looking at their credentials and training, before having a preliminary call to establish rapport. “Finding someone you feel comfortable and resonate with will absolutely be key to having a great experience,” Leigh says.
To create this feeling of comfort and safety during the eventual massage, my practitioner and I first had a few sessions without any touching, just to get to know each other. These sessions were based on somatic therapy and breathwork. We went through breathing exercises, talked about where I was feeling tension in my body, and explored certain ways I could move to release this tension. These forms of release included shaking, tapping, screaming into a pillow, and more.
My appointment began with sipping herbal tea as my practitioner discussed the wheel of consent. I’d heard about the wheel of consent before, but it was good to have it explained more in depth by my practitioner. She asked me about my boundaries, any dos and don'ts. She also told me that if there was a hard “no” to any type of touch, that it would remain that way throughout the massage. For instance, I told her I didn’t want any touch on my breasts, and so if I changed my mind about that during the massage, she would say no, to honor my initial request.
“It’s imperative that consent is understood and respected,” says Levine. “The practitioner must also use latex gloves during vaginal massage.” Both me and my practitioner wore comfortable clothing, and she told me that though she would remain clothed and gloved throughout the massage. I had the option of keeping my clothes on or undressing to whatever extent I desired, and I decided to be completely nude. She left the room as I undressed and got comfortable.
“Biologically, if one feels comfortable, supported, and safe, the benefits of a yoni massage can be a deeply relaxing and settling experience for one's nervous system and overall wellness,” Leigh explains. “Cortisol levels can decrease, while oxytocin can increase and endorphins can be released. A yoni massage can ease muscle tension and also increase one's libido.” On an emotional level, yoni massage can give a person agency, autonomy, and empowerment over their body, pleasure, voice, and desires, she adds. “Emotions are free to be released, expressed, and moved through, which can be healing and rejuvenating.”
I placed my grandmother's scarf next to my head, a few other sacred objects alongside my torso, and began breathing deeply to ground myself. One of my intentions for my session was to practice very specifically voicing my needs to my bodyworker, as this is difficult for me during sex. So, I started by asking her to massage the sides of my hips as I hold a lot of tension there.
Throughout the massage, each time I wanted something new, I had to ask for it. This was great practice in being specific and clear in my desire, and reinforcing consent throughout. There were times when I felt internal resistance to voicing my needs, but I would notice the frustration arise, and then push past it, overcoming it in the moment.
Eventually, when I was ready, I flipped over onto my back and placed the scarf loosely over my forehead. I guided my practitioner on where to massage along my body, going slowly and noticing the sensations arising in my body, while she continuously checked in on how I was feeling.
Surprisingly, nothing felt overtly sexual–just pleasurable, good, and deeply spiritual in a way I never felt with institutional religion. As the bodyworker held space for me and created a container for the experience, what arose for me were visions of circular light at each energy center along my body was touched—the disks of light changed colors and aligned with the colors of what the ancient yogis called the chakras. As I had these visions, I felt safe, held, and not pressured to perform in any way or reach climax.
“More often than not, when we have solo/partnered sex or intimate touch, the goal is orgasm. So many of us are conditioned by societal messages to perform,” says Levine. “However, yoni massage is an experience that is about learning and appreciating the powerful art of receiving.”
In that moment, I had a powerful, embodied realization: Nothing about my sexuality was ever bad. On the contrary, my eros can literally take me to other dimensions. My clitoris can give me mystical visions beyond the mundane. I can use my voice and ask for what I want, and it’s not dangerous at all–it’s freeing. As I began freeing myself from the shackles of my own shame, I felt my grandmother being freed of her “sin” as well.
There’s still a lot of work ahead for me in undoing institutionally–and patriarchally–ingrained stigmas surrounding my sexuality. I definitely plan to have another yoni massage in the future to become more intimate with this powerful, mysterious portal between my legs. For now, I am grateful to my sensual body, my sacred abode, for all it’s been through. I appreciate and honor my women ancestors for their strength and resilience through trauma and amidst severe oppression. By learning to let go of my shame, I took the first step in forging a new legacy for myself—and whatever women come after me.
During the preliminary sessions with my massage practitioner, she suggested I bring sacred objects of my choice to make the setting more personal and intimate. My late grandmother’s scarf was not only sacred, but represented the healing I hoped to accomplish during my session. She thought she was going to go to hell simply for having sex for pleasure, not just procreation, because that’s what she was told.
Growing up in Orthodox Christianity, I learned early on that sexual pleasure was not something to be discussed.
The scarce messages I received surrounding sex was that it was sacred, special, only suitable within the confines of marriage—but the conversation ended there. Naturally, I was intrigued by this forbidden fruit. What was this ominous, even dangerous-seeming thing that one had to “save themselves” for? What if I didn’t listen and “lost my virginity” preemptively? The church had a simple answer: I would go to hell.
More From Women's Health
The first time I masturbated, in middle school, I was fascinated by the immensity of the sensations pulsing through my genital area. I wanted more. But because talking about, much less experiencing, sexual pleasure was so taboo, I felt a burning shame that I had no name for at the time—I just knew I was doing something wrong.
In high school, I began exploring my liking for boys and hiding my liking for girls. Senior year, I “lost my virginity.” With that first “sin” committed, I began a long journey of confusing and disempowered sex with multiple men throughout my early twenties.
After graduating college, I began seeing a therapist to try to unpack and heal from decades of sexual shame.
I spoke about my immense guilt surrounding my sexuality, my disgust towards myself for being a “slut,” my deep-seated beliefs that I was useless, dirty, ruined, revolting.
Years into therapy, the healing journey is still slow, ugly, arduous. But I've now realized that I can unlearn the messages I grew up with and regain autonomy over my sexuality in a way that my grandmother and other ancestors were never permitted to. I've begun to understand that sex is sacred, but not in the way I was told.
Related Story
Even as my mind begins to know this, my body still clings to stories from the past, stored in the hips and pelvis, deep in the ligaments and fascia.
Recognizing that talk-therapy could only take me so far on this journey, I knew I needed somatic healing.
After researching somatic therapy healing modalities, I decided to schedule a yoni massage.
“The word yoni comes from the Sanskrit word meaning sacred space, abode, or home,” says
Candice Leigh, a sexological bodyworker, sex + intimacy coach, and Erotic Blueprint coach. “A yoni massage can look several ways, but the essence and intention is to unite one with the sacredness of their body, finding their body to have a deeper resonance of home.” (I’d begun studying Sanskrit during intensive yoga teacher training several years back, which was another aspect that drew me to yoni massage.)
Related Story
For others, yoni massage might be recommended by a therapist. “As a sex coach, I work with my clients (through conversation, not touch) to get them out of sex ruts,” says Amy Levine, sex coach and founder of Ignite Your Pleasure. She suggests yoni massage to certain clients based on where they are with their sexual confidence and empowerment, but it’s not something she necessarily recommends right away. That said, she encourages “every person with a vulva to experience yoni massage when they feel curious, ready and wanting to check it out.” I was ready–I knew this type of bodywork was the medicine I needed to reconnect with my vagina’s sacred essence.
I began researching different yoni massage practitioners, looking at their credentials and training, before having a preliminary call to establish rapport. “Finding someone you feel comfortable and resonate with will absolutely be key to having a great experience,” Leigh says.
To create this feeling of comfort and safety during the eventual massage, my practitioner and I first had a few sessions without any touching, just to get to know each other. These sessions were based on somatic therapy and breathwork. We went through breathing exercises, talked about where I was feeling tension in my body, and explored certain ways I could move to release this tension. These forms of release included shaking, tapping, screaming into a pillow, and more.
On the day of my massage, we still eased into the touching process.
My appointment began with sipping herbal tea as my practitioner discussed the wheel of consent. I’d heard about the wheel of consent before, but it was good to have it explained more in depth by my practitioner. She asked me about my boundaries, any dos and don'ts. She also told me that if there was a hard “no” to any type of touch, that it would remain that way throughout the massage. For instance, I told her I didn’t want any touch on my breasts, and so if I changed my mind about that during the massage, she would say no, to honor my initial request.
Related Story
“It’s imperative that consent is understood and respected,” says Levine. “The practitioner must also use latex gloves during vaginal massage.” Both me and my practitioner wore comfortable clothing, and she told me that though she would remain clothed and gloved throughout the massage. I had the option of keeping my clothes on or undressing to whatever extent I desired, and I decided to be completely nude. She left the room as I undressed and got comfortable.
“Biologically, if one feels comfortable, supported, and safe, the benefits of a yoni massage can be a deeply relaxing and settling experience for one's nervous system and overall wellness,” Leigh explains. “Cortisol levels can decrease, while oxytocin can increase and endorphins can be released. A yoni massage can ease muscle tension and also increase one's libido.” On an emotional level, yoni massage can give a person agency, autonomy, and empowerment over their body, pleasure, voice, and desires, she adds. “Emotions are free to be released, expressed, and moved through, which can be healing and rejuvenating.”
Once I undressed, I positioned myself face-down on the massage table to start.
I placed my grandmother's scarf next to my head, a few other sacred objects alongside my torso, and began breathing deeply to ground myself. One of my intentions for my session was to practice very specifically voicing my needs to my bodyworker, as this is difficult for me during sex. So, I started by asking her to massage the sides of my hips as I hold a lot of tension there.
Throughout the massage, each time I wanted something new, I had to ask for it. This was great practice in being specific and clear in my desire, and reinforcing consent throughout. There were times when I felt internal resistance to voicing my needs, but I would notice the frustration arise, and then push past it, overcoming it in the moment.
Eventually, when I was ready, I flipped over onto my back and placed the scarf loosely over my forehead. I guided my practitioner on where to massage along my body, going slowly and noticing the sensations arising in my body, while she continuously checked in on how I was feeling.
During the last portion of the massage, I asked for internal and clitoral touch.
Surprisingly, nothing felt overtly sexual–just pleasurable, good, and deeply spiritual in a way I never felt with institutional religion. As the bodyworker held space for me and created a container for the experience, what arose for me were visions of circular light at each energy center along my body was touched—the disks of light changed colors and aligned with the colors of what the ancient yogis called the chakras. As I had these visions, I felt safe, held, and not pressured to perform in any way or reach climax.
Related Story
“More often than not, when we have solo/partnered sex or intimate touch, the goal is orgasm. So many of us are conditioned by societal messages to perform,” says Levine. “However, yoni massage is an experience that is about learning and appreciating the powerful art of receiving.”
During my yoni massage, I didn’t climax. For me, that was beyond okay.
In that moment, I had a powerful, embodied realization: Nothing about my sexuality was ever bad. On the contrary, my eros can literally take me to other dimensions. My clitoris can give me mystical visions beyond the mundane. I can use my voice and ask for what I want, and it’s not dangerous at all–it’s freeing. As I began freeing myself from the shackles of my own shame, I felt my grandmother being freed of her “sin” as well.
There’s still a lot of work ahead for me in undoing institutionally–and patriarchally–ingrained stigmas surrounding my sexuality. I definitely plan to have another yoni massage in the future to become more intimate with this powerful, mysterious portal between my legs. For now, I am grateful to my sensual body, my sacred abode, for all it’s been through. I appreciate and honor my women ancestors for their strength and resilience through trauma and amidst severe oppression. By learning to let go of my shame, I took the first step in forging a new legacy for myself—and whatever women come after me.