I’m writing to you today from a place of deep reflection and raw honesty. I’m currently huddled up in a hotel room (yeah, the lighting is crap, but let’s focus on the words, shall we?), seizing a quiet moment away from the beautiful chaos of family life. I’ve sent my man, Mystery Man, off to the car because, well, I needed some space to spill on something intensely personal and powerful—my journey through sex and dating after divorce, and shedding the heavy coat of religious shame I’ve been wearing for far too damn long.

This chat is about laying it all out there—no fluff, just the straight-up, sometimes messy truth of rediscovering my sexuality and healing from decades of shame. If you’re dealing with similar stuff, know you’re not alone in this.

So, here it goes.

After my divorce from Brian, I found myself diving headfirst into the dating pool. And man, was it an eye-opener. It wasn’t just about seeking connection; it was more like embarking on a quest for self-discovery, for healing the parts of me that I didn’t even realize were wounded.

I remember the first time post-divorce when I really connected with someone. It was…mind-blowing. And not just in the way you might think. Sure, the physical connection was unlike anything I’d experienced, but it was the emotional aftermath that really hit me. It was as if all the pleasure I felt that night collided with years of ingrained shame, leaving me in a state of panic and tears the morning after.

It dawned on me then how disconnected I had become from my own body and pleasure, thanks to a cocktail of religious guilt and a culture that often makes women feel like their sexuality isn’t theirs to own. That realization kicked off a journey of self-exploration, of buying toys, reading up on female anatomy, and, most importantly, learning to understand and communicate my desires and boundaries.

Dating as a newly single mom was no walk in the park, let me tell you. It was a rollercoaster of learning to stand my ground, to not fall back into old patterns of people-pleasing, and to prioritize my own needs and pleasure. It’s been about finding the courage to say “no” when something didn’t feel right and to embrace my sexuality without shame or fear.

Fast forward to now, with Mystery Man by my side. I’ve found someone who not only respects my journey but supports me through every step, helping me navigate the triggers and scars that still surface from time to time. He’s shown me what it means to feel safe, cherished, and utterly adored, reminding me that healing is not only possible but deeply, profoundly beautiful.

Mama, if you’re reading this and seeing pieces of your story in mine, know this: Your sexuality is a part of you that deserves to be celebrated, not hidden away. It’s okay to seek pleasure, to explore what makes you feel alive, and to demand respect and care from your partners. Healing from sexual trauma and religious shame is a path paved with patience, self-love, and often, a good dose of therapy and open, honest communication.

I share my story in the hopes that it might light a spark in you, a belief that you too can find peace and joy in your own skin, regardless of your past. You deserve to be loved and desired, just as you are, and to write your own narrative—one where pleasure, not guilt, takes center stage.

To all the mamas out there navigating this journey, I see you. I am you. And I’m here, cheering you on every step of the way.

Listen on Spotify

Listen on iTunes