Hello Pleasure Activists,

 

In my work with The Pleasure Practice, I hear this tender longing expressed again and again in the quiet, vulnerable moments when defenses soften and truth dares to peek through:

 

“I want to feel sexy again.” “I miss being turned on.” “I just don’t feel confident in my body anymore.”

 

These are not trivial confessions. They are not surface-level complaints. They are the whispers of something deeper, a yearning to return home to the self, to reconnect with a power that has been buried beneath years of shame, expectation, performance, and survival. And every time I hear these words, I feel them echo through my own body because I, too, have stood at that threshold. I, too, have asked those questions.

 

Even after years of shedding shame, years of studying pleasure and liberation, years of supporting others in their own reclamation, I found myself at times standing in front of the mirror, unsure of how to meet my own gaze. It wasn’t hatred exactly. It was something quieter. A kind of numbness. A disconnect. A well-practiced habit of looking away before I ever fully arrived.

 

Because for so many of us, especially those socialized in feminine bodies, we were taught not to see ourselves as sites of desire. We were conditioned to be desirable to others but never for ourselves. To make ourselves beautiful, pleasing, presentable, but not to turn ourselves on. Not to meet our own eyes and feel the spark of erotic aliveness ripple through us. Not to touch ourselves with reverence. Not to feel powerful, wild, playful, and deeply, deeply sexy in our own skin.

 

And so even after we begin the intellectual work of liberation, even after we can name the systems that shaped us and begin to reject the narratives they fed us, there is often a chasm between what we believe and what we feel, between what we know in our minds and what we allow in our bodies.

 

This is where the mirror ritual begins.

 

It begins not with a grand gesture, but with a simple moment of flirtation.

 

I invite my clients to approach the mirror each morning with just a trace of playful energy, maybe a glance that lingers, a tilt of the head, a soft smile that carries the spark of "I see you, and you are something to behold." Not because it feels natural right away. In fact, many of them laugh, cringe, or look away at first. But that is the point. The ritual begins by revealing what is there and by offering a new possibility.

 

This kind of flirtation becomes a ritual interruption. A soft rebellion. A doorway into something more.

 

Because, my love, the most important thing I can teach you, the most radical shift I want you to make, is that turn-on is not something that happens to you.

 

Turn-on is something you can create.

 

We have been taught to wait for arousal to arrive. To hope that someone else finds us sexy enough to awaken that part of us. To rely on another’s gaze, another’s touch, another’s interest to remind us that we are still desirable. And while there is beauty in the mutuality of erotic exchange, there is something deeply revolutionary about the ability to turn yourself on.

 

When you can ignite that flame within, you stop outsourcing your pleasure. You stop waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect partner, the perfect body. You start creating the conditions for your own erotic aliveness, over and over again.

 

And one of the most powerful ways I invite my clients to do this is through the full mirror masturbation ritual.

 

After a week or so of those small flirtations, I invite them to take it a step further. To undress in front of the mirror slowly, consciously. To light a candle. To put on music that stirs something within. To run their hands over their own skin with intention. To breathe deeply. And then, when they feel ready, to begin to touch themselves, not for performance, not for climax, not for someone else watching, but for presence.

 

This is not about looking hot. This is about feeling hot. It is about witnessing your own desire. It is about becoming the one who turns you on.

 

When you masturbate in front of the mirror, something begins to shift. You become both the subject and the object of your own desire. You become the giver and the receiver. You begin to see yourself, really see yourself, not through the eyes of critique, but through the eyes of care. Through the eyes of curiosity. Through the eyes of seduction.

 

And in that space, your body starts to remember that it is not just a project to be managed. It is a source of pleasure. It is a site of wisdom. It is a source worthy of reverence.

 

One of my clients once told me, “I’ve never actually watched myself come before. I didn’t realize how beautiful I am.” Another said, “I finally understand what it means to be turned on by me.”

 

These are not small things. These are seismic shifts. Because when you no longer need someone else to validate your desirability, you begin to move through the world differently.

 

You speak with more clarity. You ask for what you want. You say no when something doesn’t feel right. You say yes when your body gives you the green light.

 

You stop shrinking. You stop apologizing. You stop waiting for permission.

You start claiming your space. Your pleasure. Your power.

 

And that, my love, is what I call erotic sovereignty.

 

This is not about becoming self-sufficient in a way that denies the beauty of connection. This is about becoming self-sourced so that every connection is entered from a place of wholeness, not hunger. From abundance, not lack. From desire, not desperation.

 

So if this ritual calls to you, here is your invitation:

 

Stand in front of the mirror. Let yourself be seen. Notice what arises. Do you flinch? Do you smile? Do you look away? Let your gaze soften. Bring a little flirtation to your eyes. Offer yourself an expression that says, "I am beautiful, and I embrace all of me."

 

Then, when you feel ready, begin to disrobe. Slowly. Consciously. With reverence. Let each layer fall as an offering. As an act of devotion.

 

Light a candle. Put on music that moves you. Run your hands over your skin like it matters because it does. Breathe deeply. Maintain eye contact with yourself when you can. Notice what stories come up. Let them be there. Let the sensations come, too. Follow them.

 

Touch yourself in whatever way feels good. Don’t rush. Don’t perform. Don’t worry about the outcome. Just be there. With yourself. In your body. In your desire.

 

And when pleasure comes, if it comes, let it be a gift to yourself. Let it be a reminder. Let it be a remembering.

 

You are allowed to turn yourself on. You are allowed to be the source of your own erotic fire. You are allowed to feel good in your own body, for no one’s sake but your own.

 

Pleasure Practice:

Journal Prompt: What messages did you receive growing up about what it meant to be sexy or desirable? How did those messages shape your relationship with self-pleasure?

 

Embodiment Practice: Set a timer for five minutes. Practice eye contact with your reflection. Let your expressions shift: playful, silly, soft, seductive. What feels authentic? What new expressions can you try?

 

Self-Pleasure Ritual: Choose one day this week to practice the mirror ritual. Create a sacred space. Take your time. Touch yourself in the mirror as an act of devotion. Let it be awkward. Let it be explorative. If you are looking for a guided mediation for this practice, you can use my masturbation mediation here: listen to mediation.

 

Relational Tool: Share this practice with someone you trust. Talk about the scripts you inherited around desire. What are you ready to unlearn? What new narratives are you ready to write?

 

This is not a quick fix. This is a slow, steady reclamation and rewiring of your neuronal pathways.

 

It is the choice to show up again and again for your own pleasure. To be your own best lover. To cultivate the capacity to be turned on not by someone else’s desire, but by your own presence.

 

And when you build that foundation, everything else begins to bloom.

 

Flirtation by flirtation. Breath by breath. Stroke by stroke.

 

You come home.

 

Sending All My Love,

Dr. Nicole

 

Dr. Nicole Thompson

Sex and Relationship Psychotherapist

Clinical Psychology

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