We weren’t magic together. After a month of exciting, sensual texts, with his flirtatious messages making me feel the star of a French movie, the moment we finally met didn’t translate into chemistry.

I loved his honesty, confidence, and dominance. It made me feel powerful and feminine. I shared my natural self in the photos I sent him, wearing elegant clothes but not pretending to be someone I’m not. He applauded my authenticity, which made me feel even more appreciated. When we finally met in a coffee shop and went to his place after, there was a tension in my body that I didn’t fully understand. I just couldn’t let go in his presence. Eventually, his simple words, “Let’s just be friends,” came as a relief.

We talked openly about what was happening, without blaming each other. For me, it was the start of a deeper self-inquiry into my personal intimacy and connection…

Why letting go felt impossible

Sexual energy incompatibility exists, I knew that now. You can be attracted to each other and still not be a match in intimacy. But the stress in my body I noticed when I was with him, was also telling a different story. Being out there in Bali’s dating landscape felt vulnerable after four years of a committed relationship. Many of the men I matched with were either straightforward about wanting physical intimacy, which I sometimes looked for too, or blocked me after two emotionally intimate dates.

My mind was working overtime, I couldn’t allow myself to soften in these exchanges. I realized stress running through other parts of my life: in work, in relationships with friends and family, and now even in moments of closeness. I didn’t notice it before, but it’s like my body was protected by armor layered over the years. My mother wound, my heartbreaks, and the survival mode of freelance life created a baseline of tension I rarely seemed to release.

As an independent woman, I was proud of what I’d accomplished, but I also realized a deeper sadness in having done it all by myself, alone. I often felt misunderstood by people close to me because of my unconventional life, which produced a defense mechanism of sharing less and creating emotional isolation.

A complicated relationship with my body

As a kid, my mother would tell others that I could take care of myself. I took it as a badge of honour because it’s kind of cool to be treated as an adult when you’re growing up. When I started dating, I pushed those who were seriously interested away and chased the ones who couldn’t care much. Codependence with a capital C spread like fungus in my connections with others.

As a girl, I was athletic and lean. People commented on my appearance as being “too skinny,” which made me doubt myself, while nothing was wrong. I was ashamed to flaunt or be particularly proud of my body. Later in high school, I found myself “chubby,” although photos prove otherwise. When I walked in the streets, I’d always check my image in the shop windows or look at other girls’ bodies as if they were perfect. I couldn’t look at pictures of myself without feeling ugly.

It wasn’t until I studied yin yoga that I came to understand this push-and-pull dynamic, and how emotions and trauma stay lodged in the connective tissue of our bodies. On a rational level, I understood the theory, and I started to integrate a regular practice, but it wasn’t enough for the deep-rooted pattern to disappear. Slowly I started to connect with my body more, I learned to stand tall and lose the blush of insecurity. It was the confidence to speak in public that finally translated into full-body relaxation.

But years later, a life of constant hustle as a freelancer and multiple heartbreaks threw me back into survival mode; a strong, lean, muscular body became again the protective gear. And even though spiritual practices helped immensely to heal, there were parts of my body that always felt inaccessible. My lower belly and pelvic area felt numb and unresponsive even during somatic exercises.

So when I began researching ways to address this deeper feeling of disconnect that painfully came to the surface in romantic encounters, I went quickly down the tantric rabbit hole. The experiences from dating had led me to question the different ways in which women experience arousal and relaxation in their bodies. Why do some of our bodies need touch and building trust, while others can find release and connection from within? I approached discussions about this topic from various sides: some women would point out the body’s sensitive zones, highlighting the body’s intelligent tactile system. Others would say intimacy is as much emotional as physical. The biggest taboo seemed to be around letting go completely in the body.

The bodywork session offered by a female pelvic therapist seemed the answer to that question: “an exploration into releasing layers of tension and unwinding stories held in the fascia tissues, offering liberation and a deeper connection to your feminine essence.” The therapeutic approach convinced me to book a session.

Receiving, fully

I received a warm hug in a beautiful yet simple house in the jungle, surrounded by nothing but nature. The warm welcome, the flowered footbath, and practical explanations about what was going to happen grounded me. The therapist invited me to “fully receive care and attention”, and tears welled up. I realized how I’ve neglected these simple grounding rituals in my life. 

She worked slowly and patiently, with extra attention to loosen the tension in my lower belly. I appreciated multiple moments of guidance and reassurance throughout, making me feel safe and respected. I focused on breathing and not trying to control. ‘Receive, receive’,  I kept whispering to myself softly. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt I could finally connect with my body fully and trust its sensations. When the session ended, I could hardly move for at least five more minutes, slightly trembling but feeling more whole than ever before. The next day, my body ached as if from a deep-tissue massage, both inside and out. But I felt so full, overflowing even.

What I (un)learned

The session wasn’t the erotic fantasy I imagined. It was about releasing tension, feeling safe, and learning to let go and truly receive. I thought of the moments in my life when I had been insecure about my body, and while being exposed during the session, I couldn’t hide myself any longer.

I was blown away how hard it was to fully surrender and be present; not escape in shameful thoughts about my body or my self-consciousness. The session silenced the internal dialogue of judgments about myself and my body and the deep feelings of shame I had held for many years. I felt something had shifted rationally, and, most importantly, on a bodily level.

Many modern women praise self-reliance, control, and achievement. In this world, the practice of receiving and surrendering felt rebellious. The act of softening, actually feeling my delicate and sensitive essence suddenly came as a strength. It’s a radical liberation of what had unconsciously been stuck for so long, and freeing myself is an important first step in exploring the meaning of this in a wider context, outside of our bodies, in community and society.

Have you tried something new in Bali? Have you had a life-changing experience or encounter here? Share your story here!