EROTIC GRIEF

As a Somatic Sex Educator, my work revolves around the intimate exploration of the erotic and its manifestations within the human body. Through this journey, I have witnessed a captivating interplay between grief and pleasure, where these two emotions become entangled within my own embodied experiences, as well as those of others. It became apparent to me that these seemingly contrasting feelings not only coexist but also mutually activate, support, and bow to one another. This realisation sparked a surge of curiosity within me, leading me to enrol in a Death Doula training program offered by the organisation, Going with Grace. The profound shifts in my consciousness and my relationship with death that emerged from this program have undeniably breathed new life into my existence.

Death is what cradles life in its delicate and towering hands. It’s the ultimate equalizer; not a single soul is spared, regardless of the body you inhabit, how much money you make or how you loved. Between gentle and violent, mortality reminds us of what makes life significant and honouring this mighty force may be the key to germinating more meaningful futures.

The root of all fears is deeply embedded in the fear of death itself. We fear rejection, abandonment, endings, and the unknown. We fear the prickly parts of ourselves we’ve deemed unloveable—our messiness, desires, and of feelings that are “too much”. We flinch at these versions of ourselves that we actually believe could lead to our demise, illusioned by stories of unworthiness that make us believe our whole selves aren’t worthy of care and belonging. We bury our “too-muchness” out of sight, hoping it will secure our acceptance within our circles, but death inevitably finds us. Whether it’s the loss of loved ones, pieces of identity, expectations, or environmental changes, sorrow finds us, cracks us open and digs to the depths of our capacity to feel. It finds the contours of our emotional limits, and with heaviness, stretches it wider than we knew possible.

We drown in grief's wild darkness as it mentors us to be with the unknown. In the rawness of loss and liminality, our perception of time and self becomes skewed. In the space of aching emptiness, we’re compelled to ask the shadows, “what is really here?” Who we are and how we move through the world are called into question, and amidst this fragile inquiry, we discover what matters most. What do I need right now? Who and what can I turn to for help to make that happen? It’s within these moments we forge deep intimacy, both with ourselves and with others.

In the words of Audre Lorde in her 1978 essay, “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power”, “...the erotic is not a question only of what we do; it is a question of how acutely and fully we can feel in the doing. Once we know the extent to which we are capable of feeling that sense of satisfaction and completion, we can then observe which of our various life endeavors bring us closest to that fullness.”

The innate relationship we have with our emotions is deeply intertwined with our connection to the erotic. Grieving carves out a profound space, like a fertile cavity, for the whole spectrum of emotions, including pleasure, to sprout with enhanced richness. The things we care deeply about become accentuated. Our aliveness becomes more textured. When we allow the lessons of impermanence to soak into our being, we are more able to truly notice, value and savour what is available to us.

However, the spectrum of feeling is like a fluid galaxy that is subject to varying accessibility. Grief may feel like a barrier to sensation for some while serving as an access point for others. There is simply no right or wrong way to feel grief. Yet, within our dominant society, we are subjected to policing regarding how and when it is deemed “appropriate” or “healthy.” Often, the focus is to get over it as soon as possible and get back to productivity—in accordance with capitalistic values. This approach only adds friction to nature’s process. In our colonized systems, messiness is pathologized, while tidiness is prized. But grief rejects these very notions. It knows no timelines or linearity. It bubbles and swirls in mysterious ways, demanding that we slow down and take notice. It reminds us of how little control we have over the forces of life itself.

Just as grief stretches our emotional seams, our bodies simultaneously and instinctively reach out to one another. It is our primal instinct to experience and process emotion in togetherness, alongside human and non-human kin. Our tears, biologically designed to have a higher protein content to stick to our cheeks, serve as a signal for our longing for connection. The weight of grief demands a whole constellation of support as it longs to be seen and held beyond oneself. Not only does it thread together our humanity, but it also weaves a tighter web of belonging.

What could our futures look like if we deeply honoured death as a necessary, sacred and imminent passage of life? If all the shapes of our grief had space to be held, if we could compost our collective losses to fortify the soil of what’s to come, what would that mean or look like to you?