Sensuality is often shocking. Sometimes, I can understand it… I imagine my grandfather’s horrified expression if he were to see a sensual photo of mine on the internet or catch glimpses of a video where my sensuality is exposed.
My secret was revealed. My power was seen.
At other times, I can’t accept it. I can’t take how many times I’ve disrespected my body, for the same reasons that make me understand the shock of sensuality.
Recently, I underwent a therapeutic process with my friend and videographer, Paloma Brizack. I want to share some of the wild insights I gained about sensuality—and maybe these insights will make sense to you too. Especially if you, on the other side, feel trapped in abusive relationships, in the frantic search for a life partner, or in the despair of being unable to connect with anyone anymore deeply. We are living in a generation where our false sense of freedom distances us from love.
I’ve been to all three of those versions. Today, I consider myself a woman in recovery. I call myself “in recovery” because I still watch myself constantly and know that I can fail small tests.
My first version was deeply rooted in being shocked by sensuality. Raised in a “perfect family” of the TV-commercial type—an outcome of the matrix—and, as a typical Brazilian, I lived the “toxic attachment” version. In this version, I was disconnected from my sensuality, and, worse, I believed that every sensual woman was a sl*t. After all, the men in my family bought porn magazines, objectified women, and made it a subject of Sunday lunch jokes. So, I became the modest, stay-at-home girl who had to be extremely jealous, hoping that it might reduce the competition with those magazines (sweet illusion of a little girl).
Later, I transitioned to the “Frantic Search for a Partner” version, and no, this wasn’t about love. It was about having a partner to check a societal box. I needed a partner. So, I developed my sensuality as a beautiful way to attract attention. To win hearts? No! Okay, I confess that I did believe some man might fall in love with me because of my sensual moves.
This phase gave me a lot of fuel. For my soul? No, for my ego. And I became addicted without even realizing it.
The world of infinite possibilities is so wonderful. Love is just around the corner.
But then, at some point, we realize that these endless possibilities have left us empty and deluded. A tiny amount of affection, some breadcrumbs, and there we are, diving headfirst into relationships drawn to us by our ability to shake our hips.
Then I moved into another version—highly intriguing. She is quite empowered but still undervalues herself. She became a high-value woman who gave herself no value.
This version took a long time to build. It required a lot of connection with her sensuality, which brought a high level of manifestation power and stability into her life. We gained clarity about where we wanted to go in business, developed excellent emotional management skills, and achieved a high level of detachment.
Yet, she was still lost when trying to measure her worth.
Because the loves left, other loves replaced her. Some loves betrayed her. Others managed to say they loved her but didn’t want a relationship (the absurdities of our time).
And each time, the high-value woman allowed herself to be devalued by men who were products of the same grandfathers… who would look at porn magazines and objectify women.
When was the last time we heard our families talk about love stories during Sunday lunches?
So what should we expect?
Well, back to the therapy session…
At first, I was very irritated with Paloma. She dressed me in a sexy dress, did my makeup, and prepared me for a date where I was supposed to feel empowered—as if I were meeting a guy. But I just felt irritated, becoming a character in front of Paloma’s camera lens.
Then she started some exercises. When I heard her instructions, I could only think she was crazy. But I was crazier for being there as her guinea pig.
And in the middle of the exercise I mentally judged, there I was, accessing a version of myself so hidden that that only those who had joined me in a locked room had access to it.
I had a wild thought: “If there were a man behind this camera, I would feel much freer.” There it was—the belief that my sensuality was a hunting tool.
I had the chance to look at this thought, in the presence of my sensual energy, and tell myself:
“I don’t need any prey. I can be sensual for me and because of me.”
And that day, in that moment, I learned once again the danger of sensuality: it’s an incendiary fuel for self-love.
Thank you, Paloma.
With Love
Milla Dalbem
