Being a Sexual Person #2

Standing in the middle of an over-crowded train on my way home, another workshop facilitated in Amsterdam behind me. The people in the train discuss fried snacks with huge pupils. So much passion about burgers. Some are wearing sunglasses, even though it’s near midnight. A huge dance event in the city is probably the source of this outflux of people.

I’m looking at my own reflection in the dark window. For so many years I thought I was weird and ugly. Sometimes I still do. That underlying belief of being weird. Different. Unwanted. The clumsy one who never wears the right clothes. Will it ever leave?

I see a beautiful face, a proud woman wearing an amazing coat. Glitter on her face and golden earrings with a sacred geometrical shape.

I know it’s me, yet sometimes it’s hard to identify with myself.

This person who I became, she’s amazing. I love myself dearly. And sometimes, from this part of me that still is that teenager who was bullied because others told her she was different, I can’t believe it’s really me who grew into this woman.

Not so long ago I wrote an article in which I described my longing to become to what I called ‘a sexual person’:

Sometimes I meet people who I consider to be sexual persons. They don’t need to have the looks of a catalog model. It’s about their appearance, the vibe they broadcast.

First of all, these people are totally comfortable in the body they are in. I’ve seen them in many shapes, from pretty young girls to chubby old men. Both tall and short, thick and thin. They all had in common that they radiated. Without exception, these people are beautiful. Just plain beautiful.

They all live a life in which they follow their heart. Whether they have a job in a library, grocery store, having their own companies or are famous. They do the things they love most.

And –here’s the sexy part- they are very confident about their own sexiness and all the good things linked to contact with other people. This doesn’t necessarily include sex. It’s also in eye contact. In a hug. In a kiss on the check. In a conversation. And in sex.

I know now I am on the other side. I am that who I desired to be.

A man next to me looks at me with a tensed face. The thought he might be judging me passes me halfway. I smile at him, a smile from my heart.

His face relaxes and he smiles back.

There’s no need to project judgments onto me for other people. I don’t know what they’re thinking, even though I might think I do.

Letting go of insecurities is a decision. They won’t disappear, maybe never. We can get better though at not letting them manipulate us.

“Feel them, think them, never respect them”, someone messages me.

Yes.

I choose to believe in this love I feel for myself, who I am, and what I have to give. I look at all the people in the train and wish them the same.

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