Most relationships aren’t starved for sex—they’re starved for attunement. In this kickoff, we unpack why “I don’t want sex” often means “I don’t feel safely, slowly, specifically known.” The episode opens with a real call from a friend questioning divorce, then moves through safety rituals, curiosity as foreplay, and “mother-grade noticing” you can practice tonight. “I’m not into sex” often means: I don’t feel safe, seen, or specifically known. We address why we need to connect first and why it’s not asking for a lot. Want to know me! Don’t ask me to open my body before you open my mind.

What you’ll learn

Why “I don’t want sex” often means “I don’t feel safely, slowly, specifically known.”

Performance vs presence: date-night checkboxes vs reading the body.

Consent as architecture (negotiate → check-ins → aftercare).

“Mother spidey senses” for everyone: notice need before words.

Self-knowledge first: the Gesture Glossary + a 60-sec self-scan.

Try one of these tonightOne slow kiss (no goal)

• One real question you don’t know the answer to

• One sensory upgrade (light/music/scent)

• Ask: “What helped your body breathe?”

Pull quotes

“We’re not asking for more performance. We’re asking for attunement.”

“Safety didn’t kill the thrill—it made the risk taste like freedom.”

“Curiosity is foreplay.”

“Know your tells to read theirs.”

Felicia traces the quiet deaths we live through—leaving a home, shedding an identity, choosing motherhood and self at once. From fallen leaves to umbilical cords, she explores how change asks us to release control, face pain, and tell the truth about who we are becoming.

Key Themes:

Micro-deaths: identity, place, and roles

Change as nature’s law (trees, decomposition, renewal)

The umbilical cord as a metaphor for attachment and release

Pain as a necessary passage—not a bypassable step

Christ as exemplar vs. outsourced savior

Integrity as daily practice: tiny honest moves

Listener Takeaways:

Notice where you’re clinging; name one cord you can loosen today

Choose one small act of integrity and do it before the day ends

Reframe pain as the doorway to alignment, not a detour

Felicia explores the everyday altar of motherhood—where care becomes love when it’s shared, not hoarded. Through a Dark Goddess lens (Dancing in the Flames), she reframes “self-sacrifice” as a broken cauldron and argues for boundaries, shared labor, and the courage to receive as prerequisites for giving. Pop-culture moments (a “Gatsby gala,” The Hunger Games, and “They were careless people”) help teach our kids what not to emulate—and what to build instead.

What you’ll hear:

Children as initiations, not nuisances

The altar vs. the martyr: why love requires reciprocity

Grief, regret, and the tenderness of shared care

The Dark Goddess as a guide to wholeness (laundry-room altars, Baba Yaga questions)

Why boundaries, rest, and pleasure keep the “cauldron” from cracking

Teaching discernment in a spectacle-driven culture

References & resources:

Marion Woodman & Elinor Dickson, Dancing in the Flames: The Dark Goddess in the Transformation of Consciousness

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (“They were careless people…”)

Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (the Capitol as spectacle)

Takeaways:

Caring is love’s teacher—but only when it’s shared.

You can’t pour from an empty body; you also can’t pour if you never receive.

Ordinary rooms can be altars; ordinary tasks can be rituals.

Our magic isn’t gone—it’s waiting for a stronger pot.

If this moved you, share it with one friend who’s carrying too much—and subscribe on Substack for essays, early drops, and members-only conversations.