WET: SEX, SOUL, AND BODY MADE WHOLE
At 35, I was utterly lost. I had made a name for myself as a thought leader for single women, and often gave reassuring, upbeat media interviews on NPR and CNN, telling unmarried women to embrace their lives, with a partner or without, but after too many online dates that fizzled out after three meetings, I myself felt loveless.
I was hiding something. While I told single listeners there was nothing wrong with them, the thought that there might be something wrong with me played often in my own mind.
My friends had married lovely men and were advancing to the next stages in adult life, taking prenatal vitamins and buying houses in good school districts. No matter how many self-help books I read I couldn’t snap out of my own private vortex of inadequacy that told me I couldn’t be lovable because no romantic relationship had lasted longer than six months.
There was another secret involving the age six, one that reached back three decades. My aunt’s foster child Scott, age 17, had invited me to come upstairs to the second floor at my grandmother’s house. I followed. My memories were vague. I didn’t even necessarily believe them, but my body tensed whenever Scott came to family gatherings.
Was there a link between this secret I had been keeping for decades and my inability to find a partner by the time I was pushing 40? I had no idea. I was a mystery to myself.
I could have kept up online dating, or succumbed to bitterness and given up altogether, and shrunk into the shadows of myself. Instead, I bought a ticket to Brazil. I found another path that led me on an international vision quest of sensuality that led me to answers I never expected.
There was no agenda, no package that I bought online. This was me, an over-achieving girl who grew up in New England who always tried to do everything right, 100% winging it, terrified I was throwing away prime career/marriage years to be a futurebagladyoldmaid.
Experts tell us that past trauma travels from our minds to our bodies, seeping into our physicality. The process also works in reverse. Tending to our bodies can also heal the spirit.
We all have buried stories, the stories we never want to tell anyone. Those stories get lodged in the cavities of our bodies, our guts, our throat. The stories told in WET come from the period of my life when my deepest-held stories bubbled up through my in my body but I didn’t yet have the courage to face them. And then I did.
When I listened to my body, I started to live my best life.
WET is not a trauma memoir so much as a sensual healing memoir.
In this book, I dance with—and make out with—a lot of men, but the key plot points happen through physical transformation, literally through growing more regal in my posture, wiping out the submissive stance of inferiority that had been lodged in me by early experiences and growing up in a misogynist society.
Women often sacrifice their own happiness for others. My hope is that my story will inspire other women who have burned out and lost touch with their own desires for life, and who have been shaped by past traumas and growing up in a culture of sexism and objectification—that is to say, all women—prioritize their own joy and find their own paths of healing.
The title WET suggests something revolutionary about the value of connecting with our bodies. It is designed to make readers blush. Guys talk about erections all the time but women generally do not talk about being wet.
To get wet is to listen to the body. To get wet is to dive in and learn whatever needs to be learned. Ultimately, wetness is about the feminine empowered.
Listen to me talk about why WET and not JUICY
Drop in on this conversation with Lindsay and Lani from the podcast Fuck Dating where I explain what WET means to me.
W(h)et your appetite for more. Sign up for this special list
Sign up for my special WET LIST to get updates about the book’s publication. You’ll be the first to know when it’s time to pre-order! Plus, tell me what “wet” means to you.