Learning Responsibility For What I Want

BY MEG GLYNN

Before finding Orgasmic Meditation, I had a prestigious job, was top of my class in graduate school, was a marathon runner, but felt somehow dry on the inside. I lived in a luxury apartment but had no one to share it with. I hadn’t had a relationship for a while and was on a kick to be "fiercely independent." I thought I didn’t need anyone, especially a man.

I judged myself as a slut and broken because I had sex with what I considered to be too many people. Not having sex meant I was "good." I’d go for long periods without it and be proud of myself. Since I was 17, my sexuality was very tied into drinking and I was using alcohol to access femininity.

Travel was my escape, living from one trip to the next. My daily life was not was not that exciting for me. On a trip to South America, I got drunk and had a one-night stand. I didn’t seem to be able to have sex in a way that was deliberate and nourishing. Soon after, on a work trip to California, someone I met told me about Orgasmic Meditation.

I was so excited I couldn’t sleep that night thinking about it. I had never done any personal development work or meditation, but I was instantly curious about OM. I listened to a talk on OM that I found online and stayed connected to the guy who had told me about it, not quite ready to try it but deeply intrigued.

I OMed for the first time in January 2017 with the guy who told me about it. As soon as his finger touched my clitoris, it felt like my brain shut off for the first time. I was always over analyzing things and never felt I could turn my mind fully off.

In that first OM, I remember vivid colors and shapes and noticed sensations in my body throughout the experience. It didn’t feel sexual, rather like a powerful perceptual experience. But it was more of a mental experience, not a bodily one. My takeaway was a deep knowing that the practice was super powerful and there was something there for me. So, I took a course to learn to OM and built a practice with people in Newark.

My first breakthrough came from learning to say yes or no when asking for an OM. I remember a guy I met in Israel asking me if I wanted to come back to his hotel room with him. I said no. It was the first time, at 29 years old, I could deliver a firm no to a man in a sexual situation. I was so proud of myself. The no felt so good in my body that I messaged a friend and celebrated with her!

Developing a clean yes or no when it came to sex was huge for me. It came directly from learning to ask for OMs without expectations and saying yes or no to OMs without having to explain myself.

The second thing I learned was that I was a powerful woman in my work and in grad school. But in bed, next to a man, all of my power disappeared. I had no voice in sex. I felt trapped and powerless, like I couldn’t say what I wanted or leave the room if I wanted to.

My breakthrough in this area came from asking the stroker for adjustments during an OM. At first, I would want to say stroke left or right, but it seemed like my tongue was stuck in peanut butter. I couldn’t get it out. I thought the stroker was more experienced at OM than I was. So, I didn’t need to adjust his stroking. This mirrored my sexual experiences. I would let the guy determine what happened during sex. I didn’t expect to receive pleasure.

I gradually started giving small adjustments here and there during OMs. I constantly checked in with myself to see what felt right. After a year and a half of saying what I wanted in an OM, it translated to my sex, where I now ask a man for what I want.

The first five years I was sexually active, I was unable to climax. Sex wasn’t pleasurable for me. It was more a way to validate a man. I took my sexual power back when I started to OM and admitted I had sexual hunger. My body had been ignited. It was no longer about pleasing a man. I started feeling more and more, like I was going through puberty again. When sober (I gave up drinking six months after OMing), even kissing felt super sensational throughout my body, like I was a teenager. I could feel people in a room. I could feel the environment more. There was a crazy amount of sensation in my body at all times. It was like I was relearning myself as an adult, relearning all of the sensations in my body. 

There is a pervasive but not talked about history of sexual abuse in my family lineage, and I struggled to know whether I too had been abused. It gave me the idea my sex was shameful; the amount of sex I was having was too much; sex was not safe; and I was damaged or broken. I carried around a lot of shame. 

Being vulnerable and exposing my genitals in OM, while still feeling safe because of the consistent protocols in every OM, helped me shift a lot of fear I had around victimization and the idea men weren’t safe.

I now take ownership and responsibility for my sexuality. Rather than sex being something that’s done to me, it happens for me. Not only do I feel like I am part of the sexual experience, I can also initiate it and be responsible for what I want, just like in an OM.

Before OM, I would dissociate, leave my body during sex. Now, I stay checked into my body’s sensations, same as when I OM. My ability to stay present to my feelings the entire time makes me really grateful for this practice. My voice is more expressed, and I feel right with my sexuality.

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I used to have a payback mentality around sex. If someone did anything for me, I would have to pay it back three times over. I’d give a lot and expect pennies in return. OM being a shared practice, with each partner taking full responsibility for their experience without having to reciprocate, went against my beliefs. But OM taught me that I deserve to receive. Building my capacity to receive through OMing was the first time I put attention on my femininity—to be proud of it and grow it rather than be shameful about it and use my family history as a way to keep myself small. That has been really liberating.