I had returned my ancestral legacy of silence and abandonment, and I had retrieved an Exile of my soul and own abandonment left behind on the other shore. But now—something new.

The loss of my sexual fire.

A strange numbness in my Yoni.

No spark, no desire, no pull toward touch.
Just stillness.
Just absence.

And I ask: Why?
Why do my ceremonies seem to complete, they just seem to unearth something else—another layer, another loss, more unwelcome revelations?
Will it ever end?

Some reasons I consider for this unwelcome development:

1. Energetic Reset & Nervous System Recalibration

Perhaps this is a liminal time—a quiet interlude between so many thresholds.
Where tangled energies uncouple and drift into space.
Where parts, long entangled, begin to breathe on their own.
A sacred void that allows something new to root.

2. Returning What Was Never Mine

I gave back the legacy of sexual violation—ancestral, cellular, psychic.
That lineage taught me sexuality as performance, hypervigilance, dissociation.
If that was the fire that once burned within me,
then its absence is a clearing:
My own sacred fire now has room to rise.
And it may take time.

3. Abandonment of Self & Erotic Energy

There’s another Exile. She left when I was a girl—
just as desire first stirred in me.
In my longing to be loved, valued, chosen,
I had abandoned my rhythm, my need, my sovereignty.
Now that the ancestral grief has been laid to rest,
the next task is learning how to listen—to her, to me. Maybe this is her cry of abandonment?

4. The Void is Sacred

Some transformations require quiet.
A sexual dormancy.
Like the earth in winter—cold not as punishment, but gestation.
The embers go deep to create something true.

Honestly these all feel true to me...

I need to sit with the parts and listen to what they have to say, they hold the truth.

A new kind of loss

Sitting with the parts

I sit and try to meet with them—

my sexual fire - the energy of arosal

and my erotic self - the part who carries desire, softness, sovereignty.

But another part wants to be met first: Fear.
A part who doesn’t want to be here.
A part who whispers: This isn’t safe. Not yet.

I choose an object for her: a squat, heavy shape.
When I hold it, I feel the full weight of my body,
the drag of inertia.
I draw a card for her: The Tower.
A foundation that was never safe.

She’s been holding the ruins of a broken temple.

And maybe—just maybe—she also holds threads of my long war with food and weight.
But that’s not today’s story. I tell her gently: Soon.

The Tower says:
Let it fall.
Let her say no.
She remembers what was never safe.

I choose an object next for my Sexual Fire. It’s small, cold, sharp-edged.

I don’t want to pick it up. When I do,
my body flinches—
visceral echoes of unwanted touch, of cold penetration.

This fire is not safe.
It holds the imprint of being taken, not received.
Its card is the 8 of Pentacles, reversed:
a fire never crafted with care.

Misused. Mislearned. Disconnected from devotion.

My body recoils not in dysfunction,
but in sacred refusal.

This fire must be re-forged, not rekindled.
Made sacred, not salvaged.

Then comes the Erotic Self.

She covers her eyes.
She doesn’t want to see.

I choose an object and as I hold it I feel myself drawing up and out of myself

—long, rigid, frozen.

I feel my throat tighten,
as though energy is moving upward but getting stuck.
A lump forms,
a silence that’s lasted decades.

She carries shame. And unspeakable truths.

Her card: Knight of Swords, reversed.
She once charged forward, perhaps too fast—
trying to prove, to reclaim.
But now, she’s immobilized.
And that’s right.

She cannot move until the scared one is safe,
and the fire is re-forged with sacredness.

The Truth that is Emerging

This tender meeting reveals what I’ve long known but avoided facing head on:

My sexual fire was never just mine.

It was shaped by fear, by survival, by what I inherited and didn’t question.
Parts of me learned to perform desire—not feel it.

My Erotic Self cannot rise until the scared one is soothed,
and the fire is no longer someone else's blaze, but a hearth, just for me.

What I need now is not passion.
Not healing, even.
But a Sanctuary.
A place where no one has to perform.
Where the fire is not reignited—but invited to rest.

This is the Temple of Restoration.

I need some time to create the right mental and physical space for this. And I can’t rush these parts, I honour them and their needs now.

I choose a card to protect them in their sanctuary during this time of rest, a Guardian of the Gate. So they know they are not abandoned but waiting for the right time for me to to return and be with them fully.

The Witch of Earth is called to stand

“I am the oldest” the Earth Witch says.

Shapeshifter, shaman, fearsome she stands, guarding the entrance to a sacred place.

Temple of Restoration

A Sanctuary of Safety

My room becomes a sanctuary.
I light candles.
I shower and wrap myself in a soft cloth.

I feel my resistance, the scared one, assure her that it's ok.

I place the Witch of Earth down at the threshold and thank her for her service, protecting my sanctuary.

I place the candle at the centre.
I lay down the parts.

And I whisper:

“This is a place of peace.
No part has to speak.
No part has to perform.
This is a resting place.”

I hold the scared one close to my belly.

“You’ve carried so much.
You don’t have to protect me from the fire anymore.
The fire is resting too.
You are safe.
You are safe.
You are safe.”

I dip my fingers into warm water.
Touch my skin—wrist, chest, belly—
like a mother bathing her child.

We breathe together.

I greet my Erotic Self.
I do not ask her to show herself.
Only to feel my presence.

“You do not have to wake.
I will wait for you.
No more rushing.
No more proving.
I will see you when you want to be seen.”

One hand at my throat.
One hand at my womb.
I hum. A small gift of soothing vibration.

I light the candle—
not to burn,
but to bless.

“Sacred Fire, I do not ask for you to blaze.
I ask for you to warm.
To be a hearth, not a flame.
Rest here. I will tend you.”

I lie back,
candle glowing quietly at the entrance to my sex.
I imagine it warming my womb -
an ember, not a blaze.

I anoint myself with rose oil—
just as presence, to be with.
Gentle touch. No performance.

And I realise:

Maybe I’ve never rested here before.
Never let my body simply be—
not a battlefield, not a performance,
but a cave. A hearth. A sanctuary.

It feels strange. Indulgent.
But I stay.

It is a beginning.
A long one, yes.
But this time, I will not rush.

This fire, this body, these parts—
they will rise when they are ready.

And when they do,
it will be from love.

If this resonates...

If your sexual fire has gone out, or burns coldly...
If you feel numb, shut down, or detached from your Erotic Self...
If the idea of pleasure feels distant — or even dangerous...
If you have a sense that your body was never truly yours to begin with....

Then maybe your flame was extinguished, too soon or too violently. Maybe it was twisted into something performative. Maybe it never had the safety it needed to burn on its own terms.

In my work, we make space for what is here — not to fix or force anything, but to listen. Using tools like parts dialogue, tarot, ritual, and constellation, we gently map the landscape —
and let each part find its way to its own Temple of Restoration.

We can craft your own sanctuary for the Erotic Self- not to be reawakened, but to rest - a ritual for you to carry out privately and alone.
To belong only to yourself.
To begin, perhaps, to trust again.