From Overthinking to Overfeeling: I’m Finally Open for Epic Sex

TikTok video from 2022-09-15

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This weekend, something shifted. Not in a lightning-strike, life-altering way, but in a quiet, steady click—a puzzle piece falling into place in the ongoing conversation I’ve been having with myself about love, safety, and desire.

For the past few months, I’ve been reflecting on my dating patterns. Despite being active in the ethically non-monogamous world, and despite my deep capacity for connection, something hasn’t been landing. I’ve been connecting with people—smart, thoughtful, respectful people—but the relationships haven’t moved into the kind of embodied, electric intimacy I crave.

They’ve been emotionally deep but physically stalled. And this weekend, I finally saw why.

In polyamory, especially when practiced with maturity and consent, boundary-setting is essential. It’s what keeps relationships honest. It’s what protects autonomy. And for those of us who’ve experienced trauma—especially trauma related to consent, violation, or power—it’s a lifeline.

I’m no stranger to that. I’ve done the work. I’ve unpacked my stories, reclaimed my voice, and healed from pain that once felt like it would never leave my body. Much of that trauma happened in my teens and twenties—years when I didn’t have the language, tools, or self-trust to navigate dating from a place of sovereignty.

So in my healing, I learned to vet well. To articulate my needs. To define my “playground” before stepping into it. I became practiced in the art of relational negotiation—sometimes before I even met someone face to face.

And for a while, that worked. It gave me control. It gave me structure. It helped me feel safe.

But recently, I started noticing a different pattern. These carefully outlined frameworks were preventing me from feeling anything at all. I was preemptively protecting myself before the first date. Sometimes before the first text exchange. I was trying to decide whether someone could be a “safe long-term partner” before I even knew if we had chemistry.

In other words, I wasn’t dating—I was running risk assessments.

This strategy may have worked for a time. But now? It’s keeping me from the very thing I want.

I’m craving connection that doesn’t live only in my head. I’m longing for flirtation, touch, energy, presence, chemistry. I want to laugh. I want to feel my heart race. I want the warmth of leaning into someone’s body and knowing we’re both saying yes—not just to what might happen in the future, but to what’s happening right now.

Instead, I’ve found myself cycling through emotionally rich but physically asexual connections. They’re intellectually fascinating. They’re filled with depth and conversation and care. But they lack fire. They lack body. And that’s because I haven’t been letting my body lead. I’ve been analyzing instead of allowing.

And the root of that behavior? Fear. Not fear of physical harm, but fear of emotional vulnerability. Fear of disappointment. Fear of being seen, desired, touched, and then left.

So I closed the door before anyone had the chance to knock.

This weekend, I realized I’m done with that. I’m done frontloading relationships with structure before the spark. I’m done treating every potential date like a job interview for lifelong partnership. I’m done projecting past hurts onto future possibilities.

What I want now is to stay open.

Not wide open. Not boundaryless. But curious. Alive. Willing.

Instead of asking, “Could this be something serious?”
I’m asking, “Do I want to spend two hours with this person in joy?”

Instead of leading with lists of what I need to feel safe, I’m leading with presence and letting safety emerge in real time.

Instead of constructing a relationship model before I’ve even tasted the connection, I’m giving myself permission to just date.

Five or six dates? Maybe more. Maybe less. No rush. No pressure. Just experience.

Because I won’t know if someone is “right” for me until I allow myself to feel them—in my body, not just in my mind.

Here’s the deepest truth: I haven’t been letting myself feel. Not because I’m shut down, but because I’ve trained myself to lead from logic. I’ve become so good at being emotionally safe that I’ve become emotionally distant—even from myself.

And that distance has kept me from experiencing the kind of embodied joy and sensuality I desire. Not just sex. But play. Connection. Kissing in public. Holding someone’s hand without wondering what it “means.”

I’m ready to let pleasure be part of the process, not just the reward for perfect communication.

So when I said to my podcast co-host this week, “I’m open for epic sex,” what I meant was:

I’m open for life that moves through my body again.
I’m open for touch that doesn’t have to be justified.
I’m open for encounters that start with laughter, build with tension, and maybe—even if only once—end in something unforgettable.

That doesn’t mean I’m careless. It doesn’t mean I’m abandoning my values. It just means I’m making space for aliveness, not just alignment.

If you, like me, have learned to protect yourself so fiercely that nothing gets in—not even joy—this is your permission to loosen the grip.

Say yes to coffee. Say yes to flirting. Say yes to not knowing where it’s going.

Because intimacy doesn’t grow in spreadsheets and vetting checklists.
It grows in the moments we allow ourselves to be seen, touched, felt—and maybe, loved.

For me, it starts now.
I’m in my body.
I’m open for connection.
And yes, I’m open for epic sex.

Not because I need validation.
But because I deserve joy.