Bring Your Goddess. Bring Your God.

Sexuality fascinates me. When I start promoting my brand, helping individuals and couples create better sex lives will be one of my brand's components. Specifically, assisting others get to what turns them on, drives them wild, brings them closer, and creates more connection; then assisting them in manifesting that. I want people to bring more passion, fire, intensity, playfulness, intimacy, sense of adventure, and love, to their intimate relationships. I've been doing that for years with myself and my lovers. And the results have been, well, damn fuckin' good.

Years ago, I stopped tying to figure out what's behind the cornucopia of my sexual turn-ons. One of my favorite questions is “Why?”. The question of “Why" leads to great understanding. And I'm big on understanding. I want to understand what I'm into. I want to understand you. I kinda want to understand everything; I'm insatiably curious. On a deeper level, understanding is a path for connection to whatever, or whoever, I want to know better. Why do stars explode? Why did T-Rex have such puny forearms? Why did you do that?

Sometimes, however, "Why" gets in the way. For example, as much as I love to dissect music, I don't ask myself why I love or hate a song. I may really dig the drum beat, the guitar lick, the bass run, the way the tune was mixed. From a technical standpoint, I enjoy picking music apart. But falling in love with a song is an emotional response. A tune either hits me in the heart or it doesn't. I leave it at that.

One of most valuable lessons I've learned is that, if you each put the other person first in the bedroom, you're going to create mad fireworks. Instead of focusing on your own pleasure, focus on your partner's. I get off just as much, usually more, knowing that she's feeling my love and lovin' what I'm doing for her. If you both do that for each other, you're taking a big step in co-creating an explosive sex life. If you both know what really turns you on, are comfortable with it, and can share it with your lover, you're nourishing fertile ground for fantastic love making. And, you're building your mutual temple for sexual discovery and sexual empowerment. 

It all starts with intimately knowing yourself, sharing that, and wanting to know your partner the same way. Both of you have to Bring It. Or else it's the sound of one hand clapping. And that just doesn't do it. 

An appreciation for beauty is vital. We can all cultivate an appreciation for beauty, across our entire lives. When you cultivate your appreciation for beauty in nature, for example, you're simultaneously cultivating an appreciation for beauty itself. Your nourishing your love of art, in all it's countless manifestations. When you bring that to your intimate love relationship, you're cultivating an appreciation for yourself, and for your partner. Your lover is beautiful. Tell them that. Often.

As much as I appreciate the beauty of the male body, I'm not sexually attracted to it. But I find the male physique just as aesthetically beautiful as the female physique. I just don't want to hop in bed with one. 

The female form...Sweet Mama!...is a breathtaking creation of artistic elegance and grace. I love everything about a woman's body. When I'm with a woman, I pay attention to all of her. Including what's inside. I could write indefinitely about what I love about a woman's heart and mind. There's so much beautiful happening within. But for this writing, I'm sticking with the physical. It's a totally incomplete picture, I know, but roll with me here. I've only got so much of your time.

Her hair. Her eyes. Her forehead. Her ears. Her cheeks. Her lips. Her mouth. Her tongue. The nape of her neck. The whole of her neck. Her shoulders and arms. The smoothness of her back. Her hands and fingers. Her skin. Her sides, between her stomach and the small of her back (usually incredibly sensitive). Her tummy. The slopes of soft flesh just below and on either side of her navel, running down to her happy trail. The curve of her hips. Her juicy bum. The sweep of her back. Her thighs. Her calves. Her legs. Her feet. Her toes. The way she smells. The way she tastes. The way she sounds. The way she feels. The sound of her voice. The way she looks at me. Her prana. I could go on and on...

The first step in all of this is opening your heart. If our heart's aren't open, it hinders our appreciation of beauty, and it blocks intimacy. If it's closed, opening the heart up is a process, so give it time. And do the work. It doesn't happen all by itself. Sometimes, our heart explodes when we have a life event that throws gasoline on the smoldering fire that is our heart. That has happened to me a few times. But even after that, the fire has to be fed. The work (and the play) have to be done. The flame will dwindle if it's not stoked.

Bring your Goddess. Bring your God. Bring your passionate, sexy, on fire, most loving being. Integrate your most primal self with your highest self.

Bring It All to the bedroom (and anywhere else you get it on). And then enjoy the fireworks.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Digging Up A Body Image Disorder (Body Addiction part 3)

In my last intimate relationship, my lover noticed that, for a while, I became a little distant. That “while” coincided with the time span of my obsessive compulsion to get my body where I wanted it. I didn’t see the connection between distance and getting in killer shape. She noticed it. She felt it. But I wasn’t aware of it. And I certainly couldn’t explain it. 

I can now.

When my focus becomes my body, it leaves less space for other people. Especially my significant other. I learned that in a Body Image Disorder group. I didn’t know I had a BID before I got into treatment (just add this to my list. If I wasn’t so healthy, I’d think I was totally fucked up). I thought that, when I hit the gym and the cardio hard, and really watched what I ate, I was just kicking the ass I needed to get into shape. I was indeed doing that, but when you have a BID, things get far more complicated. 

Body image disorders are relational. They stem from, here we go again, a lack of nurturing, mirroring, and attunement in childhood. If we don’t get enough of that, and lots of us don’t, it can, sometimes, manifest itself as a body image disorder. As kids, if we don’t get what we need, we can believe that there is something fundamentally flawed about us. I did. Deep down, I thought I was, literally, a Defective Model. 

I carried that Defective Model bullshit into adulthood. I didn’t consciously feel that way most of the time. I didn’t act that way most of the time. But it was always there, somewhere very deep. And, when we get older, if we believe that we are fundamentally flawed, we can make the unconscious choice to go to our bodies to “fix” it. This makes sense, because our feeling of defectiveness is abstract. The body is concrete. It’s something we can alter, and actually see the results. Our body is our physical connection to life, our membrane to the world. So those of us with BID's unconsciously believe that, “If I just looked better, I would be more lovable”; no matter how loveable we truly are.

I was also a fat kid (this just gets better and better, doesn’t it). It felt beyond awful to be ridiculed and shamed. So when I discovered, in my teens, that I could do something about not being fat; in fact, I could do something that actually made me look….damn good, I took to it like a crack whore to, well, crack. 

There is some good news here. Being a heavy kid and never wanting be heavy again creates a very strong drive to be fit. And, for virtually my entire adult life, I’ve been very fit. In fact, I look and feel better today than I did at twenty-five (I’m 54). So there’s the gift in the wound. There’s always a gift in the wound. But if you don’t heal the wound, and you can’t heal it by having a great body, the wound is still there. 

Combine the fat kid syndrome with a body image disorder, and I was an accident of exercise and militant eating waiting to happen. It wasn’t about the actions of exercising religiously and eating right as a way of life that was the problem. Plenty of people do that in a healthy way. The problem was how I attached to it. I attached far too much of how I felt about myself to how buff I was. So I developed a mild to moderate obsession about being really fit. 

Being buff, however, does feel great. And not just physically; but mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. By working my ass off, educating myself, and applying great discipline, I made an ideal a reality; like creating a great career, or crafting a beautiful song. I had achieved something very difficult, so there’s a powerful sense of satisfaction. It fundamentally boosted my self-esteem, self-confidence, and sense of self. And there are more endorphins constantly screaming through my body, even long after I exercise. I looked and felt better than most men half my age. I felt more connected to my body, and more connected to life. Looking and feeling the way I want powers up my prana, my “life force”. It fills my heart and soul with positive energy. It feels like electricity is surging through me all the time. That’s spiritual. I know, because I was aware of it. I felt it. It was visceral. It was real.

However, there was a dark side to that. A dark side that not everybody shares. That dark side is that it became too consuming. Again, if I’m that consumed by this, or by anything for that matter, there’s less room for you. It’s akin to being a workaholic. If so much of your energy and so much of yourself goes into your work; if you over-identify yourself with your career, the loved ones in your life pay for it.

In my last relationship, I was very loved. I felt very loved. More so than in any relationship I ever dreamed of. But deep down, I still had that wound. I knew I wanted to look better. But when I unconsciously believe that I can fix something on the inside by looking better on the outside, I’m in for trouble and a rude awakening. And I’ve known, for many years, that you can’t fill an internal hole with external dirt. But if you’re not aware of that hole because it’s unconscious, then it’s a blind spot. Everyone’s got blind spots. That was one of mine.

The Great News is that, Clint, "You've come a long way, baby!" (Remember that ad?). I’m currently once again getting in killer shape. But I’m not consumed by it. I’ve turned this unconscious pre-occupation into a conscious choice. I no longer attach any of my self worth to single-digit body fat percentage and a muscular physique. 

I’ve had the privilege of working extensively with Ari Winograd (www.bddclinic.com), who, literally, wrote the book on body image disorders, “Face To Face With Body Dysmorphic Disorder”. He has educated me, impacted me, and been a powerful ally in my healing. And before I worked with him, I made tremendous progress in residential treatment to develop myself from the inside out. I feel better than I ever have in my life.

Finally, on a very personal note, I want to say, I’m sorry Sweet Angel. The last thing I ever wanted to do was create even an inch of distance between us. The last thing I ever wanted to do was make even an inch of less space, for you.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Mother Kym (part 2)

Lots of kids are bullied. I sure as shit was. It was worse than a mind fuck. It was a heart and soul fuck. Not only did I not know, as a child, how to defend myself, verbally, physically, or emotionally, but once the event happened, bringing it to mom made it worse. So I just stopped bringing it. Being completely ill equipped to handle such a thing, the event would stay with me and rattle around inside of me, indefinitely. I would go to my head and try to work it out. That’s certainly one reason I can be in my head so much if I’m not being mindful. I learned to do that very young, and those neural pathways got forged in steel.

With my EMDR therapist, we did an exercise where I recreate a specific, shitty, traumatic bullying experience. But I pick another woman to be my mom (my cousin Kym, the best mother I could possibly imagine), because my real mom wasn't able to give me what I needed. Then, I recreate the experience the way I would have wanted it to go down. 

It looks like this: 

I get physically bullied by an older kid at school and bring it home to Mother Kym. She consoles me. Wipes away my tears. Listens to me. Holds me. Loves me up. Makes me stop feeling bad about myself. She tells me what a wonderful little kid I am, and tells me she knows how awful this must feel. She gives me some ice cream and we start talking about something else, something I’m really interested in, like dinosaurs (I still find them endlessly fascinating). Then she calls the parents of the jerk-off that did this to me, and tells them, respectfully but in no uncertain terms, that their son is to leave me the hell alone.

Then, she teaches me how to kick some ass.

After four weeks of involving dad and other people to teach me what to do, I approach the bully in school. Since Mother Kym made the phone call, I’ve been on the receiving end of countless taunts from the bully and his cronies for involving her. But I’ve been able to withstand that, because Mother Kym and I have processed it, and I have some new resiliency regarding verbal abuse. I believe that kids have to fight their own battles. But the kid needs help. The kid has to be thought how to do that, by adults. It doesn’t happen by magic.

The bully tells me he’s not gonna apologize, and starts taunting me again. I ask him once more. He laughs. Then, I do the last thing he expects; I smack him right in the kisser. Hard. In front of all his friends. I’ve been practicing this for a month, so I know how and where to land a punch. He goes down like a sack of bricks, holding his bloody nose and bloody mouth, yelping like a dog. I say to him, “Don’t ever fuck with me, or my friends, again.” Then I walk away. Scene (that’s a theatre term for “End”).

I’m not a proponent of violence. However, I believe, in certain situations, you have to make a statement. A bold, loud as fuck statement; one that echoes long after it’s made. A statement that brings peace, self-assurance, and safety to the one who made it. This is that situation. This is that statement. In the world of elementary school, no one is likely to fuck with me again. I feel safe. Something I never actually felt, ever, as a kid.

Therapeutically, combined with EMDR, this stuff works because it powerfully forges new neural pathways that I build on. I immediately felt better after the session. I often know how to appropriately stand up for myself as an adult. But that doesn’t heal the original wound until I create something new around that specific trauma from childhood. And as long as the original wound is still there, there’s still the possibility of maladaptive behavior associated with events that trigger it. For example, nowadays when my blood does get up, I can sometimes act inappropriately and blow my top. Or, sometimes I’ll freeze, because my central nervous system shuts down. Those responses are a result of trauma. And neither works. 

The man I’m becoming is completely secure in his ability to act appropriately and take care of himself, and anybody he's with, if necessary, in any situation. It's also important I give fitting breadth to the word "appropriate"; because it's not completely objective. It's a space on a continuum, not an absolute point. Not recognizing that doesn't honor my own standards, values, and unconventional nature. If I'm present and in the flow of my own personal power, I'll choose behavior that serves the situation and myself. In an extreme example, as an adult, I know how to fight, but it won’t come to that, unless I'm physically threatened and have no other options. Because, otherwise, I can’t be bothered with your bullshit. I rise above it, because I am above it. I don’t care about you being a jackass or trying to pick a fight anymore then I care about a tiny spider crawling across my foot.

And that’s all I got to say about that…….for now.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Mother Kym (part 1)

My mother loved me very much. She just didn’t know how to show it. My mom died in May of 2012. I have nothing but empathy and love for her. She didn’t get mothering as a child, and her generation wasn’t remotely aware of personal development. So she could never give me what she never got. 

Contrary to what some believe, the work I'm doing actually creates more love and empathy, not less, for my parents. I understand my mother so much better. I understand her suffering. Because it’s the same suffering I experienced. Although I’m glad she isn’t around to read this, I wish she was still here so I could continue my relationship with her. My mom and I got much closer as we got older. When I visited her in her senior living pad, we would always hold hands. That never happened when I was younger. 

My version of what healthy mothering looked like before I got into treatment was incomplete and somewhat distorted. Because I never got it, I really didn’t know what healthy mothering was. I’ve begun separating mothering from what I want and need in an intimate relationship. Eventually, I won’t look to my lover to mother me, consciously or unconsciously, so I won’t have to bite back on it. That means I won’t inadvertently and unintentionally create any of the distance that is an unavoidable by-product of shutting down a need. 

Nurturing the child. Preparing the child for the road ahead. Protecting the child. Those are The Big Three for a mom. I didn't get that. Many of us don't. It leaves wounds and scars. Because my own mom was emotionally unavailable, I had no clue about those elements. Therefore, there was no way I could satisfactorily give them to myself. 

In EMDR, my therapist and I recreated an actual scenario where I felt awful and went to my mom for help. But I had to imagine it happening much differently than it actually did. And I had to pick another woman to be my mom. I picked my cousin Kym. Not because I relate to her as my mother, but because she’s the best mom I could possibly imagine. I’ve seen her with her boys, and I see the young men they are becoming. She’s everything I could ever want in a mom. I can’t list those qualities; it would take up the rest of the page.

Many of us challenged by unresolved issues from childhood, especially the deep scars caused by severe fractures in the relationship with a parent, can benefit from EMDR. It's a valuable modality for depression, ADHD, trauma, and most other mental and emotional health disorders. I encourage anybody aware of these issues, or wants to deepen their work, to look into it. And contact me if you are looking for more details on my experience. I would be more than happy to offer you whatever I'm able to.

Join me tomorrow, when I take you through this very powerful experience.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Blind Spots

Blind spots are a motherfucker. By definition, we can’t see them. That means we aren’t even aware of them; regardless of our level of self-awareness, or how much work we do on ourselves. We’ve all got them. It’s part of being human.

That’s one reason why community is so important. And by community, I’m talking about your tribe that extends far beyond your immediate or extended family. Your family is sometimes a component of the blind spot itself. So they usually aren’t the ones who can spot them, no matter how close they are to you. In fact, that kind of family closeness can work against you. Being able to see a blind spot requires, amongst other things, the ability to be able to look at your behavior, thinking, and perspective with some objectivity. When it comes to you,  family members tend to be…..less objective than is required.

Let’s use the analogy of a blind spot while you’re driving. If the person is sitting too close to you, they can’t see the blind spot either. It’s the person who’s able to see the road from a different perspective that is able to see that there’s another car occupying the space you can’t see.

That isn’t to say that people close to you can’t see your blind spots. On the contrary. It’s people close to you, who know you well, who love you and care about you, who are invested in your well being; they’re the ones who may be able to see them. But they need a certain distance from the blind spot itself to be able to see it. They have to be able to separate themselves from you and the road you’re on enough to have a wider perspective. Family probably can’t do that, because they're usually part of that road.

The people in my life who can see my blind spots are those close to me who are able to take a step back and look at me with love and some objectivity. They need to be able to back up a little to see whatever behaviors, thinking, or beliefs are raising a red flag. These people include girlfriends, friends, counselors, people I’ve met in treatment, and anybody close to me who is doing their work. 

Ultimately, I have to be able to see the blind spot, or it will remain hidden. Just because someone alerts me to it, doesn’t mean I’ll do anything about it. I have to be ready to hear it. I have to be ready to see it. And then I have to do the work I need to shine some light onto it. 

When are we ready to see a blind spot? From my experience, it happens when we continue down a road that isn’t working, and run into so much pain that we realize that whatever we are doing, or not doing, just isn’t working. Several people very close to me raised the issue that I was possibly abusing substances. I wasn't ready to hear that, because I hadn’t hit my wall yet. Once I did, however, I didn’t waste much time deciding I wanted a different path. 

Pointing out another’s blind spot is risky, often painful. You’re watching somebody who is unaware of something you can see more clearly, and you care deeply about them. You can see that, ultimately, whatever they are pursuing won’t give them what they are looking for, or what they think they’re looking for. It takes courage to bring this to someone’s attention. Courage and awareness. Awareness of self. 

Persistent blind spots are usually attached to old patterns of thinking, behaving, or believing that no longer serve you. Taking my abuse issue as an example, I’ve been a social user of alcohol and drugs for most of my adult life. I’ve gone through spells, like after my father died, where I over did it because I was in so much pain and didn’t know how else to cope. But for the vast majority of time, I didn’t have a problem with them.

Recently, however, things shifted, and I started using them to deal with pain again, instead of for social purposes. Right now, I can’t use because it gets in the way of the work I’m doing. I’ve had to be reminded of that, several times. I’m not sure if I’ll use again. I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I know, for now, use can not co-exist with my healing and my growth. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.

I’m extremely talented at seeing other people’s blind spots. First of all, I've very intuitive, and I'm connected to that intuition. My gut can ring like a fire alarm, and when it does, I pay attention. I've been cultivating self-awareness since I was a teenager; since before I even knew what I was doing. It’s in my nature. I’ve done a lot of this work, starting in my mid twenties, at, of all places, The Boston College Graduate School of Management. Continuing on that path, I’ve done workshops, seminars, retreats of all kinds, individual and group therapy, read books on personal development, written about personal development, and practiced a life of it. And for the past three months, I’ve been doing very intensive work in that area. I’m also a seeker, and a healer. And I care a great deal about the people I’m close to. All of that adds up to somebody who’s acumen about blind spots is well honed. I’ve been told, by laypeople and by professionals alike, that I’m one of the best unprofessional counselors they’ve ever met.

I encourage you to take risks with those you love regarding their blind spots. We need others to help us with them. I have been that person for people I love, and it’s worth it. Be that person for someone else. I am forever grateful for the people in my life who were courageous enough and wise enough to help me see mine.

And I can be one obstinate son of a bitch.

©2017 Clint Piatellii, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.