“A sister needs our help,” said 87-year-old Betty as she crawled on all fours across the circle and sat next to me. It was my Bodysex certification workshop and we were practicing the breath of fire. To my horror, Betty put her hand on my stomach, my most-hated and shameful body part. “When you breath in, let your stomach expand with air,” she said, “then pull your stomach in to push it out.” Her hand stayed on my stomach, expanding and contracting as I took in breaths. Betty didn’t seem repulsed or appalled by my body. Her touch began my own personal healing to find self-acceptance and eventually love. Since then, whenever I do the breath of fire, I lovingly put my own hand on my belly as I feel it expand and contract with my breath. Betty showed me the way.

“Quit your job,” Betty said while we were eating lunch together during one of our Menla retreats. I had shared with her that I taught seminars part-time for teachers at a college. It was literally standing in the way of Bodysex, as I left later than planned for the retreat because I first had to help a student with an unexpected problem. A few months later, I left that teaching job. I learned from Betty that letting go of the past makes space for the future. I learned to take risks.

“You know that I don’t like the Sybian,” said Betty. She was sitting in a chair, using the Sybian bench as a footstool while we were talking nearby the Sybian that I had brought to one of the retreats. “I enjoy it,” I told her, “Plus I learned a lot about female orgasms while watching women use it at sex parties.” Betty nodded. We held different opinions with respect and without judgement. I learned that I could disagree, even with an icon and my mentor.

“I like this one,” Betty said. The white lettering on the black pin read To Do: Masturbate ☑  “I like that it’s checked off,” she said. The pin was a promotional gift that I had made for clients. I gave one to Betty. She really did like it, as she kept the pin as pictured in the 2020 NYT article with the caption “Some other tchotchkes on Ms. Dodson’s desk.”

These are just a few of the brief personal interactions that shared with Betty. I didn’t spend a lot of time alone with her. In fact, I doubt that Betty knew my name. It doesn’t matter. I felt a strong connection with her. Betty truly saw and understood people. She was comfortable being herself. Betty had a gift of being able to cut through the bullshit and interact in a meaningful way.

At her ninetieth birthday retreat, I gave Betty a card that shared what she and Bodysex meant to me with my heartfelt commitment to dedicating the rest of my life to continuing her work. I watched Betty’s eyes well up as she read my words. My eyes were filled with tears when her gaze met mine. We hugged.

Thank you, Betty Dodson. You changed my life for the better. You changed culture and left the entire world a better place. 

Betty resting her feet on a Sybian bench

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