What does it mean to be pleasure-centered when everything is falling apart? Three moments from my life where I experienced resistance and learning to trust that I deserve to feel good.

Touch, Arousal, Then Desire

Pleasure is how I hack my nervous system when it gets stuck in the ‘everything is on fire‘ loop. And pleasure might be touching myself, connecting with nature, or just putting my hand on my heart and saying, “I’m still here.”

But resistance shows up constantly. Sometimes I am not in the mood. I do not want to touch myself or be touched. It sounds like: “You don’t have time for this.” Or “You should be doing something productive.” Or my favorite: “You’re not even in the mood, so why bother?“

My resistance also looks like: I suddenly need to check and/or organize my email. Clean the kitchen. Binge a Netflix limited series. Answer that text. Overall, my body gets fidgety, like it’s trying to escape feeling anything. Even as a Sex and Pleasure coach who literally teaches this stuff, I still feel my body resisting. The difference now is I recognize it and move through it anyway.

I used to wait for desire. For years, I was waiting for something that was never going to lead. Most women’s bodies don’t work that way. We need to touch first, then arousal comes, then desire shows up to the party. Now I know better. I start with my body, even when my mind resists.

How do I connect with my body for pleasure? Ocean water on my skin when my world is crumbling. My hand on my vulva when my mind won’t stop spinning. Lying on my bed with soft music, just breathing. These aren’t indulgences. They’re how I stay resourced when everything else is falling apart.

I want to share three moments when I worked through real-life resistance. Two happened back-to-back when everything fell apart, and my nervous system went haywire. One happened years earlier when I was learning to feel safe in my own skin. In each moment, resistance told me I was being ridiculous. But each time I chose pleasure anyway, it brought me home, hacking my nervous system out of that ‘everything is on fire‘ loop and back into my actual body. Here’s what that actually looked like when my life imploded.

Pleasure in the Panic

Ding. A meeting invite from the CEO, thirty minutes from now. Unusual. I had no idea what this was about.

I ate lunch on the balcony, then joined the call and learned that our multimillion-dollar Federal contract had been canceled. Effective immediately.

In eight minutes, I lost 90% of my income. I felt like someone punched me in the chest. My mind spiraled: How much is in savings? What bills are due? The numbers wouldn’t stop. After ten minutes of worst-case loops, I remembered what I tell my pleasure clients: “get into your body, not your head.”

At first, I resisted my own advice. The idea of touching myself in a crisis felt frivolous. Avoidant, like I was ignoring reality. Maybe even absurd.

But I knew I wasn’t giving up. I was plugging myself back in so I could actually handle what was coming. I knew if I stayed in my head, I would spiral for days, maybe weeks, and nothing would get solved. My mind kept pushing the old trap (just wait for desire), yet I knew better. Self-touch creates arousal, and desire follows.

So 20 minutes after losing my income, I grabbed almond oil, my vib, and turned on music. I touched my vulva with a simple goal of sensation, not outcome. As my body relaxed, panic loosened its grip. My breathing slowed down. I dropped into my body and my nervous system softened. Two hours later, I calmly looked at finances and considered next steps.

Taking time for pleasure, I was not denying reality. I was building a pathway back to it, steady and resourced, teaching my body to feel good no matter what. Life will always throw curveballs and heartbreak; I do not live there.

That day reminded me that a little arousal from my own touch sparked desire, and desire gave me the energy to face what came next. But one orgasmic afternoon delight was not enough. The real test came in the weeks that followed.

Coming Back to My Body

After the contract ended, my consulting work flatlined. I tried to be productive. I reached out to colleagues, searching for options, but Federal cuts were hitting my network hard.

Survival mode kept telling my mind that I should be doing something like hustle. My body said pause.

When nothing was coming, I paused and thought, “Could I receive this loss as a gift, even with my mind screaming WTF?” I leaned into a truth I trust: the universe provides. I rested in my belief that I will always be held in ways I cannot anticipate. I survived COVID in 2020, the housing crisis in 2008, and more. This sharp and drastic loss felt like another one of those moments. If nothing was coming, maybe I needed time and space to recalibrate.

So I made a deal with myself: go to the beach a few hours each day. No phone. No fixing. Just sensation. Feet in sand, water on skin, sun on my face. Notice my breath, shoulders, and hips. Focus on being grounded in my body.

On day one, the urge to leave the beach was immediate. My brain kept pulling me toward productivity. Shouldn’t I be hustling, networking, trying to solve my financial crisis? In the first week, every instinct screamed at me to leave the beach and do something productive​​. That’s the resistance: the voice telling me that sitting still is wasteful. That pleasure is irresponsible. That I do not deserve this time.

By week three, I was on the beach most days. Then one afternoon, I waded deeper into the ocean. The water was cool against my thighs. Without planning it, I took a massive sigh. I breathed in a deep, satisfying gulp of air. I bounced with the sea, exhaled, and felt salty water splash on my lips. The sun held me like a blanket and warmed my skin. My body finally felt calm and safe. I was thankful for that moment. That night, for the first time in weeks, I slept through until morning.

I was proud of myself for taking time to experience pleasure despite life circumstances. The resistance never fully disappeared. Some days it screamed, other days it whispered, but it was always there. The difference was I’d built enough pleasure practice to move through it. I’d catch the warning signals like my fidgety feeling, the sudden need to be productive, and choose the ocean anyway. Each time I chose pleasure despite the alarm bells, I proved to my nervous system that we could feel good even when life wasn’t.

Eventually, opportunities came (as they always do) and the universe did provide, just not how I expected. Friends insisted on paying for lunches. Family gifted money without my asking. Past clients recommended my coaching services to others. The opportunities came through relationships, not resumes. Through community, not corporate contracts. I had been so focused on hustling for traditional income that I almost missed how support was already flowing toward me.

This ability to receive (whether pleasure, help, or abundance) didn’t just appear. It was built through practice, starting years earlier when my sex coach taught me something fundamental: I needed to find safety in my body first.

Finding Safety First

Years earlier, at the start of my pleasure journey, my sex coach told me to find safety in my body. I had grown up around domestic violence and experienced sexual abuse. So, safety did not live in my tissues. She said, “Thaw your body numbness with gentle awareness. Let’s create safety and bring your body back online.”

I tried a simple practice: lying in bed with soft music for 20-30 minutes. I played instrumental pieces with gentle vocals, anything that felt like a lullaby (my fav on repeat: “O, I Love You” by Essie Jain or “I Am Connected” by A Beautiful Chorus).

During the practice, my focus was simply to tune into my body and relax areas that felt tight. I noticed my head melting into the pillow, shoulders releasing, and tight hips bracing for impact. I breathed into my hips and felt them sink into the mattress. As I scanned down my body, I found more tightness in my thighs and calves. I hadn’t realized I carried tension everywhere,  like I was holding everything, even in places that should feel safe.

Over time, I noticed how I was rarely fully relaxed when I lay down. Instead, my body was always braced, ready, tense like it was still protecting me from dangers that had already passed. This practice helped me calm down, get present to my body, and create body safety.

After several weeks, once I felt safe in my body, I asked myself this question: Are you willing to touch your vulva now? To me, willing meant placing my hand on vuvla. That’s it.

Sometimes the answer was no. I just wanted to lie there naked, feeling into my body, relaxing, building safety and self-connection. Other days, I began even without much desire, but with a willingness.

I gave myself the gift of time: 15-30 minutes to relax my body, 30 minutes (sometimes more) to explore sexual pleasure. No rush. No expectations. No demands to perform. Just being in the moment and allowing my body to slowly open. By giving myself more time, these became my deepest orgasms because my body finally relaxed and trusted.

This is where I learned the lesson I keep relearning: I don’t wait for desire. I offer a gentle vulva touch, which creates arousal, and arousal births desire. Feeling safe and relaxed in my body makes that possible. Now I believe that my body deserves to feel safe before, during, and after pleasure.

The Flip: Arousal Creates Desire

We’re taught that desire comes first, then arousal follows. My body taught me the opposite. For most women, arousal comes before desire, not after. We’ve been following the male model (desire → arousal → sex) when our bodies work differently (willingness → touch → arousal → desire).

When I establish safety, then create touch/sensation with curiosity and care, arousal arrives, and desire wakes up to meet it. This is how I move through resistance in a crisis or in daily life.

Once I understood the flip, I could create desire. I stopped waiting months for the mood to strike. I stopped thinking I was broken. I had reliable access to my own pleasure because I finally understood the sequence: willingness first, then touch, then arousal, then desire shows up. That mindset shift helped me own my sexuality.

This works whether I’m alone or with a partner. Not in the mood? I don’t wait for it. I start with safety breathing, presence, and gentle touch. Sometimes getting in sync with my partner’s breath creates my safety and willingness.

When I stay with the sensation of hands on skin, mine or theirs, something shifts. I drop into my body. My body starts lighting up. Arousal builds from that touch, and desire follows like it always does when I give it time. I’m not broken. I just needed to understand the sequence.

I don’t need desire first, just the willingness to be with myself and touch. I don’t obsess over orgasm. If I think touch means working for orgasm, I’m not interested. But if touching is about connecting with and grounding myself, then I’m more willing. My body became a resource even in the hardest moments.

What I Know Now About Resistance

Resistance is a signal to slow down, to resource, to come home to myself. A few minutes of pleasure with my body (in nature or sexually) is not a luxury. It is a soothing medicine balm.

When I stop outsourcing safety and create it inside my skin, my nervous system recalibrates. Anxiety may still whisper, but it doesn’t run my life. Resistance may still appear, but I move through it.

Resistance protected you once. Maybe it still does, and that’s okay.

But if you’re willing, just willing, to try something different today, start with the smallest touch. Your hand on your chest, or fingers on your thigh. No goal, no pressure. Arousal will build from that willingness. Desire follows. Every single time.

You don’t need to wait for the mood or feel broken when desire doesn’t come first. You just needed to learn the flip: willingness, touch, arousal, then desire.

This isn’t about fixing yourself. You were never broken. You just learned the sequence backwards, as most of us did.

Read Articles by Tosh