La Petite Mort
DoD, Ep. 32: Dying To Feel Myself Again
I was late to the Dying For Sex party because I don’t devote a lot of time to TV watching, but I skimmed the headlines and despite it being yet another treatise on white women’s sexual and otherwise lives, I binged it the day after I got back from Maggie’s Spring Break ‘25: SF/NY.
I loved it. The actors are all amazing. The writing is poignant and funny. I adored the best friendship and most of all, what it means to dominate, control and release—to be authentically you—in love, sex, life and death.
Of course I related to Michelle Williams’ character Molly, the one who’s dying for sex and from cancer. I’m not dying from cancer, but am I dying for sex?
Probably sometimes, though not right now because…
Spoiler alert! Skip this part if you haven’t watched the show and are planning to.
Williams embodies the orgasm as la petite mort (“little death”) in the literal and figurative climax of her character’s sex arc. It’s a gorgeously intimate, slightly frightening scene.
Isn’t that what the best sex is? Without intimacy, vulnerability and a dash of fear, without the possibility of a gigantic little death, what’s it fucking for?
It’s been years since I’ve had sex for the physicality of it rather than the myriad other reasons: love, connection, obligation, procreation, pursuit, validation, alleviation.
After feeling like I was metaphorically dying (from my divorce, custody battle and breakup), I want to feel alive again, have fun and enjoy again. Have amazing, carefree sex again. Feel myself again.
I’m learning that sex may never be no strings attached for me, even if it’s a one night stand. The exchange of sexual energy is potent (as it should be or else what’s the point?) and there should be some reverence for that, but it doesn’t mean there needs to be more meaning than the experience itself and la petite mort.
It’s been years since I’ve had sex for the physicality of it rather than the myriad other reasons: love, connection, obligation, procreation, pursuit, validation, alleviation.
You can be intimate and vulnerable in the moment—and I think people who rack up many casual encounters are possibly seeking that—but you don’t have to stay in that open state. You probably shouldn’t if you’re having sex with someone you don’t see a future with.
And that’s ok. Post-divorce and -breakup, it’s kind of ideal. Some people suggest two years post-divorce/LTR before getting emotionally involved with someone again. I read this horrible study that says it takes 8 YEARS to fully get over your ex. Ughhh. Gag me.
Thank god sex is a different story.
I was a little flip when I suggested getting a hot lover to get over it. But having a hot lover remind you how beautiful, desirable and sexy you are—without the emotional labor of actually caring for this person outside of sex—can be very liberating for women who’ve been trained to equate sex with love.
I do not want to care about anyone besides myself, my kids and my good friends right now. I’ve spent much of my life centering men and I’m fucking sick of it.
You’re Welcome, Man
I recently met up with my first boyfriend, who I was with from 17 to 20 years old. I’ll write more about the positive encounter, but a big takeaway was how much I’d given him, formed him in our relationship.
“You gave me confidence for the rest of my life,” he said.
You’re welcome. I’m so happy for you and your multiple, successful, multimillion dollar businesses and your beautiful kids at our Ivy League alma mater.
What did I get? Trauma?
I’m being flip again.
He’s a lovely, wonderful human and we were children when we were together, but I think this is typical of heterosexual relationships. Women give so much, we contort ourselves to shape our partners, we wring ourselves out in relationship and often wind up depleted, anxious, depressed and sad—while men can and do move forward with the beautiful essence of their partner. Hence that infuriating expression, “Behind every great man is a great woman.”
I used to joke how all my exes got successful after being with me. Causal or coincidental, it’s true. I wonder where I would be in life if I’d devoted as much energy to myself as I did to these dudes.
The Era Of Me
My therapist tried telling me for months that many women really start being post-divorce and in their late-40s, 50s. (Which is when people are meant to individuate, according to Jungian psychology.)
My favorite cousin tells me the same thing: This is your time. The kids are teenagers. It’s the Era of Maggie.
It sounded scary and impossible a few months ago. I didn’t want it to be the Era of Maggie. I wanted it to be the Era of Happily Ever After With My Soulmate And My Kids.
But time, astrology, fate, HRT and ChatGPT have all contributed to me feeling excited about the Era of Maggie.
It was almost midnight when I landed at LAX last week. I picked up my luggage and ordered an Uber. For a second, I remembered how my ex would always pick me up at the airport, a dozen roses and kisses on hand. It was sweet.
It was just as sweet to have agency. I never would have had my 3-week Spring Break, visiting friends, meeting old and new lovers, being as wild as I wanted, if I were still in my previous relationship.
I can breathe again. I am free again. I am back home to, for and by myself.
I can buy myself flowers, for real.
THIS is the other side of divorce. It’s glorious. And if I can get here, so can you. Promise.
If you need guidance before, during or after your divorce, I’m now a certified divorce coach! Reach out if you need help: divorceordie@gmail.com