I was raised thinking that sensual was a synonym for sexual.
I’d hear ‘sensual’ connected to things like roses and chocolates and silk sheets and think that sensual referred to foreplay. I don’t think I ever even heard the word unless it was pronounced in a way that dripped with meaning I couldn’t quite decipher as a child. SsssssENchuaaaaallll. As if it was an onomatopoeia like POW or BANG that could only be said with action.
I came from a religion that taught me bodies were sinful, anything related to bodies was inherently sexual, and that bodies were something to overcome on our way to earning our spot in the hereafter. Senses were something to master control of, never indulge, lest they lead you astray. Bodies were base. Corruptible. The opposite of god. The thing that must be cast off in order to reunite with the divine, but only after grimly enduring life.
I don’t believe any of that anymore, but I did for a long time. Religion is such a part of our world that even if you didn’t practice, you might still have those sneaky beliefs lurking in your thoughts. And those beliefs (and a whole lot of trauma) encouraged me to master my body by ignoring it as much as possible, disconnecting from my body cues, and walking through the world feeling like a head on a stick.
I started paying attention to my senses again not through trauma therapy, which would come much later, but because of Atticus. He is autistic but we didn’t know it for a long time. Because of his other disabilities a lot of clinicians blamed every struggle he had on his prematurity. Meanwhile he was having epic painful meltdowns, clearly suffering and in pain. I had to spot the pattern to solve the problem, knowing nothing at the time about autistic sensory sensitivity. I just knew that my child could literally hear sounds I couldn’t hear. And hear them so clearly that it hurt him.
In order to prevent his pain, I started getting sensory protective on his behalf, trying wherever I could to keep the triggers away from him. And once I learned more about autism, I learned about the ways he was also sensory seeking. So much of my parenting came down to supervising Atticus’ sensory experience – keeping the negative sensory experiences away and making his positive sensory experiences possible. Somewhere along the line a lightbulb went off in my head to tell me, “Wait a minute, it’s not just Atti who has senses. I have senses too! I can make my life better if I can choose what I expose my senses to!”
I don’t know if that sounds like the most basic shit you’ve ever read, but it was radical to me. Steeped in trauma responses and people pleasing, I had been rewarded for being as accommodating as possible. Being as quiet and small and no trouble as I could manage. I was taught indulging senses was hedonistic and something good girls didn’t do. It was shameful. I didn’t even have personal preferences let alone a mindfully chosen sensory diet. I had a lot of work to do.
Sensual just means ‘of the senses.’ Taste touch sight hearing and smell. Our senses exist to help our bodies navigate the world. To give our brains as much information as possible about the conditions we’re in. To keep us safe, fed, alive. To bring us delight. If you grew up in a place or time or family or church or system or institution where you were taught bodies were shameful, I bet you were not taught to delight in your body in any other way than through sex. Which is why I thought that sensual and sex meant the same thing.
But then I look at the autistic sensory experience and I would NEVER confuse that. Because I’ve watched the suffering. Sensual doesn’t even guarantee positive.
It can be positive, though. And as you discover what your positive sensory experiences are, you can stuff your life full of them. Fuzzy blankets in every room, prisms that reflect rainbows in the sun, music that makes you feel, the smell of fresh cut grass, sun warmed summer strawberries. You can choose what you are feeding your senses. You stack up enough of those bright spots and you outnumber some of the bad things you just have to live with. You don’t have to keep these pleasures to just the sexual part of your life. You can empower yourself to fill your whole life with joy.
Reconnecting with my senses was an early step back to connection with my body. I created more opportunities for positive body experiences and there was less to be scared to feel. I started to view my sensory experiences as little gifts from my body, like a kid bringing you a dandelion they picked. As I went through my trauma therapy and dug out the ugly, I then went home and filled back up on the sensory experiences that make me love this twisted world. I give my body what feels good to my senses as if I’m taming a wild animal, giving it little treats and treating it gently until it is walking calmly by my side.