After a recent breakup left me unable to masturbate without crying, my vag had become seriously depressed. And since everyone has been going on about new vaginal mood-improving products and treatments, I figured some of the woo-woo-sounding stuff was worth a shot to convince my nether regions to get back out there.
First, I hit Awakening Healing Center, a New Agey Brooklyn spa, for an Aura and Chakra Cleansing ($250) that would supposedly release my body’s negative energies (including my private parts’). During a rubdown with a body scrub, oils, herbs, and healing crystals—applied everywhere but my crotch, thank god—my empathetic healer and I loudly yell-breathed “ha” sounds together. I left feeling calm—if not exactly vaginally rejuvenated.
I thought maybe Soul Retrieval and its $350 promise to help release the trauma of old physical and emotional wounds (eff you, ex-BF) would work better wonders for my lonely hoo-ha. While shaking a rattle over my bod, my shamanic healer told me stories of my past lives (“you were once a witch…”) so that she could retrieve the missing pieces of my, um, soul. But all it did was make my vagina and me want to take a nap.
I also tried Acupuncture Williamsburg’s acupuncture sessions, which definitely helped me chill out a little bit, but returning to vaginal bliss apparently takes a village (aka, more than a few admittedly awesome sessions with some needles in my body).
Back at home, I was excited to find that the trendy Sex Dust I had ordered online for $38 from Moon Juice had arrived. Yay! The hype around this blend of “lusty superherbs” has been real. I scooped some of the powder into a glass of almond milk and drank up. It tasted like tree bark. Minutes later, when I was expecting to feel sexually en fuego, I sadly still didn’t want to bone anyone.
So although my beaver is still bereft, I feel a little more peaceful, energetic, and open, in general. And I gained the energy for when (if?) I ever want to have sex again.