Pleasure as a Practice
Building resilience without hardening my heart
Hello Friends,
I don’t know about you, but February felt tender for me.
Like I was learning how to stay open in a world that feels heavy.
With everything happening politically and globally, I’ve been thinking a lot about where I place my energy. Who I support. How I spend my money. What it means to stay informed without completely dysregulating myself. I’m realizing that caring about the world also requires caring for myself because what use would I be if I’m burnt out and shut down? I’ve been there before, which I’m sure many of you can relate to.
On Monday evenings this month, I’ve been meeting with a small therapy group where we explore desire, sensuality, and the wisdom of our bodies. One of the questions we were asked was:
What is pleasure?
My answer came quickly.
A sunrise.
Writing and researching in bed.
Reading romance stories under warm blankets.
Riding bikes with my family.
Cooking with friends.
Taking pictures.
A snowball fight.
Coloring.
Art that makes a room feel alive.
It reminded me that pleasure isn’t something we earn. It’s something we allow and return to especially on heavy days.
I’ve been thinking a lot about why choosing pleasure even small, quiet pleasure can feel so uncomfortable.
Not because it’s wrong. But because it’s unfamiliar.
So many of us were conditioned to prioritize being useful, accommodating, productive and available. We learned how to read rooms before we learned how to read our own bodies. We became attuned to everyone else’s needs and slowly drifted away from our own.
So this month has been gently unlearning that. Maybe pleasure isn’t indulgent. Maybe it’s recalibration.
I started cooking new meals that actually tasted really good, olive oil warming in the pan, salt on my fingers, steam rising when I lifted the lid. Letting myself eat slowly, with no distractions. Tasting everything. Sitting at the table instead of in front of a screen.
Slowing down when I walk, when I talk, when I move through my day. Spending less time scrolling and more time creating, even if it’s imperfect, even if no one sees it.
Waking up and feeling grateful for another morning. Staying in bed when my body asked for it. Enjoying the snow the quiet, the crunch under my boots, the way the air makes everything feel fresh. Visiting friends in Jersey and letting the cold beach air soften me.
Laughing until my stomach hurt. Crying without apologizing for it. Letting big emotions move through me instead of pushing them down.
Letting other people hold me literally and emotionally. Because let’s be real, we need community. And if I’m honest, a supportive community might be my truest form of pleasure.
Creatively, something is shifting too.
I feel less interested in consuming and more interested in creating. Stressing less about the “perfect timing” and more interested in honest expression. There’s something deeply pleasurable about trusting my voice, sharing before everything feels polished or proven.
I’m starting to see that creativity, when it’s rooted in desire instead of performance, becomes its own form of pleasure.
As a new month approaches, I don’t have everything figured out just yet.
But I do feel closer to myself.
And right now, that feels like growth.
I’ve been obsessed with mussels lately. There’s something about the saltiness, the texture, the ritual of layering them onto a crispy chip with pickles and red onions that feels both indulgent and grounding. It’s simple and it tastes like I tried harder than I did.
Pleasure on a Plate: My Current Mussel Snack
This has been my hyper-fixation meal lately.
Salty, crunchy, briny, satisfying.
What I use:
Canned mussels (drained)
A kettle chip or crispy potato chip
Thinly sliced red onion
Pickles
A squeeze of lemon
Sometimes a little hot sauce
How I eat it:
Layer everything onto the chip. Eat slowly. Repeat.
It’s simple, mineral-rich, and weirdly luxurious for something that takes less than five minutes to make. 10/10 recommend.
Mussels are rich in iron, zinc, and B12 which makes them especially supportive in the luteal or menstrual phase.
What I’m Reading
I’ve been revisiting Come as You Are by Emily Nagoski, and it hit me differently this time. She talks about how desire and pleasure aren’t random or selfish, they’re shaped by safety, environment, and the stories we’ve absorbed about ourselves. Reading it reminded me that pleasure is something we can reclaim, not something we have to earn or hide.
It made me think about everything I’ve been practicing this month: slowing down, savoring meals, letting myself feel, creating, leaning into community. Pleasure isn’t indulgent, it’s responsive. When we reduce stress, notice our bodies, and give ourselves permission to feel safe, it grows naturally.
This book didn’t just explain something I already knew, it gave language to what I’ve been feeling: that slowing down, creating, laughing, crying, and fully showing up for myself isn’t a luxury. It’s necessary. And maybe that’s the truest form of pleasure there is.
