I may be the only 33 year old in the western world that has not gotten the full meal deal when it comes to waxing, so I thought it was high time.

I was unclear about options, rules and etiquette so I spoke plainly:

I would like the front to look normal. I would like the undercarriage clean.

Why? Why am I doing this? I started to wonder as I took off my pants and lay down on the dentist’s chair. To be completely honest it’s because everyone else is doing it. It’s because I’ve been told that ‘keeping it real’ is considered grotesque.

It’s because when my hippie 9-month pregnant friend walked naked into the living room the other day and I saw her huge bush before I saw her belly I thought, “How on earth could her partner navigate through all that?” I gotta’ simplify.

So here I am lying supine with nothing but a cable knit sweater on and the tension is palpable. Am I ready? Will I falter? My esthetician is 21, soft-spoken and clearly wise beyond her years. I feel safe with her. She has walked this journey before.

There is mantra music playing in the background. Whales, bells, flutes, chimes and another sound that reminds me of a whispering baby. The relentless repetition of the canned Muzak deeply comforts me.

Photo: wikimedia commons

She asks me to put one leg into half Bodda Konasana. I am suddenly exposed. She pulls at my inner thigh and assesses the situation. She can’t even begin at the bikini line yet as first she has to clean up all the way down to my knee. My first experience in this practice is deep humility.  “Sorry” I want to whisper “I’m sorry that my hair grows.” She finally moves into the bikini line area and this is the first time I have to focus on white light and deep breathing.

It f*cking hurts.

I only now realize that this woman is waxing my vagina. She is putting hot wax on my vagina lips and ripping the hair out. I am paying her to do this. She unfolds my labia and begins to work on the inside. Now I am moving from humble to a deeply vulnerable state. I don’t know if my partner touches me where she is going. She asks me to help by keeping the skin taut.

Like in any deep spiritual practice there is a moment of wanting to turn back. This was mine. My vagina starts to cry. I don’t care if half my p*ssy looks cut up by a 5 year old I want out. My vagina continued to weep (this is not an metaphor, I actually felt it happen) but I pushed through. I am strong. I am a warrior. I can take it.

Has anyone ever taken White Tantric Yoga? Well I haven’t because I know I am not disciplined to complete it and my ego is too big to fail. Well this was my White Tantric. This was my 61-minute arms up and breath of fire meditation. This was my 10-day Vipassana retreat. This was my Master Cleanse.

She then asked me to move into Happy Baby. Wow…so she could get in the creases I suppose. I am holding onto my toes, reminding myself to get the knees directly under the ankles and she goes inside again. This woman is actually inside of me and ripping hair out. I have never, ever felt so present in my life.

It was at this point that the alpha waves kicked in. I suppose I was transcending. I did not feel  anymore pain. I got very sleepy, my thoughts stopped and I was awash with calm.

“Please turn to your right side and bring your left knee across your body.” A spinal twist? “Please grab your bum cheeks on either side and pull them apart.”

No, no, no what the f*ck is happening? No she isn’t! As I spread ‘em she layered the wax around my anus. I could feel the cold air going where it shouldn’t go when people are nearby. She started focusing, talking quietly to herself  “You bugger, get in there, that’s right, damn it…”

It didn’t seem to be going as easily as it could be. I started to worry. Am I on the right path? Have I veered from the truth? Will I fart in her face? My guide brought me back to my body with her voice “I’m sorry to be hurting you” she said kindly. You are the one tweezing my asshole, I thought. No apologies necessary.

Relax, relax, breathe deep, white light, white light and again the soft place cradled me in. I am not exaggerating when I say I almost fell asleep I was so tranced out. Can you imagine, sleeping while getting your undercarriage cleaned. Rip. But I imagine like any trauma Rip, Rip or deep spiritual event Rip we do go somewhere else. Rip. I was rising. Rip. I was above myself. Rip. I had found a deep inner peace.

Then with all the love in the world she slathered cream on my bottom and sprinkled me with talc. Regressing back to my primordial state I was a baby again. Like one feels in a first time transcendental experience I had found home and I didn’t want to leave.

I paid the woman well for her services. For that kind of trip you must respect the guru. Like good teachers do she created the space for me to transform. She showed me the path I wanted to take and then ruthlessly, with great love she cleared the debris out of the way. I am now linked to my master and I will study with her again.

Now I’m going to have a nap. It was an intense journey but it was definitely worth it. I am sore and tender and my comfort zones were stretched. I am a babe.

I am re-born.

~

Editor: Kate Bartolotta

Emelia Symington Fedy is a theatre creator, writer, yogi, friend and popular raconteuse.
Her favorite quote at the moment is: “Live the light, spread the light, be the light” (found on a yogi tea teabag). This is probably because she has a penchant for darkness. You can read more of Emelia’s offbeat essays at tryingtobegood.com