The Fireplace Lesson That Changed My Sex Life

On desire, sound, sovereignty, and the moment I realized no one else could light the fire I was waiting for.

One thing about living in an old farmhouse that no one warned me about…

If you want heat, you might have to build a fire.
Like, a real one.
With wood.
And smoke.
And those gold poker thingies I have no idea how to use.

I’ve never tended a wood-burning anything in my life.
I always leave it to Todd.

Why?

Because my brain says, “He knows how. He’ll do it.”

That sentence could be embroidered on a pillow and placed in every heterosexual marriage in America.

But today it was cold and stormy, Todd was at work, and I wanted my specific version of heat.
The cozy farm-witch-in-sweats, slow ember glow that makes the disgusting gray of Idaho seem romantic instead of bleak.

So I walked out to grab a bundle of wood (because apparently I do that in my life now???) and it hit me…

No one can tend the exact fire I want… except me.

Sure, Todd can show me what he knows.
He can demonstrate the pirate-ship flue lever.
He can explain how many logs equal “romantic glow” versus “call the fire department.”

But he does not know:

• the exact warmth my body loves

• when I want roaring blaze vs. soft glow vibes

• how close I want to sit before my eyebrows singe

That’s my inner world.
My preference.
My heat.

And as I stood there trying to perform fire CPR with that poky stick, this whole essay dropped in:

We wait for someone else to tend a fire only we can feel.

This is sex.
This is desire.
This is sovereignty.

For years, I outsourced my sexual fire-tending.
Not because I was incapable,
but because this is what women are trained to do:

He’ll initiate.
He knows what to do.
I’ll just go along with whatever’s happening.
I’ll give him what he wants and needs.

Meanwhile we’re shivering inside our own bodies wondering why the fire doesn’t feel like we wanted it to.

Women will read 900 pages of romantasy about universe-bending heat…

But ask them to adjust a literal fireplace flue
or say what they want in bed
or make a sound louder than a breathy whisper

and suddenly we’re Victorian widows with fainting couches.

Girl. Be so for real.

You can build a fire.
You can build your fire.

And when you do?

You become a woman who is home in her heat… always.

Yes, yes. “Dog in heat.” We’ve addressed it.
I’m staying poetic. Honestly to be wanted like a dog in heat? I’m not mad about it. Stay with me.

---

THE NIGHT I DECLARED MY SOVEREIGNTY

There was a PIVOTAL night in our marriage
one that burned an old script and shed an entire reality in a single moment.

I literally felt an invisible cage inside me unlatch,
like some ancient lock finally opening.

It was the closest thing to a spell I’ve ever accidentally spoken…
but the way it shifted the air?
Instant. Palpable. Real. A little scary? Epic.

(I want this moment for you too. Like… tonight. Pronto, asap. maybe right now)

I looked at Todd and said:

“Your pleasure is not my job.
My pleasure is not your job.”

We both blinked, confused and a little terrified.

Because if my pleasure wasn’t his job
and his pleasure wasn’t mine…..

Whose job was it?

We stared at each other like two eighth-graders at a stake dance, unsure what to do with our hands.

Was intimacy supposed to become a solo sport?
Did I just give him permission to cheat??
Because he’s gotta get those needs met somewhere right???

No.

This was the moment of freedom I needed to speak so I could finally claim my sexual sovereignty. Giving Todd the keys to his pleasure back. Not my job. He gave me back mine too. Not his job.

---

WHAT IS SOVEREIGNTY ANYWAY?

And why is it IMPOSSIBLE to spell???

Every time I type “sovereignty” my computer is like,
“Ohhhkkayyy… you’re adorable. Not even close. Enjoy this cute little GN no one wants.”

Who approved this spelling?

Anyway.

This word didn’t exist in my vocabulary until I wandered into spirituality circles where sovereignty is basically the new “um.”
So much sovereignty. All day. Everywhere.

And I get why.

Because sovereignty means being the queen of your own damn life.

Not metaphorically.
Energetically.

It means:

• My church is not on my throne.

• My mother’s expectations are not on my throne.

• My husband’s disappointment is not on my throne.

• My old programming is not on my throne.

• My guilt, shame, trauma, and conditioning are definitely not on my throne.

I sit in my own throne room, and I run my kingdom.

Sovereignty is the opposite of autopilot.
The opposite of “good girl.”
The opposite of performing.

It says:

I know who I am.
I know what I want.
I sit on my own throne, and I decide.

And here’s the thing:

If you don’t claim the throne, something else will.

Your fear.
Your guilt.
Your conditioning.
Your partner.
Your culture.
Your inner eight-year-old.

They will run your life for you while you stand to the side wondering,
“Why is everything so… meh?”

This is why sovereignty matters.

These AI images are a whole vibe 🤣. I don’t think they’re helping, but apparently my brain likes to be lightly startled.

---

THE MOST AWKWARD SEGUE BUT ALSO THE MOST IMPORTANT

I’ve only been on Substack for 3 weeks, so let’s all lower our expectations while my craft catches up to my revelations, okay?
Here comes the transition I could not make graceful:

Your throat, your sovereignty, and your yoni are directly connected.
Three portals.
One woman.
Same wiring.

Your throat and your yoni are connected.
Literally.

Pause.

God didn’t even try to hide this.
He was like, “Here’s the wiring diagram, babes. I’m not being subtle.”

They:

• formed from the same embryological tissue

• respond to the same hormones

• open in safety, close in fear

• mirror each other’s movements

This is why:

You clench your jaw when you clench your pelvis
You hold your breath when you shut down
You lose your voice when you lose your desire
Moaning increases pleasure
Women scream in labor because the throat opens the cervix

And here’s the part that finally makes everything make sense:

This is why quiet sex feels like, “Okay, cute, love that for us.”
But the second you get even slightly louder, your body’s like,
“OKAYYYY, HI HELLOOO—she has entered the chat.”

Your throat and your yoni are wired like sister cities.
If one shuts down, the other clocks out.
If one opens, the other is like,
“Is this thing on?? Okay LET’S GO.”

Your throat is the front door to your pleasure.
Your voice is the key.
Your sound is the oxygen.

If your throat has been shut down for 20 years
your body has been shut down too.

If your voice is stuck in “nice girl,”
your yoni is stuck in “please everyone but yourself.”

And babe… it’s going to stay that way until you reclaim your throat.

I hate that it’s true. But it is.

---

FIVE WAYS TO RECLAIM YOUR THROAT TODAY

(Money-back guarantee, which I am not actually offering .haha)

Make a Declaration of Sovereignty

Out loud. Tonight.

My body belongs to me.
My pleasure is my responsibility.
His pleasure is his responsibility.

This does NOT mean:
“Babe, go figure it out alone.”

It means:

No more guilt-sex.
No more duty-sex.
No more performing.
No more abandoning yourself to keep the peace.

This returns the keys to their rightful owners:

You take your keys back.
I’ll take mine.

Now intimacy is a choice,
not a chore, service project, or marital obligation hiding in the boudoir.

Moan Loudly

Even when you’re doing non-sexual things.
It’s going to feel weird at first—go with it.
It keeps the pilot light on all day.
Your body doesn’t care why you’re moaning… only how.

Humming

The good-girl gateway drug to moaning.

Say What You Want

Start tiny.
Softer.
Slower.
Right here.
More.
Stop.

I promise he’s been waiting for you to call the damn play, the one that actually gets the touchdown, instead of watching him run rando routes hoping one works.

Sing Terribly, Shamelessly

Kitchen concerts heal the throat chakra.
Peer-reviewed by absolutely no one and still correct.

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YOUR VOICE IS YOUR THRONE

Here’s the truth fire-tending burned into me:

No one is coming to light you up.
No one is coming to initiate your hot, sexy, “get over here right now” desire.
No one is coming to hand you your sovereignty.

And the world would prefer you never find it.
The more controllable you are,
the easier you are to manage,
the safer you are for systems,
the quieter you are for culture.

They can inspire you.
They can meet you.
They can join you.

But the flame
the real flame…
the one that shifts your marriage, your sexuality, your life
that’s yours to stoke.

Your throat opens it.
Your voice directs it.
Your sovereignty protects it.
Your pleasure answers it.

And once you sit back on your throne,
once you feel that fire move inside your own body

You do not go back to cold.
Not in sex.
Not in marriage.
Not in desire.
Not in life.
Ever again.

Now go moan somewhere inappropriate.
Heal a chakra.
Scare a neighbor.
Live your life.