4 Things Pulled from Pussy Prayers by Black Girl Bliss

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I've been wanting to read this book for some time before I actually bought it. I remember seeing it on my Facebook feed when it first launched and two voices in my head rang out simultaneously: this is magnificent and I don't deserve to read it. Why? Because I was dressed in shame. And I didn't know if it was possible to overcome. If it was possible to reclaim a part of me I'd been disconnected from for years. My shame was (still is at times) rooted in my root. Opening to the first page of Black Girl Bliss' book gave me permission to start the process of releasing myself from shame's grip, one pussy prayer at a time. Below are 4 things I've pulled into practice.

  1. Pussy is 4-letter-word adjacent and we're better for it.

    I used to hate the word, relating it to derogatory porn scenes and dissociative sexual processes. A pussy is what you called a vagina gone unloved, I thought. More so I was convinced. Every time it left a family member’s lips a furled mouth followed. My first memory of the word was sneaking to watch The Vagina Monologues as a kid on HBO. I was taken aback by how powerful the word sounded passing through their lips. By then, molestation had visited me before I knew the power I had between my thighs and ears. I was regulated to a guilt puddle whenever I heard it.But something still intrigued me. As an adult, it was hot when a partner said it during sex but outside of that it still made me uncomfortable. Whenever I would say it, I’d quicken to cover my mouth. Until this book. Even with the cover, I purposely let myself sit in “pussy”. I soaked it in, letting what new and/or chained emotion run through me. I got to see the folds of the word in a new frame, claiming it for a new purpose. I’ve made peace with pussy and anyone who flings it with a furled lip can get smacked in the mouth.

  2. We are not what happened to us.

    Throughout this book, the reader is reminded that the burdens of molestation, suffocating religiosity, shame, sexual trauma and abuse are not ours to carry. We do them nor ourselves honor by holding on to them and their toxicity for the sake of it. Sometimes our grip is unconscious; learned behavior that suited us in the beginnings of our pain. But there will always come a time when releasing is necessary. It’s up to us to let go when the time calls. Early on in the book, BGB recalls speaking about her sexual abuse outloud to another person. The sentence that rang out so loudly to me was her introduction to people and books who would play major roles in helping her “understand the way my traumas had manifested in my body and in my life”. I had to think: how is trauma presenting in me? How is the abuse I endured answering for me in this life instead of my resurrection? I have my days where I regress into self-blame and regret. We all do. As we allow our specific healing to manifest how it sees fit in our lives, light will be shown in darkness to tell us where to sweep. I am not what happened to me. I have every power to set and honor boundaries, create room and space for my full healing and not feel the need to explain my parameters to those who refuse to understand.

  3. Real Deal Praxis.

    The principles given throughout this book are active. They’re not actions that can only be taken once you reach a certain place of understanding. They aren’t flowery affirmations and positive-vibes-only rhetoric. BGB writes in real-time how to walk through your own journey of reclamation, while also passing along permission to go at your own pace. If something doesn’t ring true or sit well with you, there’s no pressure to do it lest you lose out on the healing. Options are given in good conscience and in love wherever you may be on your path.

  4. Grab your own pussy.

    I fell asleep saying a prayer to my long-neglected pussy. It took some time to find the words; a bit longer to find the posture. The reclamation of one’s own definition of womanhood flows effortlessly through the pages as rituals new and old are introduced. Being given the history lessons of just how revered and holy we were before patriarchy, toxic masculinity and religion took a stronghold across the nations also gives us a look into our untapped and forgotten power. The artwork, the music, the poetry dedicated to every inch of our pussies only harkens back to just how boss we were and how extraordinary we continue to be. The physical act of holding, pleasuring, centering my pussy with a brand new understanding of her intuition and royalty is one to experience. Grab your pussy and tell her thank you for the lessons. Apologize for the neglect. Speak to and acknowledge the trauma. She’s ready to spill tea, open you up to deep pleasure and be the beacon to lead you to your greatness.

    Thank you Black Girl Bliss for giving us to roadmap back to center. May the prayers of and for our pussies always be satisfied.

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