It’s like breathing clean air to talk -- without judgment -- about stuff that matters, especially the stuff people don’t like to talk about. In my opinion most of us think we talk about sex, but we don’t really talk about sex. Dunno about you, but the polite society I live in likes to talk about talking about sex. For example, my girlfriends and I will make vague references at the kids' soccer games – in appropriately whispered tones for the underage venue -- about how glad we are that our husbands finally got over their fear that Viagra would un-macho them. We’ll wink when the kids go away to summer camp -- and then laugh together when it turns out that we still can’t squeeze sex into our schedules more than once a week while they’re gone. We’ll compliment each other on the clothes that make our cleavage deepen without saying that’s what’s so hot about it. But we don’t talk about why all this is so important, and we don’t share the true worries, anxieties and joys brewing between our legs.

Artwork by Heidi Ryan Evans

Dear Pinkies, Please welcome an anonymous Pinkie who has written a gorgeous and powerful story about lessons she's learned from Yoni. Please hold loving space for her as she tells her powerful truth.

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I didn't want my vagina to be my portal to self discovery, but as hard as I fought it - it was. Crap.