He owed me an apology.
A big one.
Not only had he promised me amends for a hurt he had generated, but he had failed to deliver it. Which left me hanging. And wondering. Angry. And coming to the conclusion that perhaps we were just done.
And here is where having a turned on, tuned in pussy begins to source new outcomes in a woman’s life. Instead of just walking away, as I might have done in the past, I checked in with myself. Are you really ‘done’, Regena? Or is there more, here? And my deepest pussy truth was, there was more for me. Even though that was not the answer I was either hoping for, nor desiring.
So, now it was just a question of experimenting with how to get him to hear me. Anger did not work. I had tried that. Something more ‘me’ was needed. So, I gave him my howl.
A woman’s howl is one of her most powerful and least used tools.
We have been taught to hide our pain, to shove it under the rug and soldier on. We have been taught to diminish our needs in deference to others.
No one, except my pussy, ever taught me to howl.
What do I mean by that?
Howling is showing someone your pain. Showing your hurt. Sharing your sadness before it turns to rage.
You know what happens to you when you hear a child crying? You just want to pick her up and soothe her? It’s intuitive and instinctual. That sound operates on a level that is deeper, more primitive, more natural than anything. We can barely stop ourselves from taking action, especially if the child is alone.
Your howl works exactly the same way with your partner.
Way back in 1975, in Koln, Germany, a very young woman had a very very very big desire. Her name was Vera Brandes. She was a student at the time, and only a part-time promoter. But she was an avid Jazz fan, and had somehow convinced renowned American jazz musician Keith Jarrett to come to Germany to perform.
The concert was sold out. 1400 seats. When it was time for him to rehearse, the opera house staff wheeled out the wrong piano – a small Bösendorfer baby grand. To make matters worse, it was a piano used for opera rehearsals and was in abject condition, badly out of tune. There was no way to get another piano at this late date. To make matters even more dire, Jarrett had just driven the five-hour, 350-mile drive from Zurich to Cologne, with excruciating back pain (which had resulted in many sleepless nights while he was on tour). For a perfectionist, such as Jarrett, this was all too much. He stormed out to his car, stating he would cancel the performance.
What did Vera do?
She ran after him.
She stood out in the pouring rain, knocking on his car window, weeping. Wailing. Howling.
Well, he looked out of his car at this very young, very brave, rain-soaked girl, and was deeply moved.
He rolled down his car window and said, “Never forget….only for you.”
He went on to play the concert, on this rinky-dink piano, on behalf of, and inspired by this young woman’s desire.
“The Köln Concert” was the best-selling piano album of all time.
And it exists because of Vera’s howl.
My man rose to greatness, as well. He stepped up and in to his King, as a result of my sharing my pain with him. He decided to take me on a picnic, in Central Park. He picked the most glorious spring day, and we started our adventure in The Conservatory Garden, breathing in the lilacs, the rainbow of tulips, the lilies of the valley. We walked up a hill, and on the very top of the hill, he had preset a red and white picnic blanket, covered with rose petals, and a gorgeous rattan picnic trunk. It was tricked out with real plates and silverware, and Waterford Crystal champagne flutes. He had brought my favorite Veuve Clicquot Rose champagne, chilled to frosty perfection. He packed beautiful cheeses, salads, and crudite, with my favorite chocolate for dessert. A few minutes in to our picnic, a woman approached me with a dozen long-stemmed roses. She retreated up a hill, and took her violin out of its case and serenaded us with classical music for the balance of our picnic. It was the best date, best picnic, best amends of my life.
My man rose to new heights. He accessed his magic. He stood in his King, on behalf of me, his Queen.
Relationships are not easy.
We have so many ideas of how we are supposed to do them and so many ideas of how we are supposed to be in them and so many ideas of how they are supposed to be.
Learning how to feel, learning how to check in with my pussy and say my truth with love, has delivered a whole new outcome in my relationship life. I have found out that giving real raw voice to my deepest longings is my man’s access to his King. Just as Keith never would have created the bestselling piano album of all time, without Vera, my man would never be able to access his romantic greatness without my howl.
Today is a good day to celebrate your howl.
Regena Thomashauer, aka “Mama Gena”
The School of Womanly Arts
Regena is a feminist icon, a teacher, a speaker, a mother, a best-selling author, and creatrix and CEO of The School of Womanly Arts.