Part 4/9: I thought breast massage was just self-care…until an intimacy coach dropped the word breast-gasm

In Editor's Pick
May 22, 2025
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This is Part 4 of a nine-part series where I document what happens when I dive headfirst into Bibi Brzozka’s Waves of Pleasure program on Mindvalley. There’s touch, tenderness, and a soft reclaiming of something that was always mine.

I have a confession:

I didn’t come to Waves of Pleasure out of curiosity. I came because Bibi Brzozka once shared that breast massage helped a client feel again… after a double mastectomy.

She, according to Bibi, experienced “heart and breast-gasms after undergoing breast cancer, double mastectomy, and injection of implants.” I mean, like, wow!

Granted, I didn’t go through breast cancer. But I know that’s huge considering the kind of trauma all those treatments had on the body.

There’s this one lady I sometimes talk to who went through breast cancer. She didn’t have a mastectomy, thank God, but she still experiencing the aftershock of chemo and radiation… and it’s almost three years later.

So when Bibi said “breast massage,” I came a’runnin’. (And if you read Part 3, you’ll know I’m no stranger to unexpected erogenous zones.)

Because even though I didn’t go through breast cancer, I still got my own scars. And it left me wondering, could anything Bibi says help me feel in my body again?

Me and the girls: a status check

Tits, boobs, rack, melons, the girls, bust, tatas, or even just plain ol’ breasts… Whatever it is you call those two mounds on your chest, there’s one thing for certain: breasts are a big deal for women. Love them or hate them, they’re a part of who we are.

But that’s not to say that we’re wholly satisfied with what the lottery gene pool gave us. Stats show that 71% of us are less than happy with our sets and wish that they were either bigger, smaller, or shaped differently. That said, it’s no wonder that cosmetic surgery of the breasts increased 15% from 2019 to 2022.

So when Bibi asked in the lesson, “What is your relationship with your breasts?” I didn’t have an answer. I hadn’t thought about it, really.

My breasts were just that — my breasts. Just like my hair’s my hair. And my face is my face. And my vagina is my vagina.

It was not something that I really dwelled upon or complained about. And even when I did have a fuss, they could be categorized as “good problems to have.”

Underboob sweat… My boobs playing peek-a-boo out of my bra… Or that end-of-day relief when I finally get to take the damn thing off.

Because, growing up, everyone around me was either wanting big boobs or ogling big boobs. And as a human who’s been well endowed since my teens, my breasts were a good “problem” to have.

Love, by default

Even now, I love how they give me a more feminine figure. I love how they clue me in before I even realize I’m stressed. I love how they’re like a built-in bib for any food that misses my mouth. And at the end of the day, I really love that I have what other people seem to want: big boobs.

Which is why Bibi’s question caught me off guard. Now, I’m questioning why it never occurred to me to have a relationship with my breasts.

The closest I ever got was second base for the usual lump checks, bra fidgeting, or the occasional breast massage during a spa session.

But I don’t think I’ve ever done much with the girls for pleasure (I mean, other people have, but that’s a whole different story). It just wasn’t something I was taught to do or told was an option.

I also think that’s why the breast cancer survivor I talk to is still hesitant to be intimate with her husband.

She told me this once when we were swapping stories about all the weird, wounded parts of our bodies after treatment. Like me, no one ever taught her that breasts could feel good or that they could be a source of pleasure, let alone orgasm.

So now, after the burning, the scars, and the fear, intimacy after trauma feels almost impossible to her. And she’s not alone. That’s how I felt, too, about my cervix.

And it turns out, the stories we’ve been told are nothing compared to the ones we’ve never dared to write.

Notes from the nippleverse

Anyone who’s sexually active knows that breasts play a huge role. “Breasts,” Bibi says, “are literally a portal and a gateway to so much magic, pleasure, and love.”

Not when it comes to sex after menopause, Bibi. Especially medically induced menopause.

The thing is, what people don’t tell you when you’re being diagnosed is how f*cked your body becomes. The discomfort, the dryness, and the hormone crashes.

Sleep goes to sh*t. Skin forgets how to glow. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re sweating bullets from the hot flashes.

It’s not sexy. And least of all, it doesn’t feel sexy.

So when Bibi’s all like, “magic” and “pleasure” and “love,” it took everything in me not to slam the laptop shut and call bullsh*t.

But I also knew I’m here for a reason…to, as Bibi puts it, “reclaim [my] breasts as a portal to liberation and the source of feminine pleasure.”

This means I have to start looking at what I believe about them and what kind of body image healing I still need.

Like, I know what turns me on when my husband’s doing the touching. But I never stopped to ask what I like…for me.

It’s time to change that. I want to be able to give myself a breast massage without feeling self-conscious or like I’m doing something wrong. I want it to feel natural and intentional, like brushing my hair or applying moisturizer to my face.

Because if I can learn to touch my face with love, maybe I can learn to do the same with my chest.

Chest day, but make it sacred

As an aromatherapist and former spa therapist, I’ve known about the benefits of breast massage for years. Lymphatic drainage, improved circulation, and hormonal support. Maybe a nod to self-care if the client was open to it.

We learned the basics: warm oil, gentle pressure, and skip the nipple if it feels too personal. Keep your tone even, your hands neutral, and move on to the next body part.

But the deeper stuff? The emotional, sensual, actually-for-you kind of breast massage? That was never part of the conversation.

What we weren’t taught, and what I never even considered, is that sensual self-touch could be intimate. And that, apparently, it could even lead to breast-gasms.

One study Bibi highlighted found that nipple stimulation activates the same part of the brain as the vagina, clitoris, and cervix. And not only that, but I never knew that something so simple could release a rush of oxytocin, the feel-good, bonding hormone we usually only hear about during birth or breastfeeding.

“This is how powerful bringing more pleasure to breasts can be,” Bibi adds.

Well, damn. I’d been missing out.

Still, the idea of enjoying my own breasts feels a little awkward. Society’s done a solid job of making sure we women don’t go there.

But I wanted to try. So I started circling. Slowly. And I’ll admit, it felt alien, yet also intuitive and therapeutic.

I let myself notice the texture of my skin, the temperature, the places that felt numb and the places that didn’t.

It was, in a way, liberating. To stay in the moment and enjoy the sensations without having to direct anyone or explain what felt good.

No breast-gasms, though. Maybe one day.

But for now, it’s just me, feeling something. Finally.

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Part 3/9: Monica Geller screamed, “Seven!” but I just learned there are actually more erogenous zones than that

In Editor's Pick
May 14, 2025

This is Part 3 of a nine-part series where I document what happens when I dive headfirst into Bibi Brzozka’s Waves of Pleasure program on Mindvalley. This one’s about fingers, goosebumps, and realizing my armpits might be kinkier than I am.

“Seven!” is what Monica Geller screamed as she showed Chandler the erogenous zones of  a woman. But as a 15-year-old (when that episode came out), I was oblivious to what that scene truly meant.

Turns out, the body is, as Bibi explains in her program, “the main infinite source of healthy healing and delicious pleasure.”

And when the conscious touch is brought in (as I touched on in Part 2), it “allows you to move away from the goal of sexual arousal and focus instead on discovering and perceiving sensations and pleasure moment to moment, creating an intimate connection with your body.”

Throw in the erogenous zones, and I’ve got myself a slow, delicious undoing of everything I never knew pleasure was.

Did you also wonder, “What are erogenous zones?” in your teens? No? Just me?

If you hadn’t gotten the memo yet, the meaning of “erogenous zones” boils down to this: the body’s “hotspots” for physical arousal and emotional connection.

Some are obvious. Others are so underrated they might be wondering why you never call. And according to Bibi, they can be “stimulated more readily than others to generate a state of arousal.”

I’ll admit, the whole concept of it (and sex) didn’t interest me until my late teens. I was more interested in sports and crushes than unlocking primal urges.

That’s not saying that I didn’t feel the curious sensations that every prepubescent girl goes through. Children as young as two often show normal signs of sexual curiosity, like touching their own bodies, asking questions, or pretending to be grown-ups.

But middle school health class never mentioned the female erogenous zones. Neither did American Pie, Road Trip, Van Wilder, or any other coming-of-age high school comedy that mistook male orgasm for the grand finale.

So, obviously, it was not on my radar. Even later in life, after a cancer diagnosis, I realized how little I knew about pleasure.

And when Monica introduced the magnificent “Seven!”, curiosity blinked twice and said, “Seven what now?”

What are the erogenous zones, exactly?

So, the seven (specifically, for women):

  1. Genitals
  2. Nipples (and areolas)
  3. Breasts
  4. Lips (and mouth)
  5. Inner thighs
  6. Neck
  7. Ears

Now, here’s the thing: Research found that 95% of women have erogenous zones outside the genitals, with the most powerful being the breasts, lips, neck, ears, and buttocks. Even better? Twelve percent of the women in the study said they could orgasm from stimulating these zones alone.

That information alone is like…boom! Mind blown. Especially when, as far as sex myths go, women’s orgasm supposedly lives and dies in the vagina.

Which makes what Bibi says land even harder: “We need slower, longer, more intentional foreplay.” And those “hotspots” are a great way to get from “Why can’t I orgasm?” to “Seven!”

While Monica stopped at seven erogenous zones, there are actually more. Here’s what Bibi expands the list with:

  1. Scalp
  2. Lower stomach
  3. Inner wrists
  4. Palms and fingertips
  5. Behind the knees
  6. Buttocks
  7. Feet and toes
  8. Inner arms
  9. Armpits

(I know, the armpits one got me doing a “Heh?” too.)

Keep in mind that there’s no universally agreed-upon number of erogenous zones. That’s the beauty of it. It’s subjective, it’s neurobiological, and it’s personal.

As Monica says, “The important thing is to take your time; you want to hit them all, and you want to mix them up.”

And as for mine? Classified. Husband-access only. 😉

1, 2, 3… Pleasure’s got a hold on me

There was something I noticed as I was doing this lesson, and that’s that slowing down and being present made a huge difference in enjoying the pleasure versus racing towards “pleasure.” 

Running my hands gently through my erogenous zones, I can clearly see (or rather feel) what I’ve been missing. I finally understand what sexual energy feels like. Warm, tingly, and tender beneath the skin.

It’s going to take more work, for sure, to make this second skin. Especially after the radiation and chemo totally fried and numbed my reproductive area. 

But you know what? I can definitely say this: my inner sex goddess is sure excited for “Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! ✌🏼🖐🏼!”

Now… what I want to know is, have you ever been surprised by what actually turns you on? Like your scalp. Or the back of your knee. Or yes, maybe even your armpit.

I’d love to hear your story. Someone out there might need to hear it too. Xo

A woman with the sunlight around the head of her crown

Part 6/9: I tried Bibi Brzozka’s ecstatic expansion—and it stirred up more than pleasure

In Editor's Pick
June 2, 2025

This is Part 6 of a nine-part series where I document what happens when I dive headfirst into Bibi Brzozka’s Waves of Pleasure program on Mindvalley. Breath, sound, movement—the recipe for turning your entire body into a live wire.

Trigger warning: The following content includes mention of sexual trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

Erogenous zones, check. Breast stimulation, check. Conversations with my yoni, check.

But just when I thought that was the full tour, Bibi Brzozka’s next stop was something she calls ecstatic expansion, where “we are not only expanding our ability to experience pleasure, but we are moving and feeling it throughout the entire body.” (If you’re confused as to what’s going on here, check out Part 5 to understand the context.)

So, I’m definitely learning new things. Pleasure is not only meant to be felt in the zones but in the entire body. And, oooh boy, I totally wasn’t ready for this.

Why pleasure everywhere changes everything

When it comes to pleasure, orgasms come to mind. Not the Bridgerton-esque slow-burn glances, not the sultry Sharon-Stone-crosses-leg-style foreplay, not even the kamasutra contortionist-type positions. Just orgasms.

But, according to Bibi, pleasure should be felt everywhere. She explains that by doing so, it “heals you by releasing stuck emotions and negative energy.”

Research shows that sexual pleasure, in and of itself, releases endorphins and oxytocin, both of which are linked to better immune function and pain relief. It also highlighted that people who enjoy more frequent, pleasurable sex, especially when it’s not dulled by barriers or disconnect, may have a lower risk of certain cancers.

For example, women with little or no pleasurable intercourse had three times the risk of breast cancer. And for men, those who ejaculated more frequently appeared to have a lower risk of prostate cancer.

Goodness. Have I, as someone who had a cancer experience, been missing out? Even going beyond this disease, the benefits of sex and the pleasure it brings, it seems, reach far beyond the bedroom:

Bibi wasn’t joking. This is prescription-level pleasure.

“When you truly tap into the potency of your pleasure,” she says, “you unlock the fearless goddess that’s trapped inside of you.”

How does ecstatic expansion fit into all this pleasure talk?

Ecstatic expansion is about letting pleasure spread beyond one small spot, so the whole body lights up with sensation and energy. Bibi explains it as a way of turning pleasure into a full-body, full-life experience, not just a quick hit.

The word “ecstatic,” as you may know, is that electric, almost out-of-body rush you get from pure bliss, delight, or pleasure. And when it comes to sexual energy, it means stretching that kind of intense, joyful sensation through your whole body.

There are three keys to it, according to Bibi:

Now, if ecstatic expansion is about letting pleasure ripple out beyond the usual suspects, “herection” is the body’s proof that it’s working.

Apparently, women get erections, too

Herrrrr-what-tion? Yeah, that’s what I said, too. Her-erection. Herection. 

Apparently, women are packed with erectile tissue: clitoris, bulbs, perineum, and even the pubic mound. All of it swells, tingles, and literally comes alive during arousal. When every part is fully engorged, you get what Bibi calls a “herection.”

As science shows, the more tissue that’s activated, the more sensation, more pleasure, and more potential for those “is-this-even-legal?” kind of orgasms.

It all starts with one simple thing, though: relaxing enough to notice what your body can actually feel. As Bibi points out, the real gateway to pleasure is just giving yourself permission to slow down and let it in.

My very real, very human attempt at pleasure everywhere

There’s the theory… and then, there’s what my body decided to do as I followed Bibi in the ecstatic expansion practice.

“Let’s start in a seated position,” says Bibi. Alright, let’s.

She guides through the warm-up with some erotic touch. Got it.

Then, we get to the first element of the ecstatic expansion: breath. “Inhale, and exhale,” Bibi directs.

Inhaling… And exhaling… Inhaling… And… zzz…

Y’all, I fell asleep.

For real. Because the next thing I hear is, “Imagine showering yourself with these ecstatic sensations,” and the gentle outro music in the background.

I can imagine my inner sex goddess shaking her head. Fail, she says. But alright, let’s try it again.

Seated position, erotic touch, inhale, exhale, and… zzz…

No shit. I fell asleep again.

I decided to call it a day. Clearly, my body thinks “ecstatic expansion” is code for nap time.

My body remembered what my mind forgot

Over the days that followed, I couldn’t stop thinking about why I kept falling asleep. Was it just exhaustion, or something deeper?

Sure, the cervical cancer experience contributed trauma I’m still unpacking. Radiation and chemo did a number on my groin.

Then, I thought, could waxing be why my yoni still tenses up? Maybe that sharp, stinging memory lives deep under the surface, making it harder to relax into pleasure.

Surprisingly, old memories bubbled up during these moments of contemplation. One in particular qualified as a #MeToo encounter.

There was a guy I’d been friends with since childhood. No chemistry… until one day in our 20s, we fooled around.

After that, it was a messy, on-again-off-again kind of “relationship.” He’d say he loved me and wanted to be with me, then go out with other girls, saying, “We never said we were exclusive.”

I hated it. But I was like a moth to a flame.

He positioned himself firmly between me and the door, leaving no clear way out. He kept kissing me and ignoring my repeated and clear refusals. Despite me saying no, he kept insisting, holding a condom in his hand as if that made it okay.

I felt helpless and disgusted, mostly at myself for being in that situation. Granted, it wasn’t rape, but for months, no amount of showers could make me feel clean. And for years, I was caught in a trauma bond of confusion, anger, and numbness that came and went.

Heavy story, I know. (I’m okay now. Therapy helped with that!)

But I wonder more and more why this memory came up. Maybe my pleasure blockage extends further back than cancer.

I have no answers yet. But at least now I have a starting point to heal.

If you’ve experienced sexual trauma and need support, consider reaching out to a licensed therapist, a local organization, or a trusted professional in your area.