But then I tried it. And look — I’m not gonna sugarcoat it — that shit shook me.
If you’ve never heard of it, no worries. Most people haven’t. “Yoni” is a word from Sanskrit that refers to the vagina, but also to way more than that — it’s tied to sexuality, energy, emotion, memory. And the massage? It’s intimate. Real intimate. Not in a “spa day with cucumber water” kind of way. It’s someone — a trained person, ideally — helping you explore your own body and your own reactions without any goal other than… well, feeling.
Now before you roll your eyes, hear me out.
It’s not about the orgasm. Until it is.
What’s wild is, I didn’t go in thinking, “Can’t wait to have the orgasm of my life.” I just felt disconnected. Numb, honestly. Like my body was on autopilot. You go through years of being touched for someone else’s benefit, of faking things, of not even realizing you’re faking things, and suddenly it’s like… wait, do I even feel anything anymore?
Turns out, a lot of women feel this way. I asked around. Put up a little poll on a closed forum (not scientific, calm down) — and out of 93 responses, 71 women said they’d felt “emotionally or physically numb” during sex at least once in the past year. And get this: 39 said it was their default state. Default. That’s wild.
So yeah, I booked a Yoni massage. And it wasn’t sexy, at least not at first. It was slow. Weird. Tender. I cried a little. Then I laughed. Then I kind of left my body and came back again. And yes, eventually, there was an orgasm — but not like the ones from vibrator marathons. This one rolled in like weather. It didn’t punch me in the gut — it filled me up.
Real talk: Is it awkward?
Yep. A little. At first. You’re lying there with your legs open while someone gently touches your most private parts. It’s not clinical, but it’s not sexual in the usual way either. It’s careful. Slow. Everything stops if you say stop. Honestly, the biggest surprise was how safe it felt.
One woman I spoke to described it like this: “I wasn’t turned on at first. I was just… seen. Like someone was paying attention to me without wanting anything back. That was new.” She also said the next day she felt like she’d been hit by a very gentle truck. Emotionally, I mean.
More than skin deep
There’s something almost unfair about how much we carry in our bodies — and don’t even notice. Old relationships, shame, awkward teen memories, that one time someone made a dumb comment about how we smell — it all gets stuck. Somewhere deep.
I talked to a sex educator about this. She said, “Women hold tension in the pelvic floor the same way people hold stress in their shoulders.” And suddenly I had this image of a vagina with a permanent shrug. Not great.
Yoni massage, in that sense, is more like therapy than sex. Stuff bubbles up. You might cry. Or giggle. Or feel nothing for a while and then bam — something breaks open.
Not just for solo sessions
I didn’t know this until recently, but some couples are starting to do this kind of thing at home. Like, learning together. One person gives, one receives. No goal, no pressure. Just curiosity. Imagine that — intimacy without needing to perform. What a concept.
I messaged with three couples who’ve tried this (again, not a scientific sample, chill). All of them said it changed how they talk about sex. One woman wrote, “I thought it would be weird. But it ended up being the first time in years I didn’t fake anything.”
And you know what? That’s kind of heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time.
Should everyone try it?
I don’t know. Some people won’t be into it. And that’s fine. But if you’ve ever felt like something’s missing — not even in a tragic way, just in a quiet, numb sort of way — maybe it’s worth looking into.Book a session. Or don’t. But know it exists. Know there’s a way to feel more without having to do more.
Just… if you ever feel like your body’s gone quiet? Like it’s in a corner somewhere, not bothering anyone, not asking for anything — this might be a way to invite it back to the party.
But maybe bring tissues. Just in case.