Brazilian Waxing As Spiritual Practice

By: Emelia Symington Fedy

I may be the only 33 year old in the western world that has not gotten the full meal deal when it comes to waxing so I thought it was high time.

I was unclear about options, rules and etiquette so I spoke plainly.

I would like the front to look tidy. I would like the undercarriage clean.

Why am I doing this? I started to wonder as I took off my pants and lay down on the dentist’s chair. To be completely honest it’s because everyone else is doing it. It’s because I’ve been told that ‘keeping it real’ is considered grotesque. It’s because when my hippy 9-month pregnant friend walked naked into the living room the other day and I saw her huge bush enter the room before I saw her belly I thought, “How on earth could her partner navigate through all that?” I gotta’ simplify.

So here I am lying supine with nothing but a cable knit sweater on and the tension is palpable. Am I ready? Will I falter? My esthetician is 21, soft-spoken and clearly wise beyond her years. I feel safe with her. She has walked this journey before.

There is mantra music playing in the background. Whales, bells, flutes, chimes and another sound that reminds me of a whispering baby. The relentless repetition calms me.

She asks me to put one leg into half Bodda Konasana. I am suddenly exposed as she assesses the situation. She can’t even begin at the bikini line as first she has to clean up all the way down to my knee. My first experience in this practice is deep humility.  “Sorry” I want to whisper “I’m sorry that my hair grows.” She finally moves into the bikini line area and this is the first time I have to focus on white light and deep breathing. It fucking hurts. I only now realize that this woman is putting hot wax on my vagina, then ripping it off and I am paying her to do it. She unfolds my labia and begins to work on the inside. Now I am moving from humble to a deeply vulnerable state. I don’t know if my partner touches me where she is going. She asks me to help by keeping the skin taut.

Like in any deep spiritual practice there is a moment of wanting to turn back. This was mine. My vagina starts to cry. I don’t care if half my pussy looks cut up by a 5 year old I want out. My vagina continues to weep (this is not a metaphor, I actually felt it happen) but I pushed through. I am a warrior. I can take it.

Has anyone ever taken White Tantric Yoga? Well I haven’t because I know I am not disciplined to complete it and my ego is too big to fail. This was my White Tantric. This is my 61-minute breath of fire. This is my 10-day Vipassana retreat. This is my Master Cleanse.

She then asked me to move into Happy Baby. I am holding onto my toes, reminding myself to get the knees directly under the ankles and she goes inside again. This woman is actually inside of me and ripping hair out. I have never, ever felt so present in my life.

It is at this point that the alpha waves kicked in. I am transcending. I do not feel pain anymore. I get very sleepy, my thoughts stop and I am awash with calm.

“Please turn to your right side and bring your left knee across your body.” A spinal twist? “Please grab your bum cheeks on either side and pull them apart.” No, no, no what the fuck is happening? No she isn’t! As I spread ‘em she poured the wax around my anus. She started focusing, talking quietly to herself “You bugger, get in there, that’s right, damn it…” It didn’t seem to be going very easily for her. I started to worry. Am I on the right path? Have I veered from the truth? Will I fart in her face? My guide brought me back to my body with her voice “I’m sorry to be hurting you” she said kindly. You are the one tweezing my asshole, I thought. No apologies necessary.

Relax, breathe deep, white light and again the soft place cradles me in. I began to trust my guide. She is in full control and all I need to do is surrender. I began to let go.

I almost fell asleep again I am so tranced out. Can you imagine, sleeping while getting your undercarriage cleaned. Rip. But I imagine like any trauma Rip, Rip or deep spiritual event Rip we do go somewhere else. Rip. I am rising. Rip. I am above myself. Rip. I am home.

Then with all the love in the world she slathered cream on my bottom and sprinkled me with talc. Regressing back to my primordial state I felt like a baby again. Like one feels in a first time transcendental experience I had captured a deep calm and I didn’t want to let go.

I paid the woman well for her services. For that kind of trip you must respect the Guru. Like good teachers do she created the space for me to transform. She showed me the path and then ruthlessly and with great love she cleared the debris out of the way. I am indebted to my master. I will study with her again and again.

Now I’m going to have a nap. It was an intense journey but it was definitely worth it. I am sore and tender and my comfort zones are stretched. I am a babe re-born.


Guest blogger Emelia Symington Fedy is a Canadian writer, comedian, and performer. Her gut-busting blog Trying To Be Good talks about the dark in order to spread some light. Known for her straight up hilarity that often includes pointing out her own imperfections and stirring the collective pot, Emelia dissects her own life lesson so others may do the same.

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