Desire Is Wisdom

Desire is often framed as something to control, suppress, or perform. It’s treated like a risk—too dangerous, too indulgent, too irrational to trust. But what if desire isn’t something to manage, but something to learn from?

Desire is not just sexual—it is relational, existential, emotional, and embodied. It’s the quiet (or sometimes roaring) internal compass pointing toward truth. And for many of us, that compass has been silenced, distorted, or buried under layers of shame, survival, and expectation.

We learn early to dismiss our wants. We’re taught that desire makes us selfish. That our cravings are inappropriate. That our pleasure is a luxury or a reward, not a right. We learn to be good, not whole. To fit in, not to bloom.

But desire always finds a way to speak. When it’s ignored, it shows up in other forms—restlessness, burnout, anxiety, disconnection, depression. We might feel like something is missing but can’t name what. We numb. We overperform. We settle. And yet… underneath it all, the longing remains.

Desire is a signal.

Not the frantic kind of craving sold to us by consumerism or social media, but the deep, often unspoken ache to feel more alive. To be met. To be moved. To feel turned on by our lives—not just in moments of sex or intimacy, but in the daily unfolding of being.

This is why desire matters.

Desire points to our unmet needs. It illuminates the distance between who we are and who we’ve been asked to be. It reveals the parts of ourselves that are ready to be reclaimed, honored, or reimagined. It is a map—sometimes messy, sometimes mysterious—but always worth following.

When we begin to listen, we often find our desires are not shallow or selfish at all. They are precise and powerful:

• The desire to rest, and feel worthy in stillness.

• The desire to be seen fully, without shrinking.

• The desire to explore sex, kink, pleasure, fantasy—not as performance, but as pathways to truth.

• The desire to stop settling, to stop pretending, to stop carrying what was never yours.

• The desire to feel at home in your body, your relationships, your life.

These are not indulgent wants. These are human needs.

There’s grief in this, too. Grief for the years spent silencing yourself. For the roads not taken because someone else’s voice was louder than your own. For the parts of you that were never invited forward.

But there is also hope. Because desire is patient. It doesn’t disappear. It waits.

And when you start to unearth it—gently, curiously, bravely—it becomes a teacher. Not just about what you want, but about who you are.

Pleasure, too, is not just a feeling—it’s information. When something lights you up, when you feel resonance, excitement, curiosity, safety, or turn-on—that’s not just chemistry. That’s wisdom. That’s you, in contact with your aliveness.

Desire will not save you from the human experience. But it will root you in it more deeply, more authentically. It will invite you to choose, not just cope. To feel, not just function. To create meaning on your own terms.

Listen to it.

Let it speak.

Let it lead.