In loving memory of my father Taha Jaaber
Today is my father’s born date.
He transitioned the week of Thanksgiving—just a few days before my daughter’s 8th birthday. Can you imagine trying to balance grief with celebration? I tried. I truly tried. But grief has a way of asking for our full attention. And sometimes, celebration and sorrow sit too close together for us to hold both without breaking open.
That week, my daughter said something I’ll never forget:
“Mommy, I don’t want to see you cry. Your tears scare me.”
And in that moment, I was instantly brought back to my five-year-old self—witnessing my first death, hearing the cries of my great-grandmother and mother. I understood what my daughter meant. I felt it in my bones.
Normally, I might have tried to hold in my grief for her sake. But this time, I couldn’t. I was already holding it in for my siblings as we prepared for my father’s janazah. I was already heavy with silence and responsibility.
So, I asked for help—a radical act in itself.
I called her father, my ex-husband, and his fiancé. They stepped in and cared for our daughter so I could fall apart in peace. She didn’t want to leave my side, but she was gently loved and held so I could be loved and held in a different way.
The people around me offered condolences—and while that mattered, I didn’t realize how much more I needed until I received it. At an event I attended, an impromptu grief circle formed around me. The initial hug I received cracked something open. It gave me permission to be in my pain. Not to explain it, not to downplay it—but to be. I wept. Deeply. I met my child self again. I let myself be held.
My partner, though well-meaning and supportive, couldn’t meet me emotionally in that space. This is common—especially when vulnerability and sadness make others feel helpless or unsafe. What he could offer was physical safety. The grief circle offered emotional sanctuary.
And I needed both.
Grief Needs More Than Time
What we often forget is that grief is a full-body experience. It does not live solely in the mind. It visits our chest, our belly, our voice, our womb, our skin. It impacts our breath, our desire, our sense of time. Grief can make us numb or overly sensitive to touch. It can take our appetite or awaken cravings we don’t understand.
And for many of us—especially Black women and femmes—the world rarely gives us permission to grieve fully. To be held without needing to be strong. To be tender without guilt.
Where Erotic Healing Meets Grief
During my grieving process, I turned to the erotic as medicine.
- I used kink practices to access the parts of myself that needed release and reclamation.
- I used somatic rituals to stay connected to my body when my spirit felt scattered.
- I created altars, lit candles, whispered to my ancestors.
- I used intimacy not just as comfort, but as communion—with my body, my grief, my resilience.
These erotic tools didn’t “fix” the grief. They helped honor it. They helped me feel safe enough to let the tears come—like today—when the wave hits and I need no explanation. Just breath. Just space.
You Are Not Meant to Grieve Alone
If you’re holding loss—of a parent, a partner, a version of yourself—know this:
Your grief deserves tenderness.
Your healing deserves more than silence.
Your body remembers everything, and it knows what it needs to release, re-member, and reclaim.
This is why I created spaces for erotic grief work—not just for healing, but for wholeness.
Upcoming Ways to Tend to Your Grief & Pleasure
Sacred Reclamation Summer Immersion
We’re still welcoming a few more souls into this sensual, somatic journey. This space is for those who want to come home to their bodies after rupture, loss, or repression. Join us here →
Erotic Grief: A Self-Guided Journey (Coming Late Fall)
A sacred container to explore grief through ritual, kink, and embodiment. You’ll receive guided practices, journal prompts, and altar rituals to support your healing on your own time.
Girls (and Boys) Need Love Too: A Workshop on Emotional Intimacy and the Inner Child (August 10, 2025)
We’ll explore how unmet emotional needs in childhood show up in our adult relationships—and how grief work and erotic healing can support reparenting and softness. Reserve your spot here
Today, I honor my father. I honor my tears. I honor my daughter’s voice.
And I honor the part of me that is learning how to grieve without disappearing.
If you’re ready to meet your grief with softness, I invite you to join me in one of these sacred offerings.
You don’t have to carry it alone.
With love,
Tahiyya Alnisaa’
Love note to my Abu…
A daughter will never forget the love of her father. I will never forget how much you loved me and your other children so much. I will forever hold your memories of us dear to my heart. I miss you so much and know that you are guiding me in all journeys on this earth. Shukran Abu for being my Abu.
Your oldest daughter Tahiyya
In loving memory of my father Taha Jaaber
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