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For more reading about living a creative life, check out my creative manifesto and my tips for adjusting to the real world after college, as a recovering over-achieving perfectionist. I’ve deeply missed writing for you these last few weeks. It’s filled me with a sense of dread and a strange hollowness. But there is big news! I start a new full-time job this Monday. While things have turned a corner, I wish I could say that I’m thriving. I’ve had a wild ride these last few years, publishing my books and articles, teaching workshops, and launching my Kickstarter campaign, but as many of you know, I’ve run out of money (boo). The main problem was that I started putting too much pressure on The Intimacy Journal and my creative projects to sustain me, like I was prematurely squeezing all the juice out of a beautiful piece of fruit that should have been left the f**k alone. It’s taken some painfully slow months, yet I’ve finally landed a job I’m excited about. And while previous-me might have considered getting a corporate job a betrayal, I’m here to share how a regular paycheck is offering me a renewed creative life that is already growing out of the ashes. My grandmother died a few weeks ago, the day after my final-round interview for my new job, bringing a bittersweet end to six grueling months in and out of the hospital. The last day she was alive, I told her about a story I’m writing about her becoming free by scattering her remains into the ocean (more on that in another piece). It came to me during the darkest moments of her final days. Since I went to help her through a heart operation in March, my body already knew it was the beginning of the end. Until now, I’ve been carrying the anticipatory grief and the heaviness of losing one of my closest family members. I was also crashing out under the financial and emotional stress of going into debt. I’ve really just been taking it day by day for months now. I only recently lost the strength to write, which, you know, is extremely unusual for me. I’ve since got on a plane to Los Angeles, where I’ll be based for my new gig, because US remote job opportunities be like that, leaving me even more unmoored and disoriented. It seems that life keeps life-ing. I’m going to be splitting my time between California and Mexico, which has some upsides too, as I’ll share. Since my grandmother died, I have finally been able to look at life with more lightness. I’ve started looking forward to what I’ll build creatively in the next 25 years, when I anticipate my parents will die (morbid, but true!). Let me fill you in on what happened and how it’s changing my perspective on living a creative life. 1. I ran out of money 😵. I don’t regret creating The Intimacy Journal last summer, when my contract with my dream client, Clue, finished, but I definitely didn’t have enough runway. After landing a couple of big-time Intimacy Writing Workshops, like at Soho House in Mexico City, things were looking up. Meanwhile, I reached out to about a hundred potential clients for Growth & SEO work, and the Clue team even introduced me to a few leads. But nothing stuck. I couldn’t sign a new client, or my potential clients didn’t have budget. I was also smacked over the head existentially with “AI-is-automating-away-all-jobs,” and I was genuinely freaking out that I’d never get hired as a human being to do paid work ever again. Maybe, like the inevitability of my grandma’s passing, my freelance opportunities were over months before I called it quits. I then had to do what no self-respecting, independent 31-year-old woman with a business degree wants to do: I sold my index fund investments for cash. Then, when that cash dried up, I debated paying the giant penalty to withdraw early from my 401(k). Instead, I decided to take advantage of my privilege and borrow money from my family. Once I was able to pay my rent again, I faced the impossible task of finding a job with very little structured work experience over the last five years, entering one of the worst job markets ever. Cool, cool, cool. 2. Trying to monetize my art was stressful 🥵. I figured giving more workshops could be a way to fund my creative life. But after months of procrastinating on workshop outreach, I realized I just didn’t want to do it. I don’t know why I couldn’t motivate myself. I guess I’ve simply enjoyed writing and designing The Intimacy Journal a lot more. I know social comparison is the devil, but I’ve watched other graduates from my university, like Jon Youshaei, become extremely stinking rich in 2-3 years through their creative careers. Yet here I am, four and a half years in, and nothing close to that has worked out for me. Perhaps I’ve been more choosy about how I monetize my art after trying out a couple of different formats. But definitely, I’m having to accept that it might take longer and be more difficult to monetize intimacy writing and erotic poetry than teaching content creators how to make money online. Still, with a stable paycheck on the way, beautiful things are starting to happen. Ideas for books I had years ago are popping back into my head again, like one about character sketches called “Portraits.” Maybe it’s not the most monetizable thing ever, but I’m excited that once I have a bit more money, I can put resources into developing the ideas, paying editors, printing, drop-shipping, and all the fun, expensive stuff that scaling a creative business actually requires. I just need to be smart about balancing my schedule and my energy to keep making it happen. 3. I didn’t expect this crappy job market, or to feel this isolated 👔. I love living in Mexico, but this current job market gave me a rude awakening. The days of getting a fully remote job in Mexico are basically over, as many companies are now “hybrid,” meaning you work from home a couple of days a week, but you’re tethered to your office (and city) by one handcuff instead of two. They decide what to pay you based on where you live, and those pay differences can be brutal, especially comparing the US to Mexico. I got to the final round at Substack, but unfortunately, it was for a Data Analyst role (rendering me a data monkey again, sad), and they’ve switched to hybrid from San Francisco or New York, both places where I have lived before and have no interest in returning to. They liked me enough to interview me for a Product Manager role in Creator Activation, which would have been a great fit because I am really passionate about helping people tell their stories. However, lacking legit “Product Manager” experience in a crowded market, I hit a dead end. In my darkest hour, I realized I needed to woman up a bit. I’m privileged, again, to have US work authorization (my mother’s family is from Los Angeles), so staying in Mexico was severely narrowing my job options and leaving a lot of money on the table. Of course, I could live in Mexico and work on a Mexican salary. That’s literally what millions of Mexican people do, and I’m fully aware that I sound like an entitled princess because I can get on a plane and fly to Los Angeles to make more money whenever I want to. But I’m not getting a full-time job just for the fun of it. I have books to print and s**t to do; if anything, printing and scaling my books in the US is the next step in my growth. I needed to put my big girl pants on and get my bag. Many of my foreign migrant worker / “expat” friends in Mexico City are making the same move. Meanwhile, other people lie about their whereabouts to their companies, or their teams just don’t know where they are. But that’s not really my vibe. I don’t enjoy lying to people; the stress of it is more than it’s worth to me. So I guess I’ll be spending more time with family and friends in California. Stick around for my corporate era! 👩🏼‍🏫 4. I needed clarity on what the f**k to do next 💡. Swimming in a giant pile of rejections, with my grandmother back in the hospital, I just couldn’t send out another resume. The “apply-to-job-to-get-an-interview” thing wasn’t working. So, I did what every person on the verge of debt should never do: I spent the last dollars of my own money and took myself on a fancy weekend nature retreat. I took a bus from Mexico City, then a taxi for an hour. I carried my suitcase like Fraulein Maria, and bags of all the food I’d need for my stay, and I plonked myself down in the middle of the forest outside of Valle de Bravo in a fancy glamping cabaña hotel. The taxi driver was extremely confused about why I was doing this to myself when he dropped me off there. There was no internet, no phone signal, and no electricity. Yes, I was completely alone in the forest for about 48 hours, apart from the groundskeeper who came to replenish my firewood. And yes, it was terrifying, especially at night. I had to fall asleep with my eyes open because the animals and rain in the forest were so loud, I was sure I was on the verge of being axe-murdered. But I needed to be with my thoughts and clear away all the distractions to figure out what I was going to do. My path revealed itself rather quickly. These were tough times, I realized. We were not living in the tech paradise of 2018 when I graduated from college, where with every third job application I’d at least get a phone screening with a recruiter. I had only gotten three interviews, and I immediately declined one because it was an AI data role and I knew I’d hate it. That left two companies I actually wanted to work at: Substack, which had already rejected me and required locations I didn’t want, and Graphite, a growth agency based out of San Francisco. I’ve been following one of Graphite’s founders, Ethan Smith, for almost four years since he first appeared on Lenny’s Podcast in 2022. Truth be told, I had used a lot of Graphit

The folks at Magic Wand heard I was a fan and asked how they could support my writing and readers. I suggested they pay me to write this article. Still, the opinions and the 1,500 orgasms are entirely my own. Check out their Substack, Rumblings! This piece discusses sex in depth. I advise my family to not read or listen it. Continue at your peril! 😈 Audio Pairing for today’s love letter: Dear Magic Wand, You were born into my loving relationship in the fall of 2019, when my boyfriend bought you on Amazon. He said he had done all the research. He said you were the best thing he could find. You joined our collection of dildos and butt plugs, but from that first day, you were, undoubtedly, mine. You were a gift. Cum back for more! 😋 It meant a lot to me. I’d never had somebody give me that kind of gift before, one that would let me access and experience new aspects of my body. You arrived in the middle of those first few months, when two people were learning how to love each other fully, deeply, and unapologetically. Sadly, the boyfriend who gifted you to me has blocked me on everything. We didn’t end amicably. We divided you and our other sex toys up during the breakup, and then had a couple sessions of steamy breakup sex (which were amazing). But we’ve barely spoken since. And yet, given that I still have you, he continues to have a positive impact in my life every single day. Not many people can say that about their ex-boyfriends. I am grateful to him for that, even now. At first, I didn’t appreciate your power or your beauty. How could I? I had never used you before. I had no idea what the appeal was. I’d been cycling through cheap bullet vibrators, which I had bought in discreet embarrassment from the checkout registers of sex shops. A collection of their tiny, dead, round batteries that looked like coins had gathered in a little sack in the bottom of my stuff drawer. It was either that, or just my hands, which I’m still not opposed to using. Then you changed everything. You have taught me so much about my body. You taught me that I can orgasm more than once in a row. In sessions of dedication to finding my truest self and “returning to source,” you helped me reach new heights. At my peak, I got up to six or seven orgasms in a short sequence. It was pretty crazy. When I get going in a rhythm like that, my vision blurs, fluids spray everywhere, and my limbs are shaking, pulsating. I lose control. It’s quite a sight to see. Not my most lady-like in the traditional sense, but undoubtedly my most raw. With you, I’ve entered new realms beyond what I thought my body was capable of. I wish I sat down for longer sessions with you more often. Taking time fully for myself, no interruptions. Still, I like the daily ritual we have going on, too. It’s a low hum. A brief one-two. I reach into the third drawer of my wardrobe, where you exist alongside my other “contraband,” like my onyx butt plug, my enema, and a bag of magic mushrooms that have lost their potency since I stopped microdosing. I don’t know why I leave you there. Maybe at some level, I feel some shame about you. I keep you hidden, though I’m sure my cleaner has probably found you at least once or twice. Still, this is where our routine begins. I pull you out. It’s quick. It’s quotidian. Like the first sip of a warm latte. You help me get through the day. You lighten the mood. Some might call it basic, pedestrian. But I see it as a necessary, daily reclamation of my pleasure. I grew up in a world where I believed that, as a woman, enjoying myself was wrong, selfish, and morally reprehensible. The three minutes we spend together each day challenge the world of my childhood, and bring me peace. Most of the time, I close both doors to my bathroom and my living room. The sun shines through the checkered French windowed door of my bathroom. I lie down on the large blue-and-cream-striped Oaxacan linen bedspread, with arrowed yellow stitching along some edges and cream-braided tassels at the corners. I am clothed; my knickers, trousers, and whatever I’m wearing on my bottom half hang around my ankles. Images of the objects and people of my desire cycle through my mind. I use your short-short-looongggg pulsing sensations to get me there, or the single, intense stream to stop my mind from going to other places. The cute, moody guy with the tattoos and the wavy black hair who I see when I cowork at La Laguna. An ex who was tall, and strong, and buff, who could pin me down in bed or in the shower, but offered me little else. A married former coworker inseminating me. Well, I never said I was perfect. It’s gentle. It’s quiet. I snatch these tiny moments with you each day. Sometimes watching porn, especially on a Saturday afternoon in the warm daylight of my bathroom, before I’ve showered after pickleball. In the hushed nights when I’ve met a new partner, who is going to be in my underwear for a good time, not a long time. I now insist on bringing you with me. Since I’ve set out on my mission to help the world be shamelessly sexy, you’ve helped me live my values. You are what I bargain for when I tell a new partner that I want to come, too. That my pleasure matters, too. At least, a little. If not, equally. Some men use their words and complain, but I am doubtful of their skills to back up their whiny confidence in themselves. Their little egos are scratched like a new car. I’ve just met them, whereas you have never let me down. With time, I’ve chosen to care less about what they think. You help me make sure that I get my fair share. We’re closing the orgasm gap, together, baby. One climax at a time. That’s what matters most. There was only one man I didn’t need you with. We still used you a couple of times, though, because unlike the whiny gentlemen, he was a man of generosity, care, and abundance when it came to enjoying each other. More is more. There, I said it. He was a barista whom I met here in Mexico City. When I was his, he was just as passionate about tasting me as he was about tasting drinks. He taught me how to talk dirty in Spanish, the nuanced Mexican slang that I’ve wowed lovers with since. He told me I was very tasty. He figured me out, one might say. He could read what my body needed when I still didn’t have words for it. In plain and simple terms, that meant a healthy dose of consistent clitoral stimulation, then teasing me with butt stuff. Just a finger would do. Or so he knew, somehow. Maybe he studied me like a map. Maybe I already had the directions and told him where to go. I guess I’ve learned the importance of knowing thyself. No one gave me the answers. I had to experiment with you, explore with my partners, and learn what I liked in order to be happy and free. You’ve helped me find new dynamics with my partners, too. Like with the man who was bearded, smart, and extremely hot, but who had a terrible personality. I insisted on using you and having an orgasm every time we changed penetrative sex positions. It was awesome, like a buffet that just kept going. To my partners who have said they don’t like you, or don’t want you around, I remember my favorite quote from Psychology Professor, Dr. Laurie Mintz: “Do carpenters become addicted to power tools? No, power tools just get the job done faster. Many women really love their vibrators, but that’s a personal preference, not an addiction.” At the age of 31, I no longer put the natural or manual way of doing things on a pedestal. I’m not compromising my pleasure for anything or anyone, thank you very much. Because you’ve been through it all with me. As I write this seven years later, you’ve moved with me from San Francisco to New York, and New York to Mexico City. From being a somewhat disgruntled Product Analyst working in tech, to an independent author writing about you on the internet, living my dream creative life. Six apartments in three cities later, here we are. It’s strange to think that you have given me more orgasms than I have given myself. You give me, probably, 270 orgasms a year. Maybe more. Sometimes, I foolishly left you in a cupboard somewhere when I was traveling, and became grouchier because of it. If I had to guess, it would be 1,500 orgasms you’ve given me. That’s a lot to think about. You fit seamlessly into my life like a glove I put on briefly and take off. Like the running notes down the scale of a xylophone. How many charges do you have left in you? I hate to think of the day, if ever, when you will die. What would I do then? Given your longevity so far, I have faith you’ll be around for a while still. I hope you’ll carry me at least into my next loving relationship, so I can pass you over like a baton to my next master. Into the hands of the next man I choose to control me, and give me a good one-two-three orgasms. I’m a sub, after all. You know that. Thank you for always being there for me, and for helping me claim my pleasure. You’ve helped me transform my shame into shamelessness. I love you, Tash 💌 ✍️ Extra Treats 🍬 My Online Course “Awakening” is my first online Intimacy Writing course! It costs $30, and in it, you’ll get a 1:1 guided writing session with the poem, prompts, and writing accountability from me right there on the screen. Misseducated readers get 20% off with code INTIMACY at checkout! Or if you’re more of a fictionista, check out my debut novel! It’s a spicy, coming-of-age story set in London in 2010. Keep in touch! 🥰 Instagram TikTok LinkedIn Cum again? 💦 Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Have a listen to my narration if you like an audio experience! Introduction 📕 You’ve caught me in the messy middle. I’ve self-published two books, and my creative vision is still coming to fruition. I’m currently broke, yet when it comes to building a creative life, this is what I have faith in. This is what I believe. I grew up in London, in an environment where nothing really mattered except being academically gifted in serious subjects like science and business, and making lots of money. I believed that in order to make that money, you had to dedicate your life to something you hated. The more you hated your life, the more money you’d probably make. This has never been my approach to life. In my mind, I’ve never separated work, life, and pleasure. Despite evil corporate forces and societal expectations, I’ve found and dedicated myself to things I deeply care about. Not because I believe that I’m special (though I’m sure ego has something to do with it). But more because, for better or worse, I’ve been guided by feelings. For example, I’m enjoying writing for you right now. Let me do more of it. I like this piece of art, the design of this thing, or the look of that architecture. It’s pretty. It’s nice. Pure, basic aesthetics are what drive me. In this manifesto, I push through the frankly toxic beliefs of my childhood and move into a world of feelings, self-expression, and pretty things, while also making a living. To do this, I’ve brought together data, philosophies of new role models, and “alternative facts” (lol). This is not a dream. This is not a rehearsal dinner for the wedding of life. I’ve reconstructed a way to live that centers joy as something to be taken seriously, where you can make money, and potentially lots of it, doing something you absolutely love. I’ve written this for you because I believe that how we see the world changes what we believe is possible for us. Feel free to tell me I’m full of s**t in the comments. Let’s begin. Subscribe to see whether I make it or not professionally, lol 😅 1. Make stuff. 🔨 The words I hate to hear most out of someone’s mouth are: “I’ve always wanted to…but…” Come on, people! It’s the 21st century, and climate change is about to burn us all to a crisp. Do not tell me about your ideas and dreams you have no intention of pursuing. Do not be like that woman in her 60s, whom I met at a sushi dinner party, who always dreamt of becoming a sitcom screenwriter. Wtf is wrong with you? Sit down right now and write the first word. There is nothing stopping you. Dreams are not real, just a fantasy that will die with you. You actually have to start somewhere and make stuff. I don’t care if you write really slowly. I don’t care if what you start creating is literal crap. Just make something. Start with one brush stroke or write one word on the page, and make it real. Then you’ll have something to work with. The only exception is if you are a mother with young children under 5. Everyone else, no excuses. As Anne Lamott said: “[A] lot of my workshops involve people explaining to me that they’re going to start writing as soon as their last child is out of the house, as soon as they move to the Russian River, as soon as they retire…if you’re not writing now, you’re not gonna write then…The key is not to try harder, but to resist less.” 2. Replace your idols. 🧿 Despite the core philosophy of depressed money-making in my childhood, there was one quirky side character whom I’ve tried to bring to the center stage. Sir Paul Smith is a legendary British menswear fashion designer. I grew up a privileged little tot, and at one point in 2012, I found out that he lived on my street, in a large house on the corner covered with purple wisteria. It was a very dark, empty, and mysterious place because I later learned that Paul leaves at 5am every day to go swimming, and I imagine his wife, Pauline, does too. I was on the committee of a lecture society at my fancy school, and so I wrote Sir Paul Smith a handwritten letter inviting him to speak. I got an email from one of his assistants not long after, and he accepted the invitation! She later told me that Paul had never really used a computer, so a handwritten note was really the only way to get his attention. The day Sir Paul Smith came to speak at my school, I introduced him to a crowd of 400 curious teenagers. One thing that stood out from his talk was that he showed a picture of a row of beach houses he saw in the UK, and then a new suit and pair of socks with their color palette translated straight onto them. He also threw keychains across the room to students who asked questions in the Q&A. It was awesome, and we later toured his studio in Covent Garden. Sir Paul Smith made an impression on me. To this day, I regularly think of his words at the beginning of his interview on the Blamo! Podcast, “And I thought: I wonder if you can go earn a living doing something that’s creative like this. It could be a brilliant way of earning a living. And it just progressed from there.” I keep a little chromatic blue dog on my desk. It’s a miniature of one that I couldn’t afford to buy at Paul Smith’s shop in Notting Hill. But it reminds me that making money isn’t all grind and pain. It can be fun, and even inspired by a colorful row of beach houses. 3. F**k the gatekeepers. 🙉 “While the artist’s goal is greatness, it’s also to move forward. In service of the next project, we finish the current one. In service of the current project, we finish it so it can be set free into the world.” — Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act: A Way of Being” Putting a piece of creative work out into the world is a vulnerable thing to do. If we don’t have a ton of creative experience, it’s natural to want validation from some industry leader or accomplished person. We may anxiously proofread our email to them 100 times before we send it. What if they say no, or worse, don’t respond at all? Who will we be then? Rejection of your work from a gatekeeper might feel like the end of your world, but I’d argue that it’s just the beginning. It doesn’t matter if it’s one gatekeeper or 10; it means nothing. So what if Sarah, the New York literary agent you really wanted, probably hungover in the Hamptons, emailed you to say “Thank you for the chance to read your work, but it’s not a fit.” You spent fifteen years writing that novel (in my case) and put real effort into making something awesome. F**k it! A piece of work you put a lot of effort into is probably good, and your effort alone is enough of a reason for it to see the light of day. It deserves to arrive in its final state of completion: birthed, published, shown, seen, witnessed. You need to finish this piece so that you can start making something else. I spent years and years writing my debut novel, queried a metric s**t ton of literary agents, and got all rejections. My inner teenager needed “These Perfectly Careless Things” to be published, but I wanted to work on other things. I decided to self-publish it. Even if it wasn’t perfect. Even if I never quite got the marketing right for that book. But I did it. Here I am, free on the other side, to make more work. I haven’t sat around for another 3 years waiting for a traditional publishing deal and fantasizing about becoming an author, because I already am one. Of course, I would have loved to have a big publishing deal, lots of money, and millions of copies sold. Maybe if I had been patient for six more months and then waited another two years for the book to be published, I’d be as rich and famous as Sally Rooney or Dolly Alderton. But also, more likely, I wouldn’t be. I might have gotten discouraged and traipsed back to New York to my horrible corporate life again with my tail between my legs. Most creative careers are built through teeny, tiny actions to no fanfare or clapping audience. Maybe a few people will clap for you, and a few people will email you to say how much they loved your work. But ultimately, waiting for acceptance can be a far greater risk than experiencing the rejection itself. p.s. There is one way gatekeepers can be useful to you. I’ve noticed that when I write something to pitch to The New York Times or McSweeney’s, I produce better writing. If you’re pitching a publication, you’re probably not going to send them something crap, so they’re useful as a phantom, 3rd-party accountability buddy that can challenge you to raise the bar for your work. Yet, when they inevitably reject it, put your work out there anyway! The previously rejected pieces that I published myself are among my most successful and widely shared. My readers love it. My creative cup is filled. And I take one more step to building a body of impactful work that I’m proud of. 💡 Save my two best rejected works for later: 4. Don’t let anyone tell you who you are. 🧘‍♀️ I met a girl last summer who absolutely enraged me. As we chatted, I learned she was an impressive, traditionally published author of two books. Her first book was, in publishing terms, a “flop” because the release date coincided with the beginning of COVID. She wrote another book, and that one did a bit better, but she had fallen out of favor with her publishing gods, and both of her books would soon be out of print. “Can’t you release the paperbacks somehow?” I said, reeling. “There’s got to be something you can do about this.” “Nah,” she said, shrugging. “They own all the rights. I pitched them another book idea, but they wanted me to write something else. I’d basically have to start writing again from scratch.” I mean, yes, you would, I thought to myself. But isn’t that the point? It’s your writing, your name, your life’s work! But for her, clearly it wasn’t. The publishing gods had decided which

This post has been updated! You can read the latest version here on tashdoherty.com. Introduction “How did your Spanish get so good?” a well-meaning gringa (American) asks me, gaping. She’s been in Roma Norte for six months, trying to improve her Spanish by taking classes. Unsurprisingly, that wasn’t going well for her. “It’s a long story,” I shrug. My last four and a half years of romantic date spots and spontaneous hookups flash before my eyes. I remember all the Mexican men who patiently listened to me during my broken-fluency phase, probably because they wanted to get into my underwear. “I’ve found that dating in Spanish helps a lot.” “Huh,” she says, pulling out her phone as if taking serious notes. Be promiscuous. Sleep around. “Once people started complimenting me on my speaking and my ego got involved, that’s when I really started perfecting it. It’s nice to impress people, you know? But let’s be real,” I said, leaning in closer. “There’s a lot of words they’re not going to teach you in Spanish class.” “Really?” she said, looking extra perplexed. “Like what?” I paraphrased this list of flirty terms for her, and I’m about to share them with you. This list is not comprehensive at all; it’s organic and random, much like the way you learn a language naturally by “coqueteando y cogiendo” (flirting and f*****g) in the day-to-day. Immersion isn’t linear, and neither is fluency. Still, I hope you enjoy these silly, dirty phrases and the honest, embarrassing stories behind how I learned them. What dirty phrases do you know in Spanish? What’s the story behind how you learned them? Share them in the comments! Cringey Mexican Spanish Phrases I’ve Learned 1. ¿Te gustan las nalgadas?” 🫱 It was April 2022, and I had just arrived in Mexico City. In my first two weeks, I was already exploring the Barista Man’s body (you know, the one I give the highest praise for eating me out). I had just moved into an apartment in Roma Norte with a lovely gay man and a lovely bisexual man. A couple of days after I moved in, my housemate, Sebastian, said to me, “¿Te gustan las nalgadas?” I looked at him, confused. My Spanish at the time wasn’t very good, and it was almost impossible to understand him in his thick, “Chihuahuense” (person from Chihuahua) accent. “Tú sabes,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “Nal-gad-as.” He made a kind of hitting (spanking) gesture. “Oh!” I cried, laughing awkwardly and blushing, “Nal-gad-as. Sí, I guess.” That’s when I remembered something: this two-bedroom apartment had been split into three, and Sebastian had a flimsy curtain for a door. The walls were thin, and I’d really made no effort to keep the volume down. Yikes. Official Tash Translation: “¿Te gustan las nalgadas?” = “Do you like to be spanked?” Cringe Learning Level: 8/10. It would have been 10/10, but I was too proud and newly falling in love with Barista Man to care. Cum again? 💦 2. “Eres bien sabrosa.” 👅 This was one of the first dirty things Barista Man said to me. With his head between my legs, telling me I am so tasty, he somehow stroked my ego and my c**t at the same time. There’s something particularly hot about someone professional, who tastes things for a living, telling you that you’re yummy as hell. I replied, “¿Tenías hambre?” As you know from my BDSM test results, I love being a brat, feigning power before I relinquish all control and descend into blissful chaos. I didn’t speak very good Spanish at the time, but this phrase seemed fitting. Official Tash Translation: “Eres bien sabrosa” (to say it to a girl) or “Eres bien sabroso” (to say to a boy) = “You’re so tasty.” “¿Tenías hambre?” = “Were you hungry?” Cringe Learning Level: 7/10. Extra Treats 🍬 Or if you’re more of a fictionista 💃…. What I’m Currently Listening To 🎶 I love Susanne Sundfør. She’s awesome. Keep in touch! 🥰 Instagram TikTok LinkedIn Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Dear Wonderful Reader, Tuesday, March 17th, 2026, marked 4 years since I freed myself from the shackles of my corporate job. Four years is a decent chunk of time. For the same duration as my undergraduate degree, I’ve been frolicking around Mexico City, perfecting my Spanish and waking up every day to the joy of being alive. How have I survived without a regular paycheck? And, more importantly, have I learned anything that’s useful to you? It has been mostly a dream, but this quit-my-job-aversary comes at a particularly difficult time. I’ve barely made $2,000 this quarter, not even close to my personal OKR of $15k. Selling some of my index fund investments to pay my rent makes me feel like I’m failing at being an adult. Then again, I did take six months off client work to launch my second book, get it funded on Kickstarter in just 12 days, and get featured in The New York Times. Still, it’s hard to see the beauty in all that I’ve accomplished when reality is currently kicking my ass. As you know, last week I was hit by a family emergency, causing me to fork out a couple thousand dollars more to fly to LA and say goodbye to my grandmother, who it seemed was on her deathbed. I sat with her in the hospital for five days as she went through a heart operation, reflecting on life in a mortal-imperative kind of way, while somehow helping to nurse her back to health. It was a close call. Not every day is sunshine and roses. Sometimes those deeper, existential questions irk me. Am I really that much better off than before I burned my New York 9-5 life to the ground back in 2022? However, all it takes is a five-minute conversation with another software engineer who hates his life to knock my own sense back into me. I’ve definitely made the right choice. I’m definitely not in the same place in this “creative career” as when I started. My direction is clearer and narrower in a way that’s motivating. I have a product to sell. I have workshops to teach. My path has a lot more shape, but it’s not easier. In fact, I’m still suffering. Yet I am following the advice of Graham Weaver, from my favorite episode of Lenny’s Podcast: “Life is suffering, so make sure you pick something worth suffering for.” That’s how this feels right now. It’s a lot of work, but I’m much happier doing this than sending Sean a stupid, boring spreadsheet. (If you remember, in my corporate tech career, I worked with more men named Sean than with women on my teams, lol). Here are four lessons I’ve learned in my fourth year of freedom. A second date? 🫦 1. Money still doesn’t really matter. Yes, I’m a hypocrite. Aside from keeping the lights on and paying my rent, I still believe that money doesn’t really matter to me in my life. Through much self-reflection, I’ve learned that making money for money’s sake means nothing to me. I only make money to fund my creative projects and have control over my time. I couldn’t give a s**t about owning a home. Sometimes I wish I had a bit more disposable income to travel, but that’s about it. At the same time, the highest highs of my life cost next to nothing. Creating The Intimacy Journal in the second half of last year was pure creative bliss. Designing the pages, curating the erotic poetry, I had never felt so alive as I brought that book to life. Same with meeting up with a special group of incredibly talented poets and writers in Mexico City. Reading my work to them, experiencing their work, and feeling held creatively is absolutely f*****g amazing. Enough said. Send this to a fun, creative friend 🚀 2. There are doers, and there are dreamers. The other day, I was talking to a guy who planned to sell shoes from Mexico in the US. “What shipping service are you using?” I asked him. “Well, we haven’t actually done it yet,” he said, “We’re just developing the idea and exploring our options right now.” Huh, I thought. So he hasn’t even really faced the issue, which is shipping stuff from Mexico to the US. He doesn’t know that Correos de Mexico, the Mexican postal service, isn’t permitting anyone to send more than a postcard. He doesn’t know they just digitalized their system and charge a s**t ton more to send anything? Got it. Something that continues to carry me through these years is that when I say I’m going to do something, I do it. Many people stand around commenting that what you’re doing is cool and that they’re doing it too, but then they don’t actually do it themselves. You also don’t realize how much you will grow through this whole process. I look back, and I’m like: oh s**t! I fulfilled 99% of the orders on my Kickstarter campaign. I hosted those workshops. I’ve done a lot of things, actually. And I’ve learned a lot, too. If you’ve been doing the things, you probably know a lot more than you think you know. By doing anything, you’re already way ahead of someone who hasn’t done anything at all. The same thing goes for reading books. A lot of people don’t read any books these days. Even if you just read one page of one book, that’s infinitely more than someone who just goes around saying how much they’d like to read more. Everyone talks a big game. When someone tells me about their dreams, but they aren’t actively doing them, I tune out. But when someone is doing something, even if they suck at it and they’re failing, I respect them. 3. Always be selling. Show, don’t tell. If you bump into me on the street today, I am carrying 2 copies of my latest book, The Intimacy Journal. I have one sample copy and one copy in a gift-wrapped plastic sleeve. Why? Well, when people ask me what I do, I don’t tell them; I pull the sample copy out of my bag and show them. I read them a line or a short poem, I show them the pages that I designed myself, and I tell them the story of how the book came about. I’m really proud of my book, and I think it’s beautiful. So I enjoy watching people interact with it for the first time. What happens after that? Unexpectedly, they often want to buy one! And that’s when I sell them the gift-wrapped copy. This doesn’t always work, but I’ve sold about 42 copies of my book this way, which is about $1,250 USD in revenue for me (over a month’s rent!). Plus, people often add a little tip. It’s nice to have some extra cash on me. At times, it can get a little exhausting, and I feel torn or guilty if I’m not carrying copies of my book wherever I go. But I did sell 4 copies at my friend’s Christmas party. In fact, the last thing I did in 2025 was sell a copy of my book to a lovely gay man at a New Year’s Eve Party. Neat, huh? I keep track of how they pay me (Cash, Venmo, PayPal) and the currency they pay in (GBP, USD, MXN, EUR). This is a true story: when I was a teenager, my family lived on the same street as the esteemed English fashion designer, Sir Paul Smith (he was knighted by The Queen years before). I only saw Paul Smith on my street a couple of times because he wakes up at 5am every day to go swimming. But one time, I ran into him and asked how he was. He immediately said to me, “I’m excellent, thank you. I’m just picking out the furnishings for a new shop we’re opening on Albemarle, in Mayfair. You might like to go check it out.” His words left an impression on me. He’s perhaps the most famous designer of men’s clothing in the world. His clothes are on billboards. He has shops in Tokyo and on Melrose in LA, and he’d been designing collections at Paris and Milan fashion week for longer than I’d been alive. As a 16-year-old girl, I wasn’t exactly his target demographic. And yet, here he was, imploring me to check out his new shop on Albemarle. I never forgot that he said that to me. And believe it or not, I did visit that new shop a few months later. And I liked the furnishings. You’re not an obnoxious guy standing there with a big sign that you’re flinging around at a car depot. Don’t do anything tasteless. But if someone asks you what you do, or what kind of things you write, it’s about 1000x cooler to show them a beautiful book that you’ve created yourself than just about anything else. 4. Focus on one thing at a time. One thing that has changed my life in the last year was deciding to focus on only one project: The Intimacy Journal. The world is a wide, complex, and distracting place, and each of us only has a limited amount of energy each day. When you work on 5 different projects, that energy is spliced out in 5 different directions. It leaves you too discombobulated and distracted to rise above the noise. And you need to do everything you can to rise above the noise because you’re competing with everyone else for people’s attention. If you put all your energy into one project, you have a chance of breaking out of your little bubble of people and reaching escape velocity. Yes, I still wrote the odd article and kept up with my newsletter every week. But I concentrated all my energy into the journal. The launch. The Kickstarter campaign. The printing. Yes, I became a significantly simpler and boring person, but everything was more defined, and I found I made a lot more progress faster. My friends came back from the summer holidays, and I already had the first printed sample of the book to show them! A project like The Intimacy Journal is like a pillar. Once I got this book done, it opened up so many other revenue streams, including workshops, collaborations, podcast interviews, books, and audiobooks. I got a photo of me holding the book in the New York Times. Things just happened because I sat down and got that book done. Whenever you feel that tug, that desire to ship this thing out into the world, and you’re excited about it in a deep way that makes you come alive, you just have to f*****g do it. Because, like Elizabeth Gilbert talks about in Big Magic, “Trust in the miraculous truth that new and ma

Dear Wonderful Reader, The money dwindles in my bank account. My grandma is dying. I have to sell my investment stocks and ETFs to pay for these flights. Hit by a “family emergency” when I have the least wiggle room. I gave up my Soho House membership, which in hindsight seems like an irresponsible and pretentious expense. Today is also my four-year anniversary since I quit my job in New York to pursue this creative life. I’ve spent 95% of my days since then extremely happy. No regrets. Yet two books published, workshops being taught, a feature in the New York Times, and a mention in Vogue isn’t much comfort when my client pipeline is dry. This is a hard moment in my journey. Yet, I still have you, my lovely reader! Thank god you’re still here. We’re all still here, somehow. Today, I have something special for you. It is one of my favorite images. It is an image that sustains me in these difficult moments of life, and being a human on this planet. I wrote it when I returned to San Francisco from my friends’ betrothal. A former tech minion, I have seen the bridge many times. But something about that day was different. Thank you for the opportunity to edit this and give this a little more love and polish. I will keep this in mind when I get on a plane tomorrow, and sit at my grandmother’s bedside. Things are hard, but this is keeping me going. This is a gift. This is my gift for you, Love, Tash Send this to someone you love 🩵 ✨ The Golden Gate - Friday, October 3rd, 2025 🌁 On Sunday, I was sitting in a quiet, dimly lit cocktail bar with an old friend. She’s very rich now. She told me she’s going to have five children, but not give birth to any of them herself (surrogacy). Now, that’s money. She’s getting engaged to her equally wealthy partner. Together, for her engagement ring, they’ve found an extremely rare jewel that naturally changes color with the light. If it’s a yellow light, the jewel is dark green and brown. If it’s a normal light, it’s purple and pink. I chuckled to myself as she told me this story. Living in Mexico City as a writer, I don’t have even close to that level of wealth. Yet I smiled to myself because I think I feel just as rich. Earlier that same day, I had gone to Crissy Field in San Francisco with the rest of the wedding troop. It was the final send-off before my friends’ honeymoon in Santa Fe, New Mexico. As I sat on some picnic blankets on the grassy sand, and munched on the last of the feta salad, and cookies, and ham, and chips, I looked out over the Golden Gate Bridge. I had never taken a good look at her from that angle before. Of course, she’s a she. I found myself turning away from the bustling group of millennials and gazing at her. I looked at her long and hard. If you’ve been to that part of the world before, you know how insanely windy it is through the Marin Headlands. But she stood there. Unwavering. So tall. So strong. So majestic. Her goldenness was a burnt umber, crimson, brick-colored. It is funny to realize that I always thought of her as golden herself, not thinking that it’s the place she inhabits. But the light there is golden too. It’s just enormous. The swell of the bay in green-blue-grey waters. The clouds dipping through her, spreading out into pools of sunshine over the grassy banks of land behind her. The smooth hills glowing. Her curved nature hanging perfectly still. Straight upright. Unflinching. There. Looking at her, I felt myself expanding. I felt I saw myself in the somewhat distant future. I’ve made it. I am taller than I am now. I have grown beyond in ways that my current little human self cannot even imagine. In the future, I am taking up space. I am moving. I am powerful. I make an impact. This is all culminating in something. I’m going somewhere, even if I don’t know where yet. Even after a week of stress and dealing with the printers and fear and self-doubt and worry, despite the treachery of the waters surrounding her, and the giant freight-bearing boats that passed beneath her, and the roaring, unrelenting wind, she stood there. Graceful. Whole. She had stood there all these years. Made a small scratch in the greatest force of erosion of all: time. That’s all to say, I laughed when I recounted this all to my friend. Here she was, chasing a rare stone around the world for her engagement ring, and I just sat on a beach and looked at a bridge for an hour. My riches were free. I was just as transformed, just as inspired, just as contented, just as driven, and moved. It was moving, that experience. Maybe I saw something of myself in her, that bridge. Maybe at times she might underestimate herself, whereas anyone looking at her could easily see her excellence, how exceptional she was. Or maybe she knows her worth. Through her very existence, she is strong. Her strength, in that sense, is never to be questioned. Her talents a given. Her energy, immense, radiating out from all aspects of her everywhere, as she let the giant waves and ships pass beneath her like it was nobody’s business. Choosing not to lower herself to small problems that were literally beneath her. And the space she took up. The space that was meant for her to inhabit. So anchored and grounded by nature. I felt grateful to just see her, to receive her energy. I couldn’t look away. 💌 ✍️ Come back soon! Listen to my grandmother’s story on the Misseducated Podcast: More Stories about my Grandmother from Misseducated 💌 ✍️ Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

A Poetic Invitation to Face Our S**t Marie Ida Sequence: Writing Prompts to Love Our Mothers Hello Wonderful Reader, The mother-daughter bond is just about the last thing I wanted to share about this week. I only wanted to give you a taste of Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven because next week we’ll be working with another poem by her in a “Fantasy”-themed Intimacy Writing Workshop (which I’m very excited to teach!) I found her poem “Marie Ida Sequence,” and I liked it. But once I sat down to illustrate, I got the message: she’s talking about her mother, their resemblance, and her love for her. Her mother, Ida-Marie, who died of uterine cancer when Elsa was only 19 years old. Her mother, who had suffered from mental illness and spent time in a sanatorium in Stettin, Germany (theartstory.org). Her mother, who had been stuck in an abusive, violent relationship with her father, and contracted syphilis because of him (Elsa blamed her father for her mother’s death). I’m not going to lie, the complexity of it makes me feel a bit better about myself. I’m going through a difficult time with my own mother. I am trying to accept her for who she is, while she cannot do the same for me. My boundaries are met by her silence. I’m still an afterthought in her web of family gatherings, always wanting everyone to be close while still not really knowing what closeness means. It’s f*****g complicated, and not fun to think about. Still, the clear images in the poem captivated me. The slate-green eyes, the copper hair. Maybe that’s what writing is about sometimes. Facing the dark s**t. Processing the stuff we’d rather not look at. In fact, in the research from UT Austin that I base my workshops on, they say that there are more mental and physical health benefits from writing about your most traumatic and difficult experiences than from writing about neutral topics. So, here’s to facing our s**t. Love, Tash 💌 ✍️ Join my next Intimacy Writing Workshop! Theme: Fantasy 🧚✨ Next week on Thursday, March 12th, I’ll be collaborating with the wonderful sex-positive podcast, Honeydew Me, for an evening of writing about our intimate fantasies. We will be using a poem by Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven. Join us! Marie Ida Sequence By Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven (1874-1927) (Gesture of soul—action-:architecture —evolutionary) I. Mine flaunting dress—mine copper hair— Thou—purple—dark— —  Slate iris— forehead wide.  Mine lips—as shaped and chiselled after thine—  The nose is not—mine nose is aquiline—  like tower—thine is short, Thine hands—so imminently lovely—  Frail—faintly dimpled—tapery fingertips—  To worship—they are not the hands of me—  Nor chaste as thine ponder mine lips. Mine scarlet heart—mine slate-green eye—  copper-sprayed star—  Are thine—profound—!  —Learned mine eyes what never thine eyes lit— !  Desire incarnate—erected fit  Cradle for thine soul. Nay—fundamentally I am thine root—  Gyrating dizzying and high  Upon that bloodcrest—mating a galoot  Of steel and flame—making thee die. Source: The Little Review, 1920. This poem is in the public domain. 🩵 The edition of The Little Review where “Marie Ida Sequence” was published.  Send this to a friend who should have been born 100 years ago 🕰️ Four Prompts To Go Deeper ✍️ For 20 minutes, write a memory, a reflection, a letter, or whatever comes: Explore the physical similarities you have with your mother, and what they say about you. Inspired by: “Mine lips—as shaped and chiselled after thine—”  Write about your most vivid memory of your mother. Inspired by: “Cradle for thine soul.” Write about the ways in which you and your mother will always be interconnected. Inspired by: “fundamentally I am thine root—“ Write about what you wish you could say to your mother but can’t for whatever reason. Inspired by: “(Gesture of soul—action-:architecture —evolutionary)” Elsa herself! Image courtesy of ArtCurious Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven herself was an exceptionally interesting woman. I don’t have time to go into it too much here, but give her Wikipedia page a read. Her “elaborate costumes both critiqued and challenged the bourgeois notions of feminine beauty and economic worth. She adorned herself with utilitarian objects like spoons, tin cans, and curtain rings, as well as street debris that she came across.” (Wikipedia) Yes, spoons are jewelry, friends.  I hope this invitation stirred something deep within you and inspired you to process it, as hard as that may be. Which writing prompt resonated with you the most? Let me know. I read and respond to every DM I get! Sending love, Tash p.s. I’m sharing more updates on Instagram, TikTok, or LinkedIn. Follow me! 💌 ✍️ Can we have a second date? 📅 🫦 Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Introduction “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” — Irina Dunn, 1970 I heard about the movement of decentering men on TikTok. With zero expectations, I decided to try it out for a month. It was October 2025. I was sick of dating apps and about to publish my second book. I’d been single for three years, but this was something different. I’m here to tell you everything about it and share all the reasons why I’m never going back. I wrote this article to give us, women, a blueprint for how to be the main character in our own lives. Our mothers and grandmothers couldn’t teach us this; they depended on men (financially) to survive, and had to center them accordingly. This article is not about hating men; it’s about unlearning the ways that the patriarchy has trained us to prioritize making men happy. This pressure comes just as much from the women in our lives (aunties, influencers, our mother), as from men. After all, it was my mother who let my brother get away with never doing the dishes after dinner. Starting this process for the first time scared me. I was worried that if I stopped trying to date men, I was giving up on my dream of becoming a mother. Yet as I began to decenter men, I realized that my idea of motherhood was purely a fantasy. Facing the reality of motherhood, those statistics scared me much more. In this article, I will cover everything I’ve learned from the internet, economists, and my own experience, so that you can decide whether decentering men and trying it for a month to start is right for you. Let’s begin! 🌞 What does it mean to decenter men? Decentering men means focusing on our own needs, desires, and dreams rather than prioritizing men’s feelings or validation. We believe our needs matter just as much as a man’s needs. We take our dream jobs, move to our dream city, and live fully without waiting to be “chosen.” If we do want a relationship, we believe the right man will support us in being our fullest selves. We are complete without a man, marriage, or motherhood, and our life choices, careers, and bank accounts reflect that. We respect other women’s decisions without judging them harshly either way. In our lives, we can decenter men in big ways, such as by staying single forever, or small ways, such as following feminist creators on Instagram over trad wives. We seek content that promotes our right to choose, not content about women being controlled or subservient to husbands. It’s okay to want marriage and babies, but decentering men helps us see our people-pleasing tendencies and assess whether we’re getting a good deal. We only give what we are able and willing to give. Why did I start decentering men? I started decentering men just before I turned 31; the same age my mum was when she gave birth to me and became financially dependent on my dad forever. I had been living independently, yet, like many women, I felt that constant, sneaky, underlying pressure to “find a man” so I could have babies one day. The “manxiety” haunted me from coffee shops to house parties to bars (all the meet-cute spots). I’d built an amazing life for myself, and was about to birth my second book into the world. Yet, deep down, I believed I wasn’t enough without the stamp of some dude’s approval. I listened to Raye, wondering what the hell was taking my husband so long to find me. I had swiped through a million men (probably) in my dating app “career.” But as my thumbs ached, I considered a new possibility: “What if I just…gave up? Well, not forever. Maybe I can just give up trying to find a partner for a month and see what happens.” So that’s what I did. How to Decenter Men while in a Relationship Negotiate a Better Deal “I can’t mop the floor with my uterus.” — Professor Corinne Low, Having It All For women in a heterosexual relationship, centering your man can have devastating consequences. Of course, it’s okay to care about your man, but you still need to take your own feelings and needs just as seriously as his. In her book Having It All, Dr. Corinne Low, professor of Economics at The Wharton School, points out that while women have gained economic and job equality since the 1970s, men have not faced similar pressure to take on household and childcare chores equitably. This leaves many heterosexual women with two full-time jobs: their day job and housework (plus childcare). The reality is shocking: “Women in heterosexual marriages who are the primary breadwinners do almost twice as much cooking and cleaning as their male spouses” (Low, 2025). Gay and lesbian couples do not face the same inequities in the home, by the way. It’s gender-based b******t. Low challenges us to ask ourselves, “Am I getting a good deal?” Essentially, in your relationship, are your needs prioritized as much as your male partner’s? This could mean advancing your career, getting enough leisure and sleep, balancing household chores, protecting your happiness and wellbeing, managing commute time, and maintaining social support. The list goes on, and Professor Low wants to make sure you are not just happy, but ideally optimizing your personal utility on what matters most to you. She suggests you plan time in your schedule for leisure, whatever brings you the most long-term joy and fulfillment. Is it a massage? Brunch with the gals? To test this, Low suggests asking yourself: if you got a job opportunity in a different city that would give you a 50% pay increase, but it required your partner to take a 20% pay cut, how would you decide whether to move? A woman decentering men would advocate for moving. Or if one of your kids is sick, how do you decide who stays home? Decentering means demanding a balanced household. Please, whatever you do, don’t give up your apartment that’s a 15-minute commute to your work because your male partner is quitting his job and going on a “find-himself” sabbatical. Don’t get spun up in his chaos. And if you find yourself wondering whether to prioritize your career or your husband’s, Low encourages us to imagine that the gender roles were flipped. Would he ever give up his apartment for your sabbatical? If your male partner remains useless around the home, and you’re sick of your job, commute, and living situation, “It might be time to renegotiate the deal.” (Low, 2025) Send this to a friend whose partner needs to do more chores 👀 How to Decenter Men while Single * Pick your starting time frame. I recommend giving it a month to see how it goes. You can always extend if you’re enjoying it. * Prioritize yourself and your close friends. Delete the apps and stop dating. Decentering men means not trying to find a partner at all. For example, I stopped flirting with the random guys at parties, hoping they’d sleep with me. Instead, I’d catch up with the person I came with and deepen my female friendship. If a man talks to you at a bar, that’s fine, as is getting introduced by friends. But you’re not putting yourself out there. You can still prioritize platonic friendships with men, the gays, and the theys. You can also dress in a way that doesn’t revolve around the male gaze, because you no longer give a f**k. Wear what makes you feel happy, exuberant, comfortable, and loving your life. Try to disentangle what you think you should wear to please men versus what you actually want to wear. It’s a thornier topic that I’ve written about before, but it’s worth paying attention to. * Prioritize your schedule and your needs. In a life where your needs matter, prioritize your gym classes, sleep schedule, mental health, self-love, and prep time for work meetings. This is easier said than done, because if your life has been anything like mine, you may struggle to identify your needs. Growing up as the eldest of four children, I rarely owned anything that was just mine, and I internalized that my needs didn’t matter. Three years of therapy and two years of regular ACA meetings, a 12-step program for Adult Children of Alcoholics and Dysfunctional Families, have helped me learn to identify my needs and believe they matter (and that’s improved my self-esteem). Decentering men is about respecting your own time, energy, and space, not bending over backwards and screwing up your night of sleep for someone who probably sucks and won’t commit. Noticing our feelings is crucial; they alert us when our needs are being compromised or boundaries are crossed. Try to do regular feelings check-ins: “What am I feeling right now?” You can and should be feeling multiple things at any given time. Use a feelings wheel to identify your emotions in the moment, or even do a needs check-in: “What do I need right now?” I could write a whole other article about this, but if you’re interested in learning more, I recommend reading The Loving Parent Guidebook. The book will teach you how to be your own loving parent, including things like: “An inner loving parent can remind us that we don’t need to strive. We are already enough.” * Talk about anything else. The world is a wild and wonderful place. You could talk about getting that bag, your dream holiday to Alaska, world domination plans, or perfecting your lemon cake recipe. Personal growth comes in many forms. Instead, you’re ruminating again about your inconsistent, alcoholic, man-child situationship. Your friends are probably bored of hearing about this walking piece of trash, but they’re just too nice to tell you! When I was younger, I used to like getting all excited with my female friends about whoever in high school we were trying to kiss. Now I’m just sick of it. I have left women’s groups and avoided people hung up on literal losers. Do yourself a favor: notice what percentage of your time you spend talking about men. Then…stop talking about them and talk about anything else instead. It’s more in

An Erotic Invitation to the Moon Moonrise: A Poem & Writing Prompts for Secret Anticipation Hello, Wonderful Reader, Today, I’ve chosen a special erotic poem and writing prompts for you to explore secret anticipation. So grab a pen and paper, set aside 20 minutes to journal, and let’s get started. Moonrise By H.D. 1886-1961 Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear-head on the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song, on the bank we share our arrows— the loosed string tells our note: O flight, bring her swiftly to our song. She is great, we measure her by the pine-trees. Source: Poetry Foundation. This poem is in the public domain. 🩵 Share Send this to a friend who likes poetry 📜 Share Four Prompts To Go Deeper ✍️ Write about the anticipation of waiting for a lover to arrive. “Will you glimmer on the sea?” Write about a time when you stayed up all night with someone. “on the bank / we share our arrows—” Write about the music, meals, or delicious things you made with a partner. “We have a song,” Write about a place in nature that expanded the depth of your love. “She is great, / we measure her by the pine-trees.” About H.D. (1886—1961) Hilda Doolittle (H.D.) was born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Her father, an astronomy professor, hoped she would become the next Marie Curie, but she chose poetry instead. In 1911, she set off for a short trip to Europe with Ezra Pound, and only returned to the United States four or five times before her death. Openly bisexual with many lovers (including the novelist Bryher), H.D. became a leading voice in the Imagist movement, whose poetry focused on sensuality, precise images and emotion. In 1933, she traveled to Vienna for analysis by Freud, hoping to process her trauma from WW1, her paranoia about the rise of Adolf Hitler (!) and her sexuality. Freud encouraged her to write about her traumatic experiences, advice which shaped her work. Decades later, we now know that expressive writing about our more personal experiences is good for us and genuinely aids healing ❤️‍🩹. Here are other quotes by her that I love (source here): “...if you do not even understand what words say, how can you expect to pass judgement on what words conceal?” “Words were her plague and words were her redemption.” “Writing. Love is writing.” Send this to someone who likes writing, please! 🙏 Share Hire me for an Intimacy Writing Workshop! ❤️ ✍️ After my sold-out workshop at Soho House, I am now looking to teach intimacy writing workshops to women’s groups, writer’s groups, corporate ERGs (Employee Resource Groups) and wellness communities. If you organize a group like this, or know somebody who does, please reach out! You can respond to this email, comment, or send an email of your own to [email protected]. I can’t wait to hear from you! I hope you enjoyed this invitation! Reply and tell me: which writing prompt resonated with you the most? I read and respond to every DM I get! Sending love, Tash p.s. I’m sharing more updates on Instagram, TikTok, or LinkedIn. Follow me! 💌 ✍️ Can we have a second date? 📅 🫦 Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Hello Wonderful Reader, Today I’ve chosen a special erotic poem and writing prompts for you to explore your too-muchness and wild expansiveness. So grab a pen and paper, and let’s get started. Desert Pools By Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933) I love too much; I am a river Surging with spring that seeks the sea,I am too generous a giver, Love will not stoop to drink of me.His feet will turn to desert places Shadowless, reft of rain and dew,Where stars stare down with sharpened faces From heavens pitilessly blue.And there at midnight sick with faring He will stoop down in his desireTo slake the thirst grown past all bearing In stagnant water keen as fire. Source: Poets.org. This poem is in the public domain. 🩵 Four Prompts To Go Deeper ✍️ I’m going to be honest: not everything about this poem resonated with me. I couldn’t figure out who she was talking about when she said “His feet.” Was it Love’s feet? Or was it her ex-boyfriend’s feet? I guess we’ll never know. The rest of the poem might be about loving someone who didn’t realize how awesome you were. Still, the line that really sang to me was the first one: “I love too much; I am a river” 🌊 So delicious. So juicy. So, I’ll keep it simple. Describe yourself as a river. Where do you flow? What animals and plants grace your waters? What are you like? “I am a river.” Write about someone who was too small to handle you and your capability of loving them. “I love too much;” Tell me about your sheer expansiveness and limitless power, realized or imagined. “Surging with spring that seeks the sea” Write about someone you were devoted to, yet who never gave you the pleasure or care that you deserved. “I am too generous a giver,” About Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) She was an American lyric poet who was awarded the first Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for her 1917 collection, Love Songs. I featured one of her poems for the “Awakening” chapter of The Intimacy Journal. I like that she uses rhyme to brew momentum in her poetry, but it’s not predictable all the way through. Here are my favorite quotes from the mystery poem I featured in the journal: “And that for you love held no hint of shame; My eyes caught light from yours, within whose flame Humor and passion have an equal share.” “Your great eyes widen when you talk of love, And darken slowly with a fair desire.” I hope you enjoyed this invitation! Reply and tell me: which writing prompt resonated with you the most? I read and respond to every DM I get! Sending love, Tash p.s. I’m sharing more updates on Instagram, TikTok, or LinkedIn. Follow me! 💌 ✍️ Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Hello Wonderful Reader, Today, I’ve chosen a very special unpublished poem and writing prompts for you to explore the power of forbidden love. You’ll discover why the poet never published this work in a second. So grab a pen and paper, and let’s uncover some of your juicy secrets… Evanescence (unpublished, 1920s) By Angelina Weld Grimké (1880 – 1958) You are like a pale purple flower    In the blue spring dusk . . . . . . You are like a yellow star Budding and glowing In an apricot sky . . . . . . You are like the beauty Of a voice . . . . . . Remembered after death . . . . . . You are like thin, white petals Falling           And                  Floating                                Down Upon the white, stilled hushing                 Of my soul. Source: Aphrodite’s Daughters: Three Modernist Poets of the Harlem Renaissance. Your 4 Writing Prompts on Forbidden Love 🩵 Write about any secret lovers you haven’t told anyone about. You are like the beauty Of a voice . . . . . . Remembered after death . . . . . . Write about a fragile love that the world tried to take away from you. You are like a pale purple flower In the blue spring dusk . . . . . . Write about falling for someone you weren’t supposed to. Falling           And          Floating                        Down Write about the small miracles that brought you and a forbidden lover together. “You are like a yellow star” The Backstory 📜 Uncovering the unpublished poems of Angelina Weld Grimké (1880-1958) I first heard of Angelina Weld Grimké while researching for The Intimacy Journal on poets.org. I discovered that she was a journalist, teacher, playwright, and poet, and an influential figure in the Harlem Renaissance, but much of Grimké’s intimate poetry remained unpublished during her lifetime. Why? Well, works like this week’s featured poem from the 1920s, “Evanescence,” were about same-sex relationships. This was culturally forbidden at the time. I ended up featuring two of her poems in The Intimacy Journal, because it was impossible to pick just one! Diving deeper into erotic poetry, I found a book that centered on Grimké’s work, called Aphrodite’s Daughters: Three Modernist Poets of the Harlem Renaissance. This was written by Professor Maureen Honey, who recently retired from The University of Nebraska-Lincoln after a 40-year career! She is 80 years old, and naturally, I sent her an email. This is what she responded: “I’ve written a lot about the Harlem Renaissance, and Grimké was its premier poet...her published poetry numbered about 40 pieces, I think, while the unpublished is the most erotic…I accessed the unpublished work from reading her journal, held at at the [Moorland Spingarn Research Center at Howard University], and in correspondence between her and her father, her closest female friend, Tessa Lee, her young classmate/friend/neighbor Mary Burrill, and many others...there is no published collection, which is a shame. I could put one together, and would love to, but I’m retired...I’ve got copies of Grimke’s poetry in alphabetical order in files I kept from my office...Again, thank you for contacting me, Tash, and do let me know how your newest project comes along. Good luck!” It seems like somebody needs to publish these poems! 😂 Photo from a 1923 publication, when she was 43 years young. A Quick Update From Me 🚀 When I’m not sinking my teeth into some juicy, erotic poetry from the 1920s, I’ve been working on setting up my online storefront, which should be done this week. In the meantime, if you want your copy of The Intimacy Journal, DM me on Instagram. Plus, next week, I’m giving my first external paid workshop at Soho House in Mexico City! I’m terrified, but in a good way. I think we will have the workshop inside, not by the fabulous pool, unfortunately: I hope you enjoyed this erotic invitation! Reply with your reflections. I’d love to hear them. Sending love, Tash 💌 ✍️ More From Misseducated 💌 ✍️ https://misseducated.substack.com/p/an-erotic-invitation-to-your-body https://misseducated.substack.com/p/what-is-it-like-to-orgasm-on-psilocybin https://misseducated.substack.com/p/on-dating-mexican-men https://misseducated.substack.com/p/how-to-be-shamelessly-sexy Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Hello Wonderful Reader, Today, I’ve chosen a very special unpublished poem and writing prompts for you to explore the power of forbidden love. You’ll discover why the poet never published this work in a second. So grab a pen and paper, and let’s uncover some of your juicy secrets… Evanescence (unpublished, 1920s) By Angelina Weld Grimké (1880 – 1958) You are like a pale purple flower    In the blue spring dusk . . . . . . You are like a yellow star Budding and glowing In an apricot sky . . . . . . You are like the beauty Of a voice . . . . . . Remembered after death . . . . . . You are like thin, white petals Falling           And                  Floating                                Down Upon the white, stilled hushing                 Of my soul. Source: Aphrodite’s Daughters: Three Modernist Poets of the Harlem Renaissance. Your 4 Writing Prompts on Forbidden Love 🩵 Write about any secret lovers you haven’t told anyone about. You are like the beauty Of a voice . . . . . . Remembered after death . . . . . . Write about a fragile love that the world tried to take away from you. You are like a pale purple flower In the blue spring dusk . . . . . . Write about falling for someone you weren’t supposed to. Falling           And          Floating                        Down Write about the small miracles that brought you and a forbidden lover together. “You are like a yellow star” The Backstory 📜 Uncovering the unpublished poems of Angelina Weld Grimké (1880-1958) I first heard of Angelina Weld Grimké while researching for The Intimacy Journal on poets.org. I discovered that she was a journalist, teacher, playwright, and poet, and an influential figure in the Harlem Renaissance, but much of Grimké’s intimate poetry remained unpublished during her lifetime. Why? Well, works like this week’s featured poem from the 1920s, “Evanescence,” were about same-sex relationships. This was culturally forbidden at the time. I ended up featuring two of her poems in The Intimacy Journal, because it was impossible to pick just one! Diving deeper into erotic poetry, I found a book that centered on Grimké’s work, called Aphrodite’s Daughters: Three Modernist Poets of the Harlem Renaissance. This was written by Professor Maureen Honey, who recently retired from The University of Nebraska-Lincoln after a 40-year career! She is 80 years old, and naturally, I sent her an email. This is what she responded: “I’ve written a lot about the Harlem Renaissance, and Grimké was its premier poet...her published poetry numbered about 40 pieces, I think, while the unpublished is the most erotic…I accessed the unpublished work from reading her journal, held at at the [Moorland Spingarn Research Center at Howard University], and in correspondence between her and her father, her closest female friend, Tessa Lee, her young classmate/friend/neighbor Mary Burrill, and many others...there is no published collection, which is a shame. I could put one together, and would love to, but I’m retired...I’ve got copies of Grimke’s poetry in alphabetical order in files I kept from my office...Again, thank you for contacting me, Tash, and do let me know how your newest project comes along. Good luck!” It seems like somebody needs to publish these poems! 😂 Photo from a 1923 publication, when she was 43 years young. A Quick Update From Me 🚀 When I’m not sinking my teeth into some juicy, erotic poetry from the 1920s, I’ve been working on setting up my online storefront, which should be done this week. In the meantime, if you want your copy of The Intimacy Journal, DM me on Instagram. Plus, next week, I’m giving my first external paid workshop at Soho House in Mexico City! I’m terrified, but in a good way. I think we will have the workshop inside, not by the fabulous pool, unfortunately: I hope you enjoyed this erotic invitation! Reply with your reflections. I’d love to hear them. Sending love, Tash 💌 ✍️ More From Misseducated 💌 ✍️ https://misseducated.substack.com/p/an-erotic-invitation-to-your-body https://misseducated.substack.com/p/what-is-it-like-to-orgasm-on-psilocybin https://misseducated.substack.com/p/on-dating-mexican-men https://misseducated.substack.com/p/how-to-be-shamelessly-sexy Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Send this to your lovely, literary lady friend 🫖 📚 Hello Wonderful Reader, Welcome back to Misseducated! I’m Tash, and today I’ve chosen a very special erotic poem and writing prompts for you to explore nature and your body, and how they interconnect. So grab a pen and paper, and let’s get started. North Wind By Lola Ridge (1873 – 1941) I love you, malcontent Male wind— Shaking the pollen from a flower Or hurling the sea backward from the grinning sand. Blow on and over my dreams. . . Scatter my sick dreams. . . Throw your lusty arms about me. . . Envelop all my hot body. . . Carry me to pine forests— Great, rough-bearded forests. . . Bring me to stark plains and steppes. . . I would have the North to-night— The cold, enduring North. And if we should meet the Snow, Whirling in spirals, And he should blind my eyes. . . Ally, you will defend me— You will hold me close, Blowing on my eyelids. Source: Poets.org. This poem is in the public domain. 🩵 Send this to your friend who has a thing for lumberjacks 🪵 👷‍♂️ Here are your four writing prompts: * Write about your sick dreams that you might be too ashamed to tell anyone about. “Blow on and over my dreams…Scatter my sick dreams…” * Start with any of the phrases that use ellipses and write your own story about what you wish the wind would do to you. “Throw your lusty arms around me…Envelop all my hot body…” * What would you have tonight if you got your way? “I would have the North to-night—” * Take features that you find attractive in your partners and pair them with your favorite places in nature. “Great, rough-bearded forests…” Send this to your hottest writing friend ✍️ About Lola Ridge (1873-1941) She was an Irish-born New Zealand-American anarchist and modernist poet, and an influential editor of avant-garde, feminist, and Marxist publications. I featured one of her poems for the “Nostalgia” chapter of The Intimacy Journal. Keeping the love flowing...(A quick update from me) Ever since I created The Intimacy Journal, I have become OBSESSED with erotic poetry written by women. Many works are in the public domain by poets who lived around a hundred years ago. When I read their work, everything clicks for me. I’m really enjoying the process of sharing and illustrating their work. It’s poignant. It’s dreamy. It’s delicious. And, it’s hot! I’m excited to see where this takes me. I know that some of you still want your own Intimacy Journal. Sorry that I have been slow to set up my online storefront since we finished the Kickstarter campaign. I’ll hopefully have that up and running in the next week or two. In the meantime, please respond to this email or comment if you want your copy, or DM me on Instagram. I hope you enjoyed this invitation! Reply with your reflections. I’d love to hear them. Sending love, Tash 💌 ✍️ It would be nice to see you around sometime! More From Misseducated 💌 ✍️ Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

“I’m not enough,” I think to myself, as I pass a couple in love on the street. “I could never have a relationship like that. I’m not worthy. Even if someone liked me, they’d just get bored eventually and move on.” “I’m not enough,” I think to myself as I hit publish after writing an article all day. “I should have 5,000 subscribers by now. Then maybe my voice would matter.” Discover a more shamelessly sexy world 🌎 ✨ “I’m not enough,” I think to myself when I am mentioned in The New York Times. “That’s not a real feature. It’ll only count when I get a full-spread in The New Yorker.” “I’m not enough,” I say to my therapist, trembling and crying in front of my computer screen. It is right on the surface of my psyche, and in many ways, it is fundamental to who I am. Each time I achieve something, the goal post is suddenly flung out further in front of me, unreachable again. I do my best to achieve, achieve, achieve. Yet I metabolize my accolades and awards before I even get a second to enjoy them. My therapist tells me to work on my anger towards the adults who failed me in my childhood (who will remain anonymous). I know I feel angry, but I don’t know how that relates to this core belief about my self and my worth. That evening, I sit down on the crumpled corduroy green chair in my living room. I scroll back through the last three years of my text messages and rummage through decades of my memories. Those voices say to me: “Everyone thinks you’re a bad person.” “You’re so selfish.” “If you think I’m favoring them instead of you, it’s probably because you think your work isn’t enough.” I remember that last phone conversation. I saw red and told that person I needed a break from them. Then I didn’t speak to them for almost three months. I realize that since I started therapy, even if I didn’t believe I am enough, I’ve been acting as if I am. I’ve been telling people not to treat me disrespectfully anymore. I’ve been telling others that my needs matter and my feelings are real. When people say things to try to tear me down, I don’t accept their insults or tolerate their behavior. I stop believing outwardly that I deserve to be shouted at. But these most subtle and insidious beliefs are different. People bury them way down in there: a parent, a teacher, someone you trusted in your childhood to take care of you. I pull out my journal and delve deeper into this filth and arguing over the years. Then a new idea suddenly pops into my head. Maybe it was never about believing that I wasn’t enough. Maybe this other person is projecting their own pain and feelings of worthlessness onto me. Reinforced hundreds of times through our arguments over the years. Perhaps this is more about them, their opinions, and judgments of themselves. Perhaps this has nothing to do with me. Something in me is changing. Deep down inside myself, I find this large, jagged shard of glass, black and glinting. I wrench it out of me. I cut open the parts of me that had tried to heal over and around it. This monster, this cancer that had never been mine. I will not carry it around anymore. I look up from my text messages, and in my journal, I write: These are projections of low self-esteem. It has nothing to do with me or my worth. I’ve been carrying their belief about themselves as if it were a belief about me for decades. I look up at the clock. It is 11:47pm. In 13 minutes, it will be December 5th, 2025, my two-year birthday in ACA, my group therapy program for Adult Children of Alcoholics & Dysfunctional Families. It has taken me two years of deep self-reflection and analysis to yank out that shard of glass. The new, empty wound leaves a void inside of me, slowly healing. In our next session, my therapist asks me what I am going to do with this information. I tell her I am not sure. Yet over the next few days, things begin to reveal themselves and unravel. The load I am carrying feels lighter. “I am happy for them,” I think to myself now, when I’m at a party, and I see a couple. “Look at them, so deeply in love.” “What a beautiful book I have made,” I think to myself when people ask me what I do, and I pull out a copy. “I can’t wait to mention the designs, inspired by the architectural details of Mexico City.” “It’s amazing!” I think to myself now, when I receive my first payment for books I have sold. “I can pay at least a couple of months of my rent!” “They must be hurting,” I think to myself now, when someone says something vicious to me. “This is unacceptable and has nothing to do with me.” Perhaps the difference is only in my mind, but it does alter how I see the world. I realize I do not want to be living any other way. That this life, of writing and creating, my chosen life in Mexico, is the best life for me. Art. Architecture. Writing. Poetry. Film. Flowers. This is a real and beautiful way to live. I have conviction. I have pride. I feel like I am getting closer to the woman I have always dreamed of becoming, sitting in that beautiful office with the white walls, the ornate plaster fastenings, and the tall windows. And an Eames chair or two. The people in my childhood who tried to keep me small and break my spirit are dead to me now. I do not wish they were dead, but I am not waiting for them to die before I let myself live. I am living now. Not entertaining their viciousness. Not playing it low and small so that I don’t threaten them with my brightness. Some core beliefs about ourselves take 31 years to change. Four years of therapy. Two years of reparenting myself in ACA. Two years to wrench out that shard of glass. But here I am, in Mexico City, writing, creating, living the life I’ve always dreamed of. I am enough. 💌 ✍️ Send this to your most shameless friend! 🚀 The Top 5 Misseducated Articles of 2025! 💌 ✍️ Come back for more later! 💌 ✍️ Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe

Hello Wonderful Readers, I feel excited and quite nervous about sharing this update with you. Since launching The Intimacy Journal, I’ve learned a lot about how I want to provide value to you and live my mission to help the world be shamelessly sexy. TL;DR * All Misseducated Substack content will be 100% free from now on. This weekend I ungated 43 articles in the Archive. If you find a Comments section that’s still behind the paywall, please let me know, and I will remove it. * I hope to keep publishing at a cadence of around 2 articles per month, but that could range from 1 to 4 posts. I enjoy publishing on Tuesdays, but will no longer be strict about it. * From now on, I am implementing the “buy-me-a-coffee” model for my paid subscribers. I will no longer be creating any special paid subscriber content. I will not be offended AT ALL if you stop paying for your subscription because of this, or if you stopped paying in the past. Please feel free to cancel guilt-free right now. I am nothing but grateful to you! Thank you for whatever you were able to give. * If you would like to keep contributing, you will be supporting a more shamelessly sexy world, helping me keep the lights on, and ensuring that my sexuality content stays free and accessible for everyone. * This is what the Misseducated Subscription page now looks like (in $USD): Come back for more! 💜 The Truth Of It All I’ve realized that paywalling my content on Misseducated is no longer serving you, me, or my mission. It’s taken me months to actually implement this change because doing this scares the s**t out of me. But I’ve known for a while now that this is the right thing to do. Firstly, I want to thank my existing paid subscribers. Over the last three and a half years, since I quit my corporate media job in New York, you have helped me build a new life for myself. You gave me my first few dollars of validation as a “professional writer”. You gave me the courage to keep going. Still, offering two tiers of content has always been extremely challenging for me as a one-woman show. Especially with the regular cadence that newsletters require, for too long now, I’ve felt guilty and stressed out for not delivering good enough content to you. Switching to a “buy-me-a-coffee” model allows you to still support a more shamelessly sexy world if you want to, and allows me the freedom to create the most impactful work that’s accessible to everyone. Secondly, I’ve realized that to help the world be shamelessly sexy, I need to be a truly open book as a writer. I originally paywalled my more sexually explicit content. Maybe I didn’t want my dad and his friends reading that I like butt stuff. Or maybe I felt, like some sex-writer-worker, that people should have to pay to access these deeply personal details of my life. But as I’ve grown, I’ve come to the realization that I just don’t give a f**k. I want anyone, anywhere, to benefit from this blog if it can help them. Gatekeeping just doesn’t float my boat anymore, and I’m not going to live my life in arbitrary fear of other people’s judgment. Thirdly, I’m enjoying productizing things my readers want a lot more than I thought I would. Creating The Intimacy Journal was SO much fun. It’s a standalone purchase that people can get if they want to deepen their practice, and I’m extremely proud of it. Energetically, I feel a lot more confident and excited to provide value to you through books and workshops than I do about consistently creating special paid subscriber newsletter content. Fourthly (if that’s even a word?), I noticed that when I speak on podcasts, I’m sharing all the personal details that were behind the paywall on Misseducated anyway. Check out the 111 podcast episodes I’ve spoken on, with over 42 hours of episodes here. Those podcast listeners have had the full story, but I haven’t been offering the same to you. So I want to make your access to my content limitless. Additionally, while rereading some articles over the weekend, I rediscovered many ridiculous things I’ve written, which I hope you’ll find funny. I can’t wait for you to enjoy those stories fully, too. The last thing that truly impacted my decision was a conversation I had recently with a male Misseducated reader. He said that while he likes reading my blog, he had really been curious about the article, “I Pegged My Boyfriend,” but had never read it because it was paywalled. That hit home for me. I thought: Why? In that article, I make some very important points about why we need to allow men to be able to show weakness and sensitivity. With the paywall, I was denying him the opportunity to explore his masculinity and preventing that article from reaching its full impact in the world. So, paywalls be gone! For those of you who have been waiting patiently, here is a short list of my top five now-ungated articles you might enjoy: * The 4 Categories of Porn I Watch, and Why * I Pegged My Boyfriend * My BDSM Test Results * Why I Never Swallow Cum * My Hard Biological Truth You can check out the full list of 43 now-free articles below. Trust me, there’s plenty of spice and juicy details to go around! That’s enough for now! Thank you for trusting me and for sticking along for the ride. I’m so grateful and excited for the next chapter. Please feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions, concerns, or if you gain any new insights from reading one of the articles below. Hehe. Sending love, Tash 💌✍️ The Full List of 43 New-Ungated Articles 🪅 * The 4 Categories of Porn I Watch, and Why * I Pegged My Boyfriend * My BDSM Test Results * Love & Dreams * The Strangest Date I Ever Went On * Starting The New Year Off With A Bang * On Top Of The World * Sex In The London Library * I Kissed A Girl And I Liked It * Misseducated Update: What’s In The Works * Welcome to the Misseducated Community! Please introduce yourself here so we can say hello :) * Back To Where We First Met * Why I Never Swallow Cum * How To Keep Your Creative Dreams Alive * I had casual sex. * On Withholding Sex From Men * Burnout and Book Cover Reveal! * I finished writing my first novel! ✨✍️ * How To Make An Audiobook * Peach Tulips: Almost Off To The Printers ✨ 📚 * When No One Comes To Mind * Zoom Crush * Girl Crush * 💖 Sexico City 🌃 * 💖 Sexico City Update 🌃 * My Hard Biological Truth * The Little Things * Somebody to Love * The 64 Traits of My Ideal Mate * What I Learned Hosting A Sex Writing Workshop * My Hard, Biological Truth, Part 2 * The scene that took me 13 years to write * How to Overcome the Fear of Success * Does Penis Size Matter? * Liar, Liar * The Wrath of Seeing Your Ex * My Ego Stroke of a Lifetime * How To Not Care What Other People Think * The Dog Cage * That’s all from Misseducated in 2024! * My Sex Toy Collection Revealed * Announcing: The Misseducated Sex Journal! * My Week-Long, Creative Orgasm Get full access to Misseducated by Tash Doherty at misseducated.tashdoherty.com/subscribe