Am I “Too Much”? On Transparency, Sex Talk, and Why Touch Belongs in Healing
Content note: This post includes candid talk about sex, consent, and intimacy, shared through a therapeutic lens.
It’s been a minute since I released an episode of The Intimacy Lab. If you’ve been around my world for a while, you know my creative rhythm isn’t clockwork. I follow my excitement. Projects flare bright, go quiet, then return when there’s a fresh “yes” in my body. That’s by design. My podcast, newsletter, and social channels are not my job; they’re outlets for authentic expression. When I show up, you’re getting the real thing—no obligation, no performance.
Recently, I’ve been sitting with the last episode I aired, a joy-filled conversation with my friend and colleague Alex Ray. Listeners tell me they love us together (same!), and you’ll likely hear more of Alex and me soon. But the response also stirred up an old visitor in my head: the whisper of “Was that too much?”
The “Too Much” Echo
A bit ago, I spoke with author Leela Sinha about their book You’re Not Too Much. That message matters to me because transparency is part of my calling. I talk openly about sex, relationships, consent, and the messy, human parts of intimacy—not for shock value, but because healing thrives in the light.
After the episode with Alex, a friend/colleague/client—someone who knows me in multiple contexts—shared that the conversation felt like “a lot” for them. I took that in. For some people, candid sex talk is still an edge, even when it’s educational and values-led. I don’t hear their feedback as a verdict on all listeners; I hear it as context. We don’t all stand in the same place on the path.
Retreat Reflections: When “On Duty” Meets “Being Me”
A few weeks ago, I served as a cuddle therapist at what I believe was the first immersive cuddle retreat of its kind in upstate New York. Over two days, I conducted eight sessions—and also lived in community the rest of the time. That meant I wasn’t only “Michelle-in-session”; I was Michelle-the-person at the breakfast table.
In that communal space, I found myself sharing parts of my history and views on sex. Later, I wondered: Did I overshare? Was everyone at that table prepared for that conversation? I don’t want to move through the world wearing a giant Content Warning T-shirt, but I do want to be mindful of context. What’s welcomed in a one-on-one session—where we’re clear on consent, goals, and boundaries—can land differently in a mixed group.
Why I Choose Openness (And Who It’s For)
Before I became a therapeutic intimacy specialist and cuddle therapist, I wrote a blog called Sex After Marriage—a public diary about exploring kink, BDSM, and ethical non-monogamy. Early in my surrogate partner therapy journey, I was asked to take some of that writing down because prospective clients were Googling me and feeling uncomfortable.
I sat with that. I consulted trusted colleagues, including Kendra Holliday, about my intentions. I realized my openness signals something essential: I’m comfortable. I can go into tender, complex, or “edgy” topics calmly and skillfully. That’s the kind of practitioner I am—and the kind of support many people need.
Still, I had to face a truth: my transparency will turn some people away. Ultimately, I decided I’m okay with that. The folks I’m meant to work with are the ones who feel safer knowing exactly who they’re stepping into the room with.
Accountability Is a Love Language
Being transparent doesn’t mean being careless. Yesterday, after a casual lunch conversation, I realized I might have shared something without explicit permission. I circled back to the person involved and checked in: Was that okay to say? Thankfully, it was. But the point stands—I want to clean up my messes when I make them. Consent isn’t a box you check once; it’s a relationship practice.
I’m not aiming to become someone who never questions herself. A gentle layer of “Was that too much?” helps me stay curious, relational, and respectful. I can hold pride in my work and humility about my impact at the same time.
Modeling Experimentation and Joy
My intention in that episode with Alex—and in much of my work—is to expand what intimacy and sex can look like, without centering performance or pressure. I want to model experimentation, play, and consent-forward curiosity. Sometimes that will include sexual themes; sometimes it won’t. Either way, this is The Intimacy Lab. We experiment—with touch, with boundaries, with communication, with the many forms connection can take.
Talk Therapy Needs Touch (Yes, I’ll die on that hill)
If you’ve ever wondered why I speak so passionately about touch work, it’s because I see what happens when healing stays only in the head. Our nervous systems need experiential repair—attuned, negotiated, consent-based touch; clear yes/no/maybe; practicing boundaries in real time; and being seen without having to perform.
For those working with a talk therapist, I’m a champion of collaborative care. As co-chair of AASECT’s Somatic Sexuality Professionals Special Interest Group, I’m actively inviting sex therapists and mental health clinicians into conversations about integrating touch-based, consent-led practices with talk-based modalities. We can do more for clients when we work together.
If This Resonates
If you’re touch-hesitant, touch-hungry, or longing to feel safer in your body and relationships, cuddle therapy might be a gentle place to start.
If you’re curious about building skills around consent, communication, and intimacy—inside and outside the bedroom—my therapeutic intimacy work may be a fit.
If you’re a therapist, let’s talk about how somatic and touch-informed approaches can support your clients alongside your practice.
You can learn more at meetmichellerenee.com and humanconnectionlab.com. If this blog or the podcast supports you, please subscribe to my newsletter and consider leaving a review anywhere (Google, podcast, etc)—not because I’m chasing virality, but because it helps the right people find a space that meets them where they are.
