You Are Not Too Much, and He Is Not Not Enough

By Sex Priestess Luna Ora

There’s a silent ache in almost every woman I’ve ever held in my arms, guided in ritual, or watched bloom in the temple of her own becoming. A whisper, barely audible, yet it echoes through her choices, her relationships, her body:

“Am I too much?”

Too wild. Too emotional. Too loud. Too powerful. Too sensual. Too demanding. Too magical.

The wound of being “too much” is not hers alone—it’s a wound carved into the collective feminine psyche, passed down through generations of women who were silenced, burned, shamed, and tamed.

And then, there is the silent wound of the masculine. A fear buried so deep it’s rarely spoken, but you can feel it in the way so many men hold back, hesitate, retreat into numbness, overcompensate, or collapse:

“Am I enough?”

Strong enough. Smart enough. Successful enough. Spiritual enough. Good enough in bed. Present enough. Man enough.

And so we dance.

She hides her power, softens her fire, clips her wings—afraid to scare him away.

He overworks, overthinks, or disappears—afraid to disappoint her, to fail, to be exposed.

Both are aching for love, truth, and freedom.

Both are yearning to be seen, in their too-muchness and not-enoughness, and loved anyway.

Here is the holy truth: these wounds are not separate—they are reflections.

Her “too much” is his mirror of expansion.

His “not enough” is her mirror of devotion.

When a woman is allowed to be too much—to laugh too loud, cry too hard, fuck too wildly, dream too big—she becomes medicine. She becomes a cosmic storm of remembrance, showing the world what it means to live turned on and alive. She is not too much—she is vast, as nature is vast, as God is vast. And she is exactly the catalyst for a man to rise.

When a man is met in his raw, tender “not-enoughness” with deep reverence rather than shame, he softens. He stops pretending and starts becoming. His guard melts. His heart opens. He starts showing up—not from a place of proving, but from presence, love, and purpose.

And together, they alchemize.

She stops apologizing for being a force of nature.

He stops apologizing for being human.

She offers her bigness as a blessing, not a burden.

He offers his presence as a pillar, not a performance.

She calls him higher. He holds her deeper.

And the sacred union births something eternal.

We are not here to fix each other’s fears. We are here to see them, honor them, and love each other through them.

To become safe havens, not battlegrounds.

To become prayers made flesh.

To become art in motion—two souls choosing to meet in the fire, again and again.

So, if you’re a woman reading this, wondering if you’re too much—let me say this with every drop of priestess fire in my being: You were never meant to fit. You were born to expand the universe.

And if you’re a man reading this, questioning if you’re enough—know this: Your heart is your power. Your devotion is your strength. Your truth is what makes you divine.

Let us walk each other home.

With fire and devotion,

Sex Priestess Luna Ora