The Truth About Feminine Joy

(and Why Men Are Scared Shitless of It)

By Mama Tiff

Let’s get one thing straight:

A woman’s joy is not too much.
The world is just too damn afraid.

Let’s talk about it.

(And yes, I’ll use “men” and “women” for ease, but if the shoe fits, wear it — masculine and feminine don’t care what you’re packing in your pants.)

Why Does Joy Scare Men?

Because you can’t control it, babe.

Real joy — the kind of joy women bring, full-body, let’s-dance-on-the-table, scream-laugh-in-bed, tipsy, alive, wild-as-hell joy — doesn’t ask for permission.

It doesn’t fit in your spreadsheet.
It won’t be managed, tamed, or penciled in between your 2:00 and 2:30.

Patriarchy?
Oh, it fucking hates that. Bahahah

Men are trained to crave order, control, neat little boxes.

A woman’s joy?
She’s the edge of the cliff, and she’ll push you right off (then catch you on the way down, just to hear you scream for more).

You want to play safe?
Stay home, Boo.

Joy demands vulnerability.

To meet a woman in her joy?
Take your armor off.
Bring your appetite, your mess, your “let’s see what happens.”

Most men have no clue how to be unguarded — but that’s the only ticket in.

Patriarchy taught men to fear being swept away by a woman’s pleasure, her tears, her orgasms, her laughter.

“If I let go, I’ll lose myself.”
“If I match her, I’ll get soft.”

No, King.
You’ll finally get free.

Why Women NEED to Share Joy

Let’s get this real clear:

A woman’s joy is relational.

It’s meant to be witnessed, celebrated, met, and magnified.

When she laughs alone, the party’s lame.

When a man — hell, any present masculine — receives her, joins in, lets himself get swept up?

That’s when the fireworks go off.
That’s when the feast gets wild.
That’s when the axis of the universe starts humming.

Joy unshared?
That’s singing to an empty room.

Forget about it.

We want duet.
Chorus.
Symphony.

The Masculine — Then and Now (and a True Story)

Let’s get personal.

Every wild woman knows what it’s like to bring her playful, tipsy, alive current to a man… and he recoils. Judges. Withdraws.

He tells himself he’s “protecting” her from herself — when really, he’s just afraid to meet her in her fullness.

He thinks he’ll drown.

And he will.
That’s the point. Ha!

Listen:

When Jack first met me, I was talking about sex, cracking up, laughing loud.

His first thought?

“She is so inappropriate. Her laughter isn’t appropriate. She talks about things no woman should say. I don’t even know what to do with her.”

Spoiler alert:

That wildness.
That freedom.
That joy.

It’s the axis every man is secretly starving for.

(He figured it out. And now he never wants it any other way.)

Here’s the plot twist:

Women aren’t here to drown men in joy just to watch them flail.

They’re here to baptize and resurrect them.

A man who finally says “fuck it,” drops the judge, and plays?

He doesn’t drown.

He comes alive.
He gets laid harder.
Loved deeper.
And gets his soul fed.

It was never about women being too much.

It’s always been about men being willing to receive what’s already on the table.

Patriarchy’s Last Stand

Patriarchy wants women to shrink.
Apologize.
Contain their joy.
Call themselves “too much.”

It tells men to fear, control, or dampen that pleasure — never to surrender and join it.

But the feminine?

She’s not here to shrink.
She’s here to expand.

And if the masculine is too afraid to join the feminine, they are starving themselves of the one thing their soul is truly craving.

What’s Different (and Non-Negotiable)

Women everywhere are done apologizing for their joy.
Done making themselves small for anyone who can’t handle it.

If you want the feast, show up.

Bring your presence.
Your power.
Your YES.

Receive her.
Play with her.
Meet her in her joy and watch what happens to your life, your body, your starving soul.

Can’t hang?

Step aside, love.

There’s a line around the block for the ones who are ready.

Feminine joy is the axis.
It’s the feast.
It’s the spark the world is dying for.

And no woman should ration it for anyone, ever again.

Want in?

Show up.
Get wild.
Let yourself be changed.

The doors are open.
The music’s loud.

Who’s brave enough to dance?

Bahahah.

THE QUEEN’S PATH