Reclaiming Sensuality as Power: What Jazmine Sullivan’s BPW Teaches Us
Music has a way of reaching places therapy can’t always touch. Jazmine Sullivan’s BPW is one of those songs: raw, sensual, unapologetic, and deeply affirming. At first listen, it might sound like an ode to desire, but if you lean in closer, it becomes a blueprint for self-ownership and confidence. So many of us, especially Black women, are taught to disconnect from our bodies, to downplay our sensuality, or to hold shame around our pleasure. We internalize messages that tell us our worth is tied only to how much we can give, care, or sacrifice. Songs like BPW interrupt that narrative. They remind us that our bodies are not just sites of labor or survival. They are also sites of joy, intimacy, and power.
As a therapist, I often see how much we’ve been taught to separate from our bodies. Especially as Black women, many of us grow up learning that our bodies are too much: too visible, too sexualized, too policed. So, we armor up. We disconnect. We shrink. Over time, that disconnection shows up as anxiety, self-doubt, difficulty in relationships, and even shame in places where joy should live.
That’s why songs like BPW land so deeply for me. When I listen, I don’t just hear sensuality…I hear reclamation. I hear a woman naming her worth and celebrating herself without apology. I hear the invitation to step back into my body, not as something to manage, but as something to honor.
From a therapeutic lens, this matters. Healing isn’t only about working through grief, trauma, or anxiety—it’s also about remembering joy, play, and pleasure. We talk so much about survival, but what about thriving? What about the moments when you let yourself feel free enough to dance, laugh, touch, and breathe fully? BPW is a reminder that our sensual selves deserve to exist out loud, without shame.
When I play this song, I find myself softening into my own skin. I roll my shoulders back, drop into my hips, breathe a little deeper. It’s a way of telling my nervous system: you are safe here, you are allowed to enjoy this, you are allowed to be seen.
That’s the deeper medicine of Jazmine Sullivan’s voice. It’s not just sensual, it’s healing. It reminds us that we can be powerful and soft, grounded and playful, sensual and spiritual—all at the same time.
So, I’ll leave you with this question, one I also return to for myself: What would it look like to let your sensuality be a part of your healing, rather than something you push away?
Reflection Questions for You:
When was the last time you felt fully present in your body—what were you doing, and how did it feel?
What messages (spoken or unspoken) did you learn about your body and sensuality growing up? How do they still shape you today?
How can you intentionally invite more joy, pleasure, or play into your daily routines as an act of healing?
