Rawdogging Reality
On Stillness, Striving, and the Art of Being Unprotected
Every generation discovers its own way of discussing courage. For Gen Z, one of the more unexpected expressions of bravery is “rawdogging.”
The term originated in African American Vernacular English in the 1990s, meaning to have sex without a condom. 'Raw' meant unprotected; 'dog' evoked roughness or instinct. Over time, the phrase transitioned from hip-hop lyrics into ironic digital slang.
On TikTok and Reddit, 'rawdogging' now means doing anything without protection, this time not physically, but psychologically: without music, screens, caffeine, or distraction.
You might hear someone mention in relation to rawdogging: ‘I experienced the train journey without distractions, no headphones, no scrolling’.
It’s absurd, yet strangely profound. What counts as courage in the digital age is simply being undistracted. Sitting with one’s own mind has become a new test of endurance.
I’ve always found sitting meditation challenging. I love walking meditation. You’d think that five years as a Buddhist monk in the Thai Forest Tradition in my early twenties, and countless silent retreats since, would have trained me to sit peacefully doing nothing for long periods.
It’s not all bad; I’ve experienced sittings where peace arrived, uninvited and gentle. But often, if I’m honest, it’s been a white-knuckle ride: the mind rebelling, the knees aching, the impulse to move almost unbearable.
When I first encountered the term rawdogging, it was eye-opening. It's a word that resonates deeply with me, those moments on the cushion when everything in you wants to flee, yet you stay. The word itself feels raw and exposed, yet oddly intimate; a reminder that experiencing life unfiltered is both frightening and tender.
I’m sure I’m not alone in finding stillness challenging. Most of us have restless minds, filled with the hum of craving and unfinished stories. Some rawdogging is good for us; it reminds us that stillness isn’t always gentle; it also has its shadow.
There have been moments, especially during silent retreats, when the complete absence of distraction shifted from peaceful to overwhelming. When I’ve “hit the wall,” I’ve felt not liberated but exposed, stripped of usual defences, flooded with unprocessed emotion. In such moments, silence can feel less like a sanctuary and more like psychic nakedness.
This is seldom discussed. The belief that silence is naturally healing can be misleading. Without proper preparation, guidance, and containment, a ten-day silent retreat can sometimes be retraumatising, especially for those carrying unresolved pain. What we call “raw contact” can, under certain conditions, become too raw.
From a psychotherapeutic perspective, this highlights the difference between regulation and flooding. When we encounter experience too suddenly, without safety or integration, the nervous system can become overwhelmed. The same exposure that helps one person may shut another down.
That’s why self-care is important. If we’re going to practise a bit of rawdogging, it needs to be done gently and with some wisdom. Many of us approach wellness from a place of self-aversion, as if we must fix ourselves or show our discipline. We push ourselves to do things that may not be good for us, mistaking intensity for authenticity.
Real practice, whether it’s meditation or simply enduring the bus journey without a screen, requires kindness as much as courage. It’s not about stripping everything away but about approaching experience with care, knowing when to soften, when to rest, and when to step back.
I sometimes encounter people who plunge into silence as if into a cold lake, believing that the shock itself will purify them. The body and psyche are more delicate than that. Awakening is not an act of violence against the self.
There’s also a biological truth hidden in all this. From an evolutionary point of view, survival depends on three intertwined processes:
Pleasure motivates: eating, warmth, sex, belonging; all feel good because they keep us alive.
Pleasure fades: if satisfaction were permanent, we’d stop moving, learning, or growing.
Restlessness drives evolution: that subtle itch of discontent propels exploration and development.
This rhythm of seeking, satisfaction, and restlessness sustains life. The same process that keeps us alive also drives us to search. In Buddhist terms, this is ‘dukkha’, the restlessness woven into existence.
If rawdogging reality feels solely unpleasant, we’ll abandon it. Our biology won’t allow us to remain in a purely negative state. For the practice to deepen, it must include some element of pleasure, a quiet satisfaction in being present, in feeling contact with reality as it is. Even in discomfort, there can be a pulse of aliveness, a gentle softness into truth.
That’s where peace starts, not in removing difficulty, but in finding warmth within it. Over time, that little flicker can develop into something more profound: the start of compassion and wisdom.
Perhaps this is the true essence of the practice, not heroic endurance, but gentle familiarity with what is. To truly engage with reality wisely is to find both the courage to stay and the tenderness to care for oneself while remaining. It’s an act of love, not of self-punishment.
Beneath all the irony and slang, the message is old: to face life unfiltered, yet with compassion, marks the start of awakening.
Rory Singer
You can also read this post on our Substack journal, Unfolding.