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My Journey to Sacred Sexuality Coaching.

My childhood was interesting. My mom was a workaholic and my dad was an alcoholic. My older sister craved attention by intensely participating in school. I didn’t know I consciously craved attention until much later in life.

I spent my childhood mostly alone and in observation. I had a detrimental best friend betrayal as a child and from then I couldn’t trust people so I became fiercely independent and observant.

My first love story was nice. I was lucky to have someone who cared about me and my needs and loved me fiercely. I was young. 14. And as soon as we had sex we couldn’t stop.

As a young teen. We used to have this community dance about once a month. I have zero clue why they kept it going. It was 12-16 year olds giving bjs on the dance floor, doing drugs, and every time they had to call an ambulance because at least one person needed their stomach pumped. Wtf Lmfao.

But I was immensely grateful for whichever insane parents made it happen because I loved “the strath dance”. I was even deemed queen of it. It was where I could be free. Dance. Drink. Loose my fucking mind. And kiss girls (because kissing other boys would be cheating *eye roll*). I always ended the night in sobs. Alcohol was a great excuse for letting out my explosive emotions that I wasn’t allowed to let out otherwise. Mascara running down my face and all over my bf’s Gucci shirt. We were bored and upper middle class. Our parents were pretty absent. And we still had to watch tv shows live.

I also grew up with chronic pain, fatigue, and immense depression. The strath dance and alcohol was my escape. But sex…. Sex was where I became alive! Even super human!

But of course. I lied to everyone I knew. No one knew I was having sex. And because I had bad periods and was swimming competitively they put me on birth control at 13 so I would bleed less. So I let myself be wild. And my bf was great, he would go down on me and he would lie with me. Huge love and thanks to him.


When high school came around, I broke up with him because I needed more freedom. I wanted more experience. I didn’t want security. I didn’t believe in it, I would rather be wild and fuck around.

At 16 I got a fake id and me and the gay guy in my dance class made a scheme to tell each other’s parents we were at each other’s house and goto the one gay club in town. We used to walk into the place and tell each other “have fun see ya later” and we would go off and be our absolute most wild selves. I could be anyone in that place. Kiss anyone. Fuck anyone. Make friends with anyone. Gender free sexually free. It was MY WORLD. Those Saturday’s all my issues would fade away. And I would dance until I gave myself whiplash. I would drink until my mind was completely gone. I would start no shirt parties and hang upside down from my knees over the dance floor cage.

Those days people weren’t even bi. They were gay or straight. I never fit into any of the labels, I just wanted to be free. And that space meant the absolute world to me.

So without going into all the details (you can read my book for that) you can see that freedom and sex meant the world to me. I trusted no one. I couldn’t have boyfriends, let alone a girlfriend.

As soon as I turned 18 I set off to travel. And anywhere I travelled I would meet men to have sex with. I used my body to get whatever I wanted. Dinner. Show me around. Stay in your beautiful apartment, yes please. I noticed I had this magnetism. They wanted me and I wanted to learn about everything and touch everything I could!


I funded my travels with odd jobs. And eventually for some reason got the idea to waitress at the strip club in my town. I would work there for a few months and make tons of cash then go back for more. This was the first place I really saw what sex work was. There was this incredible vibe there. It was all the unique people in one place. From the waitresses who could cut it (they used to hire literally everyone and see who would make it past the first shift so the bottle service girls didn’t even talk to you until you worked your way up to be one of them), to the gogos (usually young child-looking girls who had bubbly wild energy), and the strippers themselves - they were incredible. They were incredibly nice, from all different backgrounds, all different looks, and I just idolized them. I wanted to be them but didn’t believe I could cut it.

When I left to travel. I came back again for a shorter time and tried gogo-ing. It was my first soft intro into wtf sex work even is. Men trying to push your boundaries and you trying to hold your power. It’s emotional. It’s deep. It’s also shallow in a way. You’re judged for your looks, your draw, and you feel it in your whole body during and after. Or you’re completely numb or having out of body experiences. None the less “intense” is only the beginning of its description.

I couldn’t cut it as a gogo. Because I was just too fat essentially *insert eye roll here* and I was a dancer, not a stripper. It didn’t click. So I went off to travel more.

Long story short I ended up in Istanbul engaged to an asshole. I was also a total unregulated miserable explosive asshole. So I can’t blame him. But he wanted to control me. I wanted to be controlled. I wanted to be in a cage. I craved consistency, “love”. But for some reason also hated it. Finally he came home from the gym one day and was packing a bag, I asked him what he was doing, he said “I’m leaving you” and I never saw him again.

At the time I had this new friend. My fiancé hated her and didn’t like her influence on me. As soon as he left me we became best friends. She even moved into my building. She wasn’t high society herself but she sure as hell faked it well and got herself into that world in Istanbul. We used to hang out at the fanciest place in Istanbul and because we were to two non escorts there, the men were like moths to real blonde flames. We made this silly friend from Belarus. She was young and ridiculously obsessed with trying to be instagram famous. It was hilarious because she was cute and then when she would open her mouth she never had anything to say but “champagne” in the deepest most manly voice you could imagine. One day she was hanging out with a wealthy man my friend knew and we asked them how they met. Turns out they met on some site where men would pay for women to be their travel companions.

We were like we need some rich boyfriends and travels and it begun.