Getting OFF on getting cancelled.
That time I went Viral
and got burned for it.
How I kinked my way out of the witch's closet
and into my soul's calling.
I've got tea to spill love,
Once upon a time, I censored every word I wrote.
Swallowed the wildest parts of my truth to stay safe.
Shapeshifted into the “good girl trauma-informed healer,” I thought I needed to be.
The one who tripped over her tongue trying to “Keep everyone safe. Offend no one. Make everyone happy.”
Until my perfectly curated life in Connecticut, a marriage, money, and a thriving healing business — all burned to the ground.
It was right before Christmas.
So I did what I thought every heartbroken I-haven't-been-single-in-15 years divorcée was supposed to do…fucked off to Europe to live my best Cameron Diaz Holiday abroad.
And that's exactly how I ended up in Slovakia fucking my 24-year-old EDM festival lover in a penthouse straight out of Christian Grey’s wet dream.
But this story has very little to do with this secret lover and everything to do with what was unlocked within me inside those 4 walls.
Did we have some very fun times in that Slovak sex pad? Yes, yes we did.
But the truth is, I spent way more time alone in that apartment than I ever did with my Slovak lover boy.
By day, I read “Existential Kink” by Carolyn Elliot and got off on the
dumpster fire of my life.
By night, I surrendered to GOD as my Dom Daddy— meeting and transmuting the deepest wounds of my childhood sexual trauma.
Cocooned in this hidden nest with walls so thick no one could hear my wails, I spent hours meeting the very darkest, juiciest parts of my Shadow and learned how to kink the SHIT out of my healing.
I gave myself radical permission to GET OFF on a lifetime of accumulated hurts from all the times I felt dropped and abandoned by the masculine.
To find pleasure in the part of me that sought revenge through subconsciously tearing down and emasculating the men in my life.
Within the container of a conscious kink space, I’d take myself on odysseys of sacred somatic scenes, complete with Renaissance choral music and blindfolds as I began building NEW pathways linking pleasure with forgiveness, worthiness, and unconditional self-love.
It cracked me wide open. And for the first time…I started
telling the truth.
Not just with my words,
but with my body.
For 7 years, I’d built a reputation as a powerhouse breathwork facilitator in the field of trauma resolution.
I’d held space for the darkest wounds — incest, rape, childhood molestation —but had never spoken publicly about my own story.
Maybe I was afraid it wasn’t dark enough. Maybe I still thought parts of me were shameful. Maybe I was too afraid of what they’d think.
Until I hit the bottom of the barrel of fucks to give.
And I said: ENOUGH.
I couldn’t stay silent anymore. Not if I wanted to be truly free.
So I told the story.
Dressed in black lingerie, snake earrings,
and red lipstick, I filmed myself writhing,
screaming, sobbing —
unearthing the caged animal inside me.
And I hit post.
The Post That Got Everyone Talking
What followed was eight weeks of haunting.
First, fellow survivors flooded my DMs with, “Thank you. I didn’t know this kind of healing was possible.”
Then the wrong side of the internet found me.
The unintegrated masculine. The Bible thumpers. The witches-burners, reincarnated and raging.
They called me a witch. A whore. A demon. A psychopath.
Modern-day pitchforks swinging just in time for my first divorced Christmas.
And you know what?
It turned me ON.
It cracked me even wider.
It burned away the last filmy layer
of, “please love me” clinging to my skin.
For the first time, I wasn’t just seen for my soft, trauma-sensitive holding.
I was seen for my wild, soul-stirring expression.
The fire didn’t destroy me. It resurrected me.
And out of the ashes, I learned I have a kink for radical, liberated, authentic self-expression.
The kind that doesn’t just free me — but frees the collective spell of sexual abuse through the holy exposure of shadow.
Because here’s the truth.
The fear of being misunderstood, canceled, or exiled — isn’t what stops you from rising.
It’s the parts of you still trying to earn your belonging.
And when you let that old perception of “I need everyone to love me" burn…
When you let yourself get turned on by your own raw truth…
When you allow yourself to unapologetically love your shadow just as much as your light— you become unstoppable.
You become holy wildfire.
A glitch in the matrix.
A force of nature that looks at the state of the world and says ENOUGH.
We can do better than this.
This, my love, is exactly how
I kinked my way out of the witch’s closet.
Not by softening. Not by sanitizing.
But by surrendering deeper
into my feral, erotic, sovereign soul.
This is why I birthed KINK YOUR CALLING.
Because when we dare to be fully seen as who we are, we don’t just set ourselves free.
We set the world on FIRE.
We rise from the ashes — wetter, wilder, pulsing with the force that birthed the cosmos.
Not a power that lives in the sky.
But the power that’s been hidden right between your legs all along.
Beloved, your erotic aliveness is needed now more than ever.
Right here, right now, we are midwifing a New World.
One that will rise from the ashes of political chaos and corruption.
One where your voice isn’t a liability — it’s your liberation.
One where your story isn’t something to hide — it’s a spell for those who need to remember who they really are.
One where your “too much” becomes “MORE PLEASE.”
Where launching your work doesn’t feel like suffering, but like holy, feral, full-body pleasure.
Not just to crack you open —but to crack the world open, too.
Stay ready. The fire is coming.
And this time, it’s here to set you free.