My sex abuse history is not just tribal and incestual, but generational from all directions of my ancestry. Without getting into too much extraneous information, rest assured, I was primed from the very moment of my conception to adhere to various narratives of sex enslavement, typical in Eurasian heritage.

The roles of women typically relegated to on-demand sexual servicing of any all males—known and unknown—whether blood-related or not, sexual objectification, seal-the deal political-social match-making marriages to ensure peace and plenty amidst tribal conflicts, and of course, not to forget the necessity of fulfilling the roles of nonstop-till-death-baby-making machines.

My earliest memories of sexual abuse are of male cousins-neighbours coming to my crib and masturbating—ejaculating onto my face.

From the time I began walking, my mother would bark out the hostile order of washing my yoni every morning—keeping my petals fresh and clean—for what??? Ohh the visitors into my room late at night under cover of darkness. Of being groped and squeezed and kissed and bitten and slapped and choked and sullied by boys and men whose breath stunk of beer and decay, and whatever the fuck was for dinner. I learned to leave my body and float up to the ceiling; later I learned to teleport myself to the top of the bubble at my schoolyard until it was over.

How long did this shit go on for? For years, to no avail, no help from my mother, no help from my female cousins and neighbours and friends. I was blamed for being too pretty, and because of that, I deserved what I got, I was asking for it, and boys and men can’t help themselves around pretty girls.

I was confused, to say the least, and didn’t have much of a voice to say NO, not that anyone in my life gave two shits about my well-being, so I acted out in disturbing ways. I had a death wish and pushed the envelope.

I started doing drugs, smoking pot, writing horror stories, writing songs, setting things on fire, sneaking out at night and walking for hours alone, over-achieving, pretending I was someone else—this smart girl, this smart geeky girl who could do math and science and play music and dance and sing and do backflips and shit like that. Funnily enough, I didn’t have to pretend, and I already was all these things.

But I became acutely aware of a pattern that began to repeat itself with boys and men—they would tell me I’m beautiful, and tell me they loved me, but those were only words—because then they would lie, cheat, use me for sex, then expect me to stay and be their number 1 while they got to fuck around, bring other girls and women into our bed or had other relationships in addition to the one they had with me.

Maybe it was the sign of the times—the 70s and 80s and free love and sex drugs and rock n roll for all. But I began to notice some bizarre energetic-emotional repercussions from the threesomes and foursomes I had participated in—unwillingly, I might add. Namely, I began to notice a strange resonance with the other women’s emotional mental-psychic-energetic content—which were nothing like my own, along with an overly angry and masculinised aggression. I became acutely aware of taking all of these on.

WHAT THE FUCK???

I wanted to be unique; I wanted to be chosen, beloved and revered and cherished and be in love. But the ongoing betrayals by my supposed significant others were more than I could bear.

Something happened, after a night of having sex with my then-husband—who had confessed that he had spent the afternoon fucking two other women, I began hallucinating a painful scenario of what had transpired that afternoon. I fucking flipped my wig and called him out. Shortly after that, I confronted both of these women, soliciting their sisterhood in setting the story straight—both corroborating my intuitions.

BOOM!

This blistering discovery was a poignant moment of realisation that the emotional-energetic bleedthrough and exchange during sexual activity is very real and substantive and TOXIC.

This has nothing whatsoever to do with me being a prude or judgmental.

I was devastated and intrigued at the same time. This event, along with the several abortions and losing twins, prematurely, there was no going back!! I made the decision to get myself, my sexual self, straightened out by committing to practice celibacy Consciously.

I was DONE being touched and groped and fucked over which way. The thought of sex repulsed me. I wanted to clean myself of everyone energies—everyone I had slept with, along with everyone else they had slept with and some on. The mathematical enormity and disgust made my head spin. I remember sitting in a hot bath of PINESOL trying to cleanse myself of the rank and file collective dump of all the energies of other people—their pain and suffering and filth and unconsciousness—all of which I could feel inside my yoni, my cells, my organs and tissues.

I was in deep pain—Heart-Mind-Body-Soul.

I stopped believing men and women and all their words and began to tune into my Heart-Mind-body-Soul. I withdrew.

This first period of my celibate life lasted seven years. During this time, I divorced my husband and grew my healing practice internationally. My creativity soared, and I recorded two music albums and toured worldwide.  I also created a Trauma-DeActivation Practitioner curriculum and purified my Heart-Mind-Body-Soul of all past sexual transgressions and projections.

I cannot express enough the power and healing this process of Conscious Celibacy wielded.

I had to burn through the addiction of seeking validation through the eyes and words of outsiders. I also had to face my loneliness from NOT being touched and learned the difference between genuine touch and the disconnected, cold, rough, perfunctory touch of sexual predators.

I burned in the fires of Love, Truth, and Beauty during this hermitage.

I healed my addiction to the biochemical cocktails of all the sex and love hormones, which include Testosterone, Estrogen, Dopamine, Norepinephrine, Serotonin, and Oxytocin. Interestingly enough, I entered into early menopause during this time in my early 30s.

Clearly, these Sex-Love Hormones did nothing but get me to remain sex enslaved and bio-chemically controlled within the Matrix—allowing me to stay stuck, adhering to unhealthy and dangerous relationship scripts typical in psycho-sexual dysfunctional co-dependent relationships, meant to fail and doom its followers to a life of unhappiness.

In the next video, I will go deeper into this process and attempt to explain the various steps and stages of what all I had to face in my practice of Conscious Celibacy.

Ok my darlings, that’s my speech.