Naked, Uncaged, and Wildly Alive

It was messy. It was ugly. I was terrified. But I did it anyway. I walked away with no money, no house—just the truth and the fire to reclaim who I was meant to be.

Imagine this.

You’re lying in bed next to someone you love. Someone you built a life with. Someone who holds you, kisses you, tells you you’re beautiful, tells you they love you.

And yet, every time they touch you, your body turns to stone. Every nerve clenches, burns, screams in silent agony.

It’s not their fault. It’s not yours either. But it happens. Every time.

You try everything—doctors, specialists, vibrators, dildos, deep breathing, therapy, meditation. You open your legs for examination after examination, enduring cold hands, gloved fingers, metal instruments stretching and prodding inside you. Over and over again, you let them poke, prod, press, searching for an answer—because surely there has to be one.

And yet, every time, they tell you the same thing: There’s nothing wrong.

But there is.

Because sex is supposed to feel good, right? And yet, for 25 years, it felt like my body was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Not every time, but every now and then, the goddess in me would claw her way to the surface, break free in flashes of raw, uninhibited pleasure—only to be caged again straight after. She wasn’t safe there.

And here’s the thing: I had a good marriage. A husband who loved me. A stable life.

But I was dying.

Not in some vague, melodramatic way. My body was shutting down. PTSD from decades of sexual trauma had taken its toll. Chronic illness had me pinned under its weight. My health collapsed in 2012, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t claw my way back.

So I fought like hell to fix it.

I changed everything—my diet, my training, my habits. I went extreme. Ate clean. Trained hard. Followed every integrative health protocol I could find. And it worked. My body healed. I looked fucking amazing. Lean, strong, in control.

But here’s what I didn’t see coming:

I’d just built a new cage.

Sex was still excruciating. That part never healed. But deep down, I knew—this wasn’t a life sentence.

I had swapped chronic illness for obsession. I looked unstoppable on the outside, but inside? I was still just existing, not thriving. My relationship with food became rigid. My body—something to control. I was still disconnected. From myself. From pleasure. From life.

People looked at me like I was broken.

But let’s get one thing straight: Bones break. People don’t.

By 2020, Covid’s brutal lockdowns caged me with my family for two years. I was trapped in a house, in a body that was still screaming for something more, in a marriage with a man who didn’t deserve to be the villain in this story.

I spiralled down every holistic rabbit hole I could find, searching for something—anything—to bring me back to life.

And then, I hit my moment of truth.

One night, I sat with myself and got brutally honest. No more pretending. No more waiting. No more maybe one day. I was physically fading, and if I didn’t get out, I knew I was taking myself to an early grave.

My ex-husband was a good man. My life was great. But I felt like a sexually broken, caged animal. And we were drifting apart even if he couldn’t see it.

I was almost 40. And I wanted more.

I wanted to fucking live. Fully. Unapologetically.

And the second I admitted that? The universe stepped in with the biggest BOOM of my life.

Days later, my marriage imploded. And I took the out I’d been given.

It was messy. It was ugly. I was terrified. But I did it anyway. I walked away with no money, no house—just the truth and the fire to finally reclaim myself.

And that’s when everything changed.

Because the moment I stepped out of that cage, I stopped surviving and started becoming.

And don’t get me wrong—this didn’t just happen overnight. I had to work for it. I still do. And people still try to tame me, cage me, put me back on a leash.

But I became a woman who was done apologising.
Done explaining.
Done waiting for permission.

And in the beautiful chaos of finding my way through the wild, I became a sexual goddess.

I didn’t just “heal” my sexuality. I fucking owned it. And that changed everything.

I decided my body was mine. My pleasure was mine. My radiance, my glow, my power? Mine.

I stopped shutting it down. Stopped making myself smaller, quieter, easier to digest.

I didn’t just step into my sexuality—I claimed it. And now? I use it in the healthiest, most magnetic, most goddamn powerful way possible.

And yes, I became a sexual goddess.

After 25 years, sex no longer hurts.
Sexually, I am no longer trapped in a body that needed to shield me.

Because the truth is—my body was never against me. It was always protecting me. Keeping me safe the only way it knew how. And when I finally understood that, when I finally listened, I set myself free.

But how I got there?

That’s a story for another time.

And I will share those stories. All of them.

Because this? This isn’t just about sex.

This is about reclamation.

This is about coming home to yourself—fully.

This is about stepping into the wild, messy, breathtaking truth of who you are—body, mind, soul, and everything in between.

It’s about never letting yourself be tamed again.

This space—Naked & Uncaged—isn’t for the faint of heart.

It’s for the ones who know they’re meant for more.
For the ones who feel trapped, sick, lost, stuck in bodies that won’t cooperate and lives that don’t fit anymore.

It’s for the ones who refuse to stay caged.

Because this life?

It’s fucking messy.
It’s brutal.
It’s breathtaking.

And it’s yours to claim.

Welcome to the wild.