This Content Mentions Sexual Assault
On July 20th, I was sexually assaulted by a massage therapist.
I had gone to him for my shoulder injury, seeking remedial massage and acupuncture.
There was no context in which his hands inside my underwear was part of our agreed arrangement.
At first, I protected myself by fawning, saying thanks but no thanks, I got dressed. Then despite my shock at seeing pull out his eftpos machine, I paid him and got the hell out of his space.
Alone outside in the streets of Stockholm, my body went into shock. I bewildered, afraid, and shaking. Recognising my distress I managed to call a close friend who validated me, “yes, what just happened was an assault” - and stayed with me on the phone until I was safely back at my accommodation.
The person staying with me wanted to take me straight to the police station. But I knew I needed to tend to myself first - to my body, to the active trauma moving.
I went into the shower, stripped off my clothes, and threw my underwear in the bin.
At the base of the shower floor I screamed, I cried, and then I retched.
Because I’ve been deepening into my energetic body for years, I trusted fully in my capacity to clear. I began to PULL his energy out of my body - visualising strings of his touch being drawn off me, sliding down into the drain unwanted, unwelcome to return.
Then, just as I’ve taught my clients to do for years, my body began to shake. Like a gazelle who’s been chased by a lion and managed to get away, in the safety of bed I shook and shook and shook. I let it happen.
Watching the awe as my body took care of me.
My body knew what to do, but my mind was struggling.
How could this have happened?
Even though I work with women who have experienced assault all too often, I found myself blaming myself. Maybe it was my fault? Maybe I was too sexual? Why the fuck did I pay??
It was as though all the victim-blaming rhetoric of the world had crawled inside my psyche and taken root. I was battling, but I was losing.
Thankfully, one of the great gifts I have is knowing how to ask for help - I spent the next day calling all the support people I have in my arsenal.
I got my therapist got on the phone for an emergency session.
He reminded me that in shock, the mind tries to make sense of the senseless, but there is no sense to be made right away and that in paying I was protecting myself
I spoke to my Tantra teacher, she too assured me this was not my fault, and explained the all too common shadow of abusers.
I made a group message with my closest friends and updated them on what had happened, they checked in on me everyday until I was safe and regulated in my community and safe space Angsbacka.
To hear me speak more about my full experience watch my sharing on YouTube with my colleague Laura:
What I want to write to you now is how 9 weeks later I am feeling truly lucky to be able to experience post-traumatic growth.
Don't get me wrong, dealing with the police, mediators and the occasional re-triggers is emotionally and spiritually draining.
Yet from the moment I heaved his energy out of my body in that shower, I had a clear knowing:
-He has not taken my body from me.
-My body is my own.
-This experience will make me stronger.
Since it happened, I have shared safe and intimate moments with two lovers I trusted.
I have doubled down on my own self love, healing,
And I have used my self-pleasure practices as self care.
To me, self-pleasure is the most essential ingredient of healing and body-love, the very practice I’ve devoted years to mastering and teaching.
Because when I touch my body for my pleasure - I know that my pleasure is MINE.
I get to touch myself as slow or fast, as sensual or as slutty as I want.
That is power. That is sovereignty.
Just this morning, after self-pleasuring, I felt inspired to write this.
Because I truly, truly believe:
- Self-pleasure is one of the highest forms of self-care.
- Self-pleasure is a healing practice.
Since the assault, I have filed a police report - but the outcome has been filled with delay, disappointment and deep frustration at a system that does not support those assaulted.
Because I am no longer in Sweden, the case will not be pursued.
Even though I tried to engage a brilliant consent-mediation therapist to meet with the masseuse (bless you Lorenzo, for standing with me), he chose to lawyer up instead of meeting me in my humanity.
And so the sad truth I already knew in my mind has now sunk deeper into my body:
We have to reclaim our own sovereignty. We have to fight for our right to feel safe, loved, and at home in our bodies - because no one else can do it for us.
No one is coming to rescue us.
Hear me out, I don't mean this in some hyper-independent individualist way. People need people, that will always be true.
We need allies will walk with us - like my therapist, teachers, friends, Lorenzo, or those who check in on me and hold me when I’m retriggered.
Yet ultimately, it is me who will always and forever be with me.
Just as it is you who will always and forever be with you.
Now that I know, in my body, in my bone, how hard it is to live in a body locked in freeze, fight, or flight. (And I know many of you have had much worse experiences than me)
I know that this is why I do my work.
Not only to support people in moving out of trauma, but in moving into pleasure.
Because pleasure is where power lives.
Pleasure is where we touch the divine.
To my sisters and anyone who has survived assault: I see you. I love you. You are not alone.
Please reach out to local support agencies wherever you are, for the care you need on your path.
And for those who hearing this story feel called to reclaim and celebrate your own pleasure, I warmly invite you into my 8-week Pussy Pleasure Party.
(Just reply to this email and I'll share the details)
This is not just a sales pitch. This is an honest offering from my heart heart: a space to come together as sisters, to share, to heal, and to celebrate our right to feel pleasure in our bodies.
Every. Fuckin. Damn. Day.
If you feel called to respond to this email, as always, I read every one <3
