About

Believe me, this was not the career I planned for.

I got the degree. I had the long-term relationship I thought would turn into marriage, and I chose the respectable career path in tech, seemingly checking all the boxes. My career was finally taking off, and I was being headhunted by some of Silicon Valley's most desirable companies.

On paper, I was living the dream. I should have been thriving, right?

But the truth was that I was numb, burnt out, and quietly crumbling inside. I had unintentionally built my life on inherited beliefs that stifled my spirit. The need for certainty, external approval, and material security drove my every decision. I was secretly terrified that if I didn't succeed on society's terms, I didn't deserve to exist.

Somewhere along the way, I had lost touch with my vitality and with the pure delight I once had for living. It was a slow decline. I was white-knuckling it through life, and no promotion, relationship, or glass of wine could fill the growing void.

Then my career, relationship, health, and home collapsed all at once, and I had no choice but to look at the house of cards I had built. It hurt to be in my body. Mysterious chronic symptoms, crippling anxiety, waves of depression, and my self-worth at an all-time low. So low, in fact, that I finally became more afraid of not living than I was of making changes.

I threw myself into the deep end of personal growth and sought out guidance to help me navigate this uncharted territory. Teachers, bodyworkers, artists, coaches, and what I can only describe as mystical encounters with strangers guided me toward spiritual philosophies and approaches to doing the work. I was learning a lot, but resistant to applying it. It turns out that learning how to sense and feel yourself again is terrifying when you have spent years making sure you couldn't.

I had to move slower. Create space to sit with the intense sensational messages I had long been numbing out. I had to build real evidence that I was worthy of living.

What I was cultivating, though I didn't have words for it yet, was erotic intelligence. For me, developing it meant learning to tolerate uncertainty more gracefully, leaning into my imagination, and building a genuine capacity to experience and enjoy intense sensation.

I started to intentionally put myself in difficult situations because I knew I was going to learn something. I became much more open to expressing my emotions because I believed in the truth of what I was experiencing. I felt changed on a physiological level. Having grown up unable to handle spicy food, I suddenly found myself reaching for the hot sauce. Make of that what you will.

When I stumbled upon Tantric philosophy and Neo-Tantric practices, it felt like coming home. It was a profound relief to find a spiritual framework that included the body, that welcomed all of me, even my most contradictory, messy, and self-described unlovable parts.

I found that conscious kink, sensation play, and power exchange gave me the tools to tease out and play with these parts of me. Power exchange in particular taught me something that years of talk therapy hadn't quite reached: that control and surrender are not opposites, but a conversation.

It is why I do the work I do now. I truly have a kink for the transformative process, and I love being witness to someone coming back to life. There is something I can only describe as electric about being present with someone in the moment they realize that the stories they were telling themselves were keeping them smaller than they actually are. I have sat with people in that threshold, and I never take it lightly.

To witness someone reconnect to their own eroticism, their aliveness, their desire, their capacity for pleasure and depth, is to watch someone remember themselves. It is quietly sacred and wildly exciting at once. That paradox never gets old for me. If anything, it deepens.

This is what I get to do. And honestly? I am still a little in awe that it found me.