A Love Letter from My Soul to Yours

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There was a time before I had words for what lived in my body. A time when my skin carried the weight of what had been taken, when silence became my first form of survival. Long before I understood power, long before I knew what it meant to belong to myself, my body learned to hold more than it was meant to.

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Pain shaped me. It did not harden me. It opened something vast within me, something I did not yet have the language to name. It taught me how to listen; to the unspoken, to the unseen, to the places where tenderness and longing weave together. It led me into the mystery of intimacy, into the realm where power and surrender meet, where the body does not lie, where truth rises in sensation long before it reaches the tongue.

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At first, I did not know that this was an initiation. I did not know that I was already walking a path of reclamation, that the very experiences that formed me would be the same ones that led me home. I entered the world of sex work still enmeshed in my own wounds, still moving through the echoes of my past. Yet even then, something in me was stirring. I saw what was hidden beneath longing, beneath desire, beneath the act of reaching for another; an ache to be met, to be seen, to be held in something real.

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Something deeper called me. A hunger not just to witness but to understand. I trained as a psychotherapist, specializing in sex and intimacy, drawn to the ways pleasure and trauma intertwine, the ways we seek what we have lost, the ways the body remembers long after the mind has forgotten. I studied, I learned, I listened. Yet still, something remained unanswered. And so I surrendered to the body.

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Plant medicine unraveled me, stripping away what was not mine, revealing what had always been waiting beneath. In the quiet of ceremony, I touched something ancient; an intelligence that did not come from books, a knowing that pulsed through bone and blood. I saw that pleasure is not separate from healing, that erotic energy is not something to be tamed but something to be honoured, that the body itself is a threshold to the divine.

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Through womb work, I stepped into remembrance. The body is a living archive, a record of all that has been carried, all that has been silenced, all that is waiting to be reclaimed. I learned that the womb is not just a space of creation but of power, that it holds the echoes of lineage, the grief of what was never spoken, the untamed fire of erotic sovereignty. I came to understand that sexuality is not just personal; it is ancestral, it is cosmic, it is woven into the very fabric of creation.

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This path is not theoretical for me. It is written into my body. I have carried life, lost life, and felt the full spectrum of what it means to hold creation within me. I have known the grief of miscarriage, the choice of termination, the initiation of birth, and the unraveling and becoming that follows. I have walked through the breaking open of difficult births and the wild, uncharted terrain of motherhood. These experiences shape how I hold space for others, with the knowing that the womb is not just a place of fertility but a place of power, memory, and deep wisdom.

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The path of the priestess was not something I chose. It was something I remembered. To hold space for erotic liberation is to hold space for the sacred. Sensuality is creation, longing is prayer, the body is a temple where energy moves through touch, through presence, through the art of being seen without shame.

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In the realm of power and surrender, I stepped into conscious dominance, not as a performance, but as a devotion. True power does not take, it holds. True surrender does not collapse, it opens. I learned that to be held in full presence is to be given back to yourself. That submission is not the loss of power but the deepening into trust, that surrender is not weakness but the ability to meet oneself fully in the hands of another.

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Touch therapy brought me full circle, back to the body as the first language, back to the truth that healing begins where words end. Before meaning, there was sensation. Before understanding, there was presence. Every initiation led me here; to the alchemy of devotion, the wisdom of the body, the sanctuary found in feeling fully alive.

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I am a mother of two, raising teenagers while walking the path of deep embodiment and devotion. I live in Greater Manchester, carrying this work into the world while tending to the ever-changing rhythms of life, love, and becoming. This work is a portal. A remembering. An invitation.

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If something inside you stirs, if the whisper beneath your skin is calling, the path is already opening.

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With love,
Gail

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