Arousal Is an Asset

For most of my adult life, my energy belonged to everyone but me. One man had it, then another, men I didn’t even like, who got my body and my attention in exchange for a feeling that never lasted the drive home. I told myself that it was fun, or that it was connection, but it was a transaction, and I was on the losing end of it every single time, handing over the most concentrated force my body produces for a few hours of being looked at.

Women got their share of my energy too, years of it, given to women I could never have grown next to, envious women, small-minded women, women who spent their lives talking about other women because building something of their own was out of the question. I sat through their gossip because they were my friends, or that’s what I called them. I let their smallness set the temperature of my life, then I shrank to fit it, because that’s what you do when you don’t yet understand that the company you keep is either feeding your fire or devouring it.

And when it wasn’t a person draining me, it was my business, which turned out to be the biggest leak of all. I poured everything I had into it, and I mean everything, every waking moment, every strategy, every angle a struggling business owner can try. And I did it all while hiding who I really was, presenting a version of myself I thought people wanted, straddling the edge of authenticity but never once going over. So I bled from both ends, giving all of my energy to something while pretending to be someone else, and there’s no faster way to empty yourself than that.

I fought tooth and nail for money in those years, and it never came. The harder I poured, the less I had. And eventually, I’d given so much away that the only reserve I had left to draw on was my body.

The spiritual world loves to dress up a rock bottom, call it a dark night of the soul, or say the universe is redirecting you. Mine was just a collapse, complete and humiliating…

My body collected the debt. It started with illnesses no one could explain, one strange thing after another, symptoms that didn’t add up to any known diagnosis, my system failing in ways that made no sense on paper. I kept working through it because working through it was the only mode I had. I pushed harder. I tried new angles on my business while my health crumbled underneath me because I still believed the problem was strategy, and one more adjustment would finally turn it. Yet it never once occurred to me that the problem was that I was giving everything I had to everything but myself.

Then I collapsed, and the decision got made for me. The business failed, and my health went with it. And I, a grown woman, moved back in with family because I could no longer take care of myself. I couldn’t work. Some days I could barely function. Everything I had been pouring into was gone, and for the first time in my adult life, there was nowhere for my energy to go.

The spiritual world loves to dress up a rock bottom, call it a dark night of the soul, or say the universe is redirecting you. Mine was just a collapse, complete and humiliating, and it did the one thing I would never have done voluntarily. It forced me to stop. I stopped forcing my business, I stopped strategizing, I stopped trying to resuscitate what was already dead, and turned toward the only project I had left, which was healing my body after years of running it into the ground.

By then I’d already stopped having sex. I stopped in my late thirties, before the collapse finally finished me, because some part of me had figured out that I had bigger fish to fry than merely being desired, and that every hour I spent trying to fill that void was stolen from the problem that was nearly killing me. But stopping was only the beginning.

For the first two years, no man touched me, but my energy kept right on leaking anyway. I was giving myself quickies just to handle the feeling, burning through my potency like it was nothing, five minutes, done, gone, the same energy that can grow life inside our bodies, spent like loose change. I was still trading gossip, still filling hours with small talk that fed nothing, still not taking myself seriously – not my time, not my mind, and not what I might be capable of if I ever pointed all of it in one direction. The men were gone, but I was still bleeding energy.

Then, two years in, something shifted, and I couldn’t tell you the day it happened, only that my mind started operating differently. I was deep in healing my body by then, meditating every day because it was one of the few things it could reliably do, and in that stillness I started to feel my energy. It was alive in me, moving, restless, because desire doesn’t die when you stop having sex. Mine was wide awake, and it had nowhere left to spend itself.

And one day a question arrived, so simple it was almost funny. Since I’m not giving this to men anymore, why am I still throwing it away? Why not give it back to myself?

I’ve always known the energy was a serpent. Spend enough time studying what I study, and the serpent finds you everywhere, wrapped around every goddess the old world worshipped, coiled through every tradition that ever took power seriously, guarding every temple, feared by every institution that came later. So when I closed my eyes and looked for my energy, of course it had scales.

Here is the sexual transmutation practice I built during the years I was putting myself back together:

I lie down or sit with my eyes closed and breathe until I can feel my energy, low in my body, in the womb, warm and unmistakable once you know to look for it. Then I watch it move. The serpent rises out of my womb. It doesn’t climb up through me the way the old texts describe, straight up the spine like a rope. Instead, it leaves my body entirely, arcing out in front of me through the air, a curve I can see clearly with my eyes closed, and it re-enters me at the crown of my head. It penetrates my crown, travels down my spine, through my womb, and out again, one continuous circle, half of it running inside my body and half of it moving through the space in front of me. A serpent swallowing its tail. The ouroboros, turning through me and around me. There is no release at the end. The energy exits through my womb and returns through my crown, and every pass makes it stronger.

I found out afterward that women have known this serpent for thousands of years. The oldest traditions on earth describe its energy exactly this way and have built entire systems around raising it. Finding that out confirmed what my body already knew. No one taught me this. My body walked me to a door that has always existed, and I opened it alone. And what came through that door was creation. Ideas arrived in a way they never had when I was grinding for them. Offers assembled themselves in my head while the serpent circled, and I’d come out of a meditation with something I could build and sell, when for years I couldn’t get a single thing to work, no matter how hard I tried. The energy that used to end up in some man’s bed, or in five wasted minutes, or spread thin across women who secretly resented me, was now returning to me daily, and I was creating from it.

Then came the day I decided to come back, and it was a bigger decision than a business relaunch, because I wasn’t bringing back the burned-out version of myself. I had the tools by then. But more than the tools, I had something I’d never once brought to my work, which was myself, undiluted. The collapse hadn’t only healed my body; it destroyed the palatable version of me. That woman had poured herself into a business and run it into the ground. I had no intention of resurrecting her. So I came back as I am. I started sharing the work the serpent had built in me, about the things I genuinely love, the things that light me up, but had kept private for years because they were too dark or too weird for the person I’d been pretending to be. And I did it in front of people who had no idea who I was.

The money came in like it had been waiting. Money I fought for, that refused to come no matter how hard I poured, now came easily and naturally. People found my work, my offers sold, and women I’d never met connected with what I was making. Opportunities arrived that I hadn’t chased. After years of pushing a boulder uphill, the ground had tilted, and I knew exactly what had changed. The energy was circling into me instead of leaking out of me.

And here’s what I understand now that I couldn’t have told you then: becoming myself wasn’t a separate piece of work I did alongside the practice; it came from the practice. When your energy stops leaking into men, gossip, and people who secretly resent you, it has to go somewhere, and that somewhere is you. I filled up with myself. And once that happened, the watered-down version fell away on her own, because you can’t keep serving up a diluted version of you when the real one is finally full. The money followed that, and it has never stopped.

If you’re earning well and it still feels like pushing a boulder, look at where your energy goes when no one is watching. Who gets it? How much of it goes to people who could never grow beside you? How much gets handled in a five-minute mindless quickie? How much goes into maintaining an edited version of yourself? You can have the revenue and still be running the exact economy I ran, with everything flowing outward but nothing circling back: an entire life funded from a tank that never gets refilled, and the exhaustion you keep calling “burnout” is just the gauge reading empty.

The practice is yours to use. Tonight, alone, no one else required. Close your eyes, breathe down to where the fire lives, and let it move, as long as every bit of it returns to you.

But I’ll tell you what I couldn’t have known three years ago: the moment you begin, two things surface together, the leak and the mask, because the same life force that builds your work is the life force you’ve been sapping to keep everyone around you comfortable, and you cannot seal the circle while you’re still performing. That’s the work I do inside my 14-Day Email Coaching Intensive. It took me a collapse, two years of leaking energy, and a third year to find where my power was going and turn it around.

You don’t need the collapse. For two weeks, I send you an assignment, aimed at whatever is draining you, the people, the habits, the version of yourself you think you have to be. By the end, your energy has one destination: you. It’s $397, and it costs less than another year of running on empty. I spent three years finding this out alone. You can have it in fourteen days.

Seal the Circle