Born Again Porn Star

“How innocently exploring my sexuality in what I thought was a safe container became a nightmare I had to survive – and a universal truth I’m driven to tell.”

I made porn with what I thought was a husband, in what I thought was a marriage – and walked straight into hell. This is my story of being used, hunted, and lost, and of finding my way back through fire, faith, and sacred sexuality. I share it not for shame or scandal, but so anyone walking through darkness knows they can rise.

Shame is the abuser’s favourite weapon. It’s how they keep their victims small, silent, and doubting themselves. But I will not be erased. I will not be labeled. I will not be shamed into disappearing.

I am a born-again porn star. And behind the art is my story: one of descent, destruction, and ultimately, rebirth.

When it began, I wanted to create something radical—art that spoke to divine union and sacred sexuality. I was recovering from years of body dysmorphia, from previous sexual violations, from the long echo of degradation. I wanted to reclaim the body as holy ground. I told him this. I told him my heart, my faith, my recovery, my intention to heal through sacred art. I believed I was in a marriage rooted in love and spirituality—a safe container to explore my wildest and deepest desires, even my shadow aspects, within trust and reverence.

He pretended to be that man. He promised safety, understanding, devotion. He mirrored my language of healing and spirituality, of tantra and God and rebirth. But it was all a lie. By the time I realized what he truly was, it was too late.

I walked into hell thinking I was safe. Like so many women, I was raised to believe love could redeem, that if I gave everything – my body, my openness, my sexuality, my devotion – I’d be met with the same. Instead, I met a predator. Just another carbon copy of a multitude of similar creatures I’ve had the misfortune of encountering.

I told him explicitly who I was: a woman in recovery from things most people don’t survive. I told him I was walking with God, on a healing path, seeking monogamy, love, safety, and spiritually embodied sexuality. He agreed – not out of integrity, but to feed. This is what vapid, empty, weak sexual predators do. They mirror your light to get close enough to drain it. They study you like a code, a map, a game. And once they’ve learned you, they harvest you.

As the masks slipped, I saw what I had invited in. He laid there in a literal demon mask, inviting me into dark fantasies while turning his back on God and defiling the goddess in me. When I tried to stop, he called me crazy, emotional, dramatic. He begged, coaxed, and manipulated me to film again, promising love and redemption, delivering only darkness. Each video, each encounter, eroded another boundary. My “no” was erased. My light was mocked. The sacred whore I sought to honour within myself was twisted into a caricature for his pleasure.

Every time I agreed, it grew darker still until I understood the cycle: the good was bait, the bad was the truth, and I had never consented to any of it. He played the Dom while claiming innocence, invoking God one moment and desecrating everything divine the next. It was sadism disguised as spirituality, abuse hidden behind the camera lens.

These individuals are fragmented and hollow. They wear masks, and behind those masks is a maze of smoke and mirrors designed to lure, ensnare, and ultimately destroy. The minute you give them an ounce of your attention, you’re at risk of being pulled into their illusion. They teach you to doubt your own perception, to question your own heart, to feel guilty for what they are doing. And when everyone around you nods politely, when the world sees only the glossy, surface-level performance, you are left isolated in your own torment.

But I never let go of the divine. Even in the depths of hell, I surrendered to something higher. The goddesses met me there—in fire, in tears, in the mirror of my own shame. I was not destroyed. I was initiated. Sex without God is a void of depravity; it consumes and discards, leaving you hollow. But when you claim your passage through that underworld, you rise holy, whole, and clean.

I refuse to be silent. Standing in the fire of truth – refusing to accept the distorted labels and false judgments of morally bankrupt parasitic entities who feed off others – is freedom. Owning my story is freedom. Creating from my story is freedom.

I didn’t shut down in shame after he discarded me, after his mask fell all the way off, after his actions led to his arrest. I did the opposite. I chose to own it, tell my story, and heal out loud. That is what sacred sexuality truly is. Not just the glittering language of tantra, not just the performance of intimacy, but the deep, gritty, lifelong soul work of facing your wounds, healing your addiction, walking through hell, and coming back whole.

Many will take lifetimes to do that. I’m doing it now. I’m here to teach and to testify:

You can survive. You can reclaim. You can rise.

No matter how far down the scale we’ve gone, we find our experience, strength, and hope can help others. Every scar, every tear, every moment of betrayal becomes a map for the next woman, the next survivor, the next seeker.

This is my resurrection. This is my sacred fire. And it burns brighter because it was once used to try to destroy me.

I am still here. I am still whole. I am still powerful.

#SacredSexuality #SurvivorAlly #TraumaHealing #SexualEmpowerment #BornAgainPornStar #ReclaimYourPower #SpiritualAwakening #SoulWork #HealingOutLoud #FreedomFromShame