But before listing the reasons, a bit of a rant.

I have not written those. I would not find that many anyways!

Chat GPT has done that for me and this raises the question: Why would you then read my article if you can ask AI ‘the’ thing? It just makes no sense.

More and more I see publications here on Substack (or accounts on other social media) where there is no human face and yet, they have hundreds of thousands of followers and I think (‘cause I think a lot): …like…how?!

This one for example.

Very interesting topic for me, right up my street but…that could be AI for all we know.

I can understand that before the AI explosion, most people - including you and me probably - could not grasp the meaning of what AI could do. Even though chat bots and other features were already in place on the internet.

But now, when we know that you can tell AI to write you a book (like literally). What is the point of reading something where there is no identifiable human perspective behind it?

I mean, not that we needed more entertainment, right? We have more than enough of that. We are drowning in choice everywhere: be food, drink, movies, content…it is dangerously and pathetically exhausting.

But one thing you may be interested to read and that AI cannot write is the reason why I, Eva, don’t necessarily want a man in my life at 52.

Do you get my pointy point?

So, if you’re interested in all the 101, they are at the bottom (I mean, they are super interesting) but first, rant isn’t over.

Do you think I just typed a prompt in Chat GPT asking for these reasons?

Nope. Now he/she/it talks and I find it so creepy. Here’s what I’ve discovered this morning: you click “start voice” on the right-hand side and a bubble opens.

Mine has clouds and a man with a South American accent talks 😳

So instead of typing (too much effort, right?) or dictating (what I have been mostly using), now you just have a conversation with him/her/it/them/who-the-fuck-knows-anymore.

You know what’s coming next, right? Alexa is going to look like a toy from the 20s really soon.

They already told us anyway. Remember this series?

Rant over.

Reasons I might not want a man in my life at 52:

(Yes, might, let’s not fuck around with the Universe)

• I love my own space in the house, the sofa, the bed... everywhere really.

• I don’t have to cook if I don’t want to or…talk.

• I love silence and don’t want to put up with a “telly in the background”.

• I don’t need to think about things to do together (or about everything?)

• I don’t clean and I don’t care.

• If I don’t wanna shower, I don’t.

• I don’t have to think stuff like: “I am not his priority”

• Nobody can cheat on me or lie to me.

And I cannot think of anything else right now but reading the 101 reasons below, as I copy and paste, I agree with almost them all! 😅 Holy cow!

I think we should flip the conversation to: reasons you DO want a man in your life...

but right this second I am blank 😂

No, seriously, I am very anti-gender war and I always say it so take this as a joke as I am feeling jokey tonight but, to be honest, it is beyond interesting, don’t you think?

Clearly, next search is going to be: “Reasons why a middle-aged man wants a woman” but I am scared to read that list 😬

Enough about me. Read and be shocked, I mean, enjoy 😊

My actual prompt:

101 Reasons a Middle-Aged Woman Might Not Want to Be With a Man Anymore

1. She doesn’t love him anymore.

2. She loves him, but is no longer in love with him.

3. She likes him as a person but no longer wants him as a partner.

4. The marriage has become a friendship.

5. The marriage has become a business arrangement.

6. The marriage has become a parenting partnership.

7. They have grown into fundamentally different people.

8. They no longer have anything interesting to say to each other.

9. The relationship feels emotionally dead.

10. She feels lonely while sitting next to him.

11. Years of unresolved resentment have accumulated.

12. Too many small hurts were never repaired.

13. She asked for change for years and nothing meaningful changed.

14. She has stopped believing that anything will change.

15. She has reached indifference — and anger would actually require more attachment.

16. She is tired of telling a grown man what needs doing.

17. She is tired of asking him to do basic household tasks.

18. She is tired of reminding him.

19. She is tired of making the appointments.

20. She is tired of remembering everybody’s birthdays, plans and obligations.

21. She is tired of being the household project manager.

22. She is tired of carrying the invisible mental load.

23. She is tired of doing the emotional labor.

24. She is tired of cleaning up after another adult.

25. She is tired of cooking because somebody expects feeding.

26. She is tired of being asked where everything is.

27. She is tired of “help” that still requires her to supervise.

28. She is tired of weaponized incompetence.

29. She doesn’t want another dependent.

30. After decades of caring for children, parents, partners and everyone else, she wants to care for herself.

31. She is constantly irritated around him.

32. She is more anxious around him.

33. She feels she has to monitor his moods.

34. She walks on eggshells.

35. She edits herself to avoid conflict.

36. She has become the “nag,” and she hates that role.

37. She feels parental rather than romantic.

38. She has to shrink to keep the relationship functioning.

39. She has to pretend things don’t bother her.

40. She has become responsible for maintaining the peace.

41. She feels guilty whenever she chooses herself.

42. She feels criticized more than appreciated.

43. She no longer feels emotionally safe telling the truth.

44. She has stopped feeling seen.

45. She realizes she feels more like herself when he isn’t there.

46. Her libido has genuinely dropped.

47. Sex has become physically painful.

48. Vaginal dryness or other menopausal changes make sex unpleasant.

49. Exhaustion has killed erotic energy.

50. Medication has affected desire or arousal.

51. Body changes have altered the way she experiences sexuality.

52. She doesn’t want intercourse anymore.

53. She still wants sexuality — just not the kind of sex they have.

54. She is bored sexually.

55. Their erotic life became completely predictable.

56. She has spent years having sex she didn’t really want.

57. She started associating touch with an expectation that it must lead to sex.

58. His constant disappointment about sex made sex feel like an obligation.

59. She resents being made responsible for his sexual self-esteem.

60. She no longer wants to perform desire so that he can feel desired.

61. She still masturbates.

62. She still fantasizes.

63. She notices other men.

64. She discovers she can still become wildly aroused.

65. She develops a crush and realizes her sexuality isn’t dead.

66. Her body responds outside the marriage in a way it stopped responding inside it.

67. She wants novelty.

68. She wants flirtation.

69. She wants anticipation.

70. She wants to feel chosen rather than assumed.

71. She wants to feel like a sexual woman, not somebody’s wife performing a duty.

72. She needs psychological distance for eroticism to exist.

73. Familiarity has become erotic over-familiarity.

74. The children leaving home removes the distraction that held the marriage together.

75. Menopause makes her newly aware of mortality.

76. A parent’s illness or death makes time suddenly feel finite.

77. She realizes she may have another 30 or 40 years to live.

78. She no longer wants to spend those years tolerating something merely because she already tolerated it for twenty.

79. She questions decisions she made at 25.

80. The man who suited her at 30 no longer suits the woman she became at 50.

81. She realizes she built her identity around wifehood or motherhood.

82. She wants to discover who she is outside those roles.

83. She finally knows what she likes.

84. She finally knows what she doesn’t like.

85. She has stopped confusing endurance with love.

86. She likes sleeping alone.

87. She likes having the whole bed.

88. She likes silence.

89. She likes controlling her own schedule.

90. She likes her home exactly as she wants it.

91. She likes eating what she wants when she wants.

92. She likes travelling without negotiating everything.

93. She likes having friendships that aren’t organized around a couple.

94. She likes not explaining herself.

95. She likes not asking permission.

96. She likes not compromising over hundreds of tiny daily decisions.

97. She has discovered that being alone and being lonely are not remotely the same thing.

98. The available relationship doesn’t offer enough upside to compensate for the work involved.

99. She no longer needs a man financially, socially or practically enough to tolerate a poor partnership.

100. Her standards didn’t become impossibly high; her tolerance for an unrewarding relationship became lower.

101. And finally: she has realized that a man is no longer a requirement for a complete life.

It has been nearly 2 years since I moved into this house and, although I have got a few things done like replacing old disgusting carpets with laminate - my ex did that for me, by the way - and other bits and bobs, the truth is the house and, especially the garden, had been totally ignored.

Just like the rest of my life.

I am only starting to talk more about the incredible burnout I went through after 7 years of grinding online and being consumed by the hamster wheel of productivity and success.

It is not talked about enough.

What I have realized is that what people normally call ‘the hamster wheel’ is usually attributed to the 9-5 jobs or so-called corporate ladder and, apparently, being smart means to quit that shit and become an entrepreneur of sorts.

That way you can be your own boss and make lots of money. I mean, like…lots.

Lots cannot even be defined because it’s never going to be enough anyway, right? so it really doesn’t matter.

I talked about some of this in this sarcastic article about how to grow on Substack and I showed you that disclaimer from a webinar I attended where it very clearly said: “you probably won’t get any results buying my product” and I have been thinking a lot about that.

Looking back at these last seven years of my online adventure I realize I have spent thousands of dollars trying to get someone smarter than me to ‘teach’ me the magic trick that would make me better at YouTube, at Substack, at whatever, and would help me get to another level (I don’t even know where, if I am honest).

And the reason for this was that, the adult entertainment business I already had (and was very profitable), felt exhausting and soulless and I did not want to do it anymore.

I also explained “how it works” in this other article if you’re curious.

Now………………………….

Following ’s article about ‘influencing’ and very much in line with my story and my current “influencer in rehab” mode, I just wanna have my say.

First, she’s absolutely on point as usual and I am a fan. Read her if you want true, honest writing. Hers is one of the very few publications I follow and actually read.

Why? Because she writes from her heart and not with a hidden agenda (which, online, very often means the only intention is eventually selling you something).

To make this clear: I am not against “selling” at all.

We all need to make a living somehow and pay our bills and, when you can actually offer any sort of value to another human being (normies, as Cathy calls them 😅) it is only fair you charge for your time, expertise…

…or, your nudity.

Nothing wrong with that in my understanding (the prudes won’t agree with my last word, not that I care).

But, being predatory? That’s another story. And one that I am finding increasingly difficult to tolerate in a healthy way lately, as more and more shit seems to be coming out from under the rug during this strange change of era we are all going through.

I won’t rage here about those predators but, if you’re interested, an article is coming out shortly. I am in investigation mode gathering evidence.

Soul

I know this word puts off many people and pulls in many others.

First, there are no human words to describe what it is (although many try) so, here’s my own definition:

“Your soul is that ‘knowing’ that you feel instantly”

There you go. Nobel Prize coming my way, please.

And I think we live in the world we live in partly because most people ignore it, reject it or, in the worst cases, don’t even know it exists.

I hope I am not sounding too vague.

Let me illustrate with an example we can all relate to.

You are in a long-term relationship and at some point, one day you get an intuitive hit (another name for ‘that knowing’) that says:

“Hmm…something is off here”.

But, you have been with them for X years, you have a house, probably a mortgage, maybe kids and a long list of etc. and the second you begin to think about breaking all that apart, feels like walking through a Tibetan bridge after drinking seven margaritas (aka impossible).

So you turn your attention away from that voice and carry on with your life.

(nothing wrong with that, by the way, just know that the voice gets louder and eventually shit hits the fan in some shape or form).

Another example (one fewer readers may relate to, but which fits nicely with my current obsession with online marketing) is that moment when you’re sending an email or creating an offer to sell to your following and something inside you knows you’re not being 100% honest.

Or, if this were the olden days, perhaps it was the moment you knocked on someone’s door with your wildly overpriced hoover tucked under your arm.

Same thing.

Just to make clear what I mean and a little peek into my next investigation article:

I recently came across a sales page using the now-familiar tactic of presenting something as being “worth” £2,997 before dramatically reducing the price.

That £2,997 is a made-up figure.

It exists to anchor your perception of value so that the actual price appears cheaper, more generous or harder to resist. It’s called marketing psychology.

In this particular case, I call it manipulation.

And that is the part I am struggling with because somehow this is legal. Allowed. Accepted. Normal, even.

Meanwhile, you’re an honest grown-up woman who sells BDSM content out of your own conscious choice and with full integrity (and now I mention my other favorite writer on Substack who also is here writing from her heart) and you’re scrutinized, judged, stigmatized and pointed at as if you are the devil.

I have written a lot about this society’s rotten standards and values in different articles which, in my opinion, are fucking great but, because I am not selling you the ‘dream’ of growing on Substack and make $$, I am not famous.

And on top of that, I am, like Ariel, perceived by plenty of people as some sort of fourth- or fifth-category human because I sell nudity and tend to tell the truth about things the herd would rather look away from.

So four and a half people read or like my shit - buzz! exaggeration button on again!

I have never before been more okay with that, though. Finally.

I have now jumped out of that hamster wheel of ‘productivity’ and ‘chasing the carrot’ madness and I am ready to just show up with soul in everything I do and share.

And that is what getting off the hamster wheel actually looks like (for me at least).

It’s not moving to Bali and meditating at sunrise (and then posting on Instagram) and not even deleting every social-media account.

It’s simply reaching a point where you stop running because everyone else is running and stop mistaking productivity for a meaningful life.

You sell something when you genuinely have something you want to sell (and for the fucking right price!).

That thing I showed you? I would probably have bought it for $27. Just sell it to me for $27. Don’t invent a fantasy value 100 times higher so you can manipulate me into believing I’m getting the deal of my life.

That’s the difference. I don’t mind being sold to. I mind being played.

You create when you genuinely have something you want to say.

You work when there is work worth doing.

And sometimes you paint your shed for four hours because your garden has been waiting for you for two years.

Turns out the hamster wheel only works while you still care about the carrot. I don’t care that much anymore.

Love,

Eva ✨

It’s about a question I heard a few days ago and I can’t ignore:

Who are you when the lights go out?

When nobody is watching and you no longer have the title, the relationship, the success, the younger body, the followers, the money, or that identity you’ve spent years building.

For years I was extremely visible. Hundreds of thousands of people were watching me. My business was successful. And, paradoxically, I think that was precisely when I stopped seeing myself.

I find the symbolism of this eclipse beautiful and valid for everyone: for a few minutes, the biggest light in our sky disappears… and suddenly we can see stars in the daylight that were there all along.

Maybe sometimes the same thing happens in our lives.

Something has to go dark before we can see what else is still alive.

I’ve recorded a video about this. You don’t need to believe in astrology to watch it.

As usual, you just need to be curious and willing to listen. Perhaps, you’ll find something of value that you can apply to your own life.

Worst case? Just stop the video 😆.

Watch it HERE👀

Love,

Eva

I recently told the fuller behind-the-scenes story of how OnlyFans changed my life over on the paid side of this Substack and while writing that story, I realized I’d lost myself completely by identifying “who I was” with my online presence and survival.

And truth hurts.

Before 2019 I had no online presence whatsoever and no wish to have one. In fact, I was reluctant. Why would I expose myself? What for?

I had no reason to, so my life was peacefully quiet on that front. I had a 9-5 job (that I actually mostly enjoyed) and, although I went through a separation in 2017 that was quite unexpected, I generally knew how to live without a screen in front of my eyes.

I just wasn’t online at all.

The separation and the need to survive changed that, and that year 2019, I showed up online.

This was exclusively professional though, since I had no ‘personal’ social media accounts, from minute one I created an alter ego (it’s not like I did everything wrong, thank God!).

But I made a lot of mistakes (well, lessons?) and, looking back now, I wish I’d had some conscious guidance, but I didn’t. The only ‘guidance’ I found was copying other women doing the same business and, mostly, learning from the fuck-ups.

It was really fun at the beginning because it was new and exciting. I was building something online and making money and literally, breaking a generational pattern in my family by being the first person who could make money while asleep.

Like…

All my ancestors worked their asses off to barely survive, and here I was, smiling on the internet, posting titty selfies behind a paywall and making money!

Honestly, tell me this in the year 2000 and I would have collapsed.

The First Hit

It was April 2021, and I had two Instagram accounts on fire. I was gaining 1000+ followers a day organically by smiling in tight dresses and heels.

In case you’re not an expert in online marketing: if you “sell something” on the internet, you want reach because it brings → clicks → sales.

In other words, the more people click your shit, the more money you make. So my earnings were on fire at the beginning of 2021.

As a side note: Only now, when I am literally seeing the dark side of the online marketing, I realize that job is the most honest job you’ll ever encounter online.

Here’s how it works:

I showed up online dressed in clothes I only bought for that purpose.

Kind of: “Hey, look at me, ain’t I pretty? Do you wanna see more of me and enter the fantasy?”

All this wasn’t said of course, just implied.

So I had a link in my Bio that led to that spicy page people hate and believe is the cause of everything bad going on in the world 🙄

That’s it.

Where do you see manipulation or shady techniques there?

Nowhere, because there aren’t.

I show my product (myself), smile and wink and you (whoever you are) see my post and CHOOSE freely to click my link and, choose, freely again to pay for access or not.

Genuine as fuck.

Anyways, it’s funny, isn’t it?

And then it happened.

I woke up and my main account, with 350K followers, was gone, and for some reason I’ve forgotten, I couldn’t even appeal the decision. I was devastated.

But there’s more.

A week later, my other account, with 250K followers, was gone too.

The fact that I was in therapy for my nihilism and pointlessness (yes, regardless of smiling and winking online) did not help, and I think that was the beginning of “forgetting how to live.”

I cried a lot. I grieved. And after a while, I came back. I created new accounts and started from scratch, but this time there was a new fear that wasn’t there before, and a new awareness: “This can be gone in one second.”

Isn’t that the same thing we can say about us? One second you’re here, the next your heart stops and you’re not.

Impermanence. That hit me. But instead of integrating that concept from then on, I unconsciously chose fear and let it take over.

Note that word: unconsciously.

What Happened Next?

I rebuilt, and I was good at it but I (Eva) was slowly being consumed by the identity I had created around that “woman with an online business”.

That woman who was not online at all, and now existed ONLY online.

Wait, that sounds too dramatic, I know, and it’s not 100% true - it’s symbolically true.

Of course I was functioning in my real life. I was sleeping, shopping, going about what a person does on this planet, but with one huge difference: now I had two obsessions.

One was keeping my business alive, with the added fear of “tomorrow it may be gone” and the lingering “what’s the point in life anyway” - because the so-called depression hadn’t magically gone away.

The other was a new obsession: I gotta do something else.

Onlyfans had changed my life at that point, but something in me wasn’t willing to settle for that. I knew it was a phase, not the destination. It was a bridge, and I was on it, but I couldn’t see what was on the other side.

Imagine walking a long bridge and not seeing where it takes you.

That was me.

I’d left the office job around 2022 by the way (long story).

And in the meantime, I tried 1,256,898 different things (publishing low-content books on KDP 🙄, blogging, Shopify, Youtube, Pinterest) and I did 2,526,547 workshops and courses.

I mean, I had time, money and agency. What could go wrong?!

Well, everything went wrong.

I literally wasted time, money and agency on the wrong things and the wrong people for two long years (story for another day).

Then 2025 came about, and after that couple of years of disenchantment with what I was doing to make a living (I wasn’t making a lot now, just enough to survive), having tried so much stuff (all online!) nothing had worked out.

So I had a burst of energy and decided to take mentoring from a woman in the online adult space, and take my page back to its old income levels.

The “fuck it, maybe I’m meant to just make money with my body!” spirit took over.

By this point I’d spent years focused on my life online, and at real-life level, I was barely getting by. I moved houses and still had boxes a year later, for example. It felt like real life wasn’t important at all - my obsession was figuring out my business.

Total madness.

The Burnout

I won’t mention her name, but that was the best mentoring call I’ve ever taken in my entire life. The best investment ever. I paid $300 for an hour, and the following month (March 2025) I quadrupled my income. I mean… chapeau!

Now the ugliness.

Remember I said I lost myself? I really peaked here. The cost of implementing that mentoring advice was too high. I became a content machine. I was making good money again, but I was feeling stressed, miserable and unfulfilled.

I know this may sound a bit cryptic for most people, I apologize. If you’re in the adult space, you’ll fully understand what I mean. If you’re not, you might not even know what I’m talking about.

In simple words: I got captured by what I call the “more, more, more.”

More content, more clicks, more subs, more productivity, more visibility, more quality, more variety, more accounts, more reels, more trials, more link providers, more tests, more ideas, more statistics, more metrics, more reach… it was as exhausting as it sounds just reading it.

And I badly burned out by the end of 2025.

The funny thing is, part of the work I was doing was really fulfilling (writing on this Substack, my book (s), making my Youtube videos, my Astrology…) that was the clue to what I had to do next, only… that wasn’t (and isn’t) generating any money.

But I knew this: That fulfilling part was the bliss and joy we all need to (try and) follow, and I was in that bliss when sharing my writing, my ideas, my philosophy, all the personal development stuff I’d been learning as a result of hitting rock bottom these past years.

So I was fragmented, between an online persona and business, which I was grateful for but had totally outgrown, and the new emerging version of me - after years of inner work - aligned with who I really am.

Back to Life

And I’m still in the in-between but with more clarity ahead. I can see the other side of the bridge now. It’s called “Conscious Desire” and it represents everything I stand for and live by.

I’m training as a coach with an amazing platform that’s changing the world, and I’m now taking all this lived experience around online presence, long-dead relationships, and the beautiful, uncomfortable process of getting to know who the fuck you are and what you truly desire.

Because desire is the principle of life.

No desire, no life.

As Spinoza said a gazillion years ago (1677, in his Ethics), desire IS the essence of who we are, and not an enemy of your soul or something to meditate away. It is the very thing keeping us alive and giving us meaning.

I believe we are in a crisis of meaning. I lost myself online, but most people are equally lost somewhere, somehow chasing “wants” like headless chickens without ever stopping to ask: What do I actually want? Am I brave enough to look at the Truth?

That’s Conscious Desire. You don’t suppress what you want, or perform what you should want - you actually stay awake to feel it, and follow it.

I hope to find you there, on the other side of the bridge ;)

Love,

Eva :)

You’re welcome 😊

Let’s dive in, shall we?

Step one: Start a Substack

Step two: Write about writing on Substack.

Step three: Tell everyone how much money you are making on Substack.

Step four: Teach other people how to make money on Substack.

Step five: Make even more money because people who want to make money on Substack are now paying you to explain how you make money on Substack.

Congratulations 🥳

You have created the perfect online business:

Let me teach you how to grow your business so I can grow mine.

The product is not really writing but your dissatisfaction with your current life and your hope.

Hope that your newsletter will replace your job.
Hope that 1,600 subscribers will magically generate $11,400 a month.
Hope that you too can quit your sensible career, buy the enormous house and become “free”.

Then, once enough people are selling the same dream, someone announces that Substack is saturated.

But don’t worry.

They have discovered the new way.

Maybe you need to go to their webinar.
Maybe you need a mastermind.
Maybe you need a three-day retreat in Puerto Rico.
Maybe you need their revolutionary AI system, which has been lovingly assembled from the teachings of six other gurus selling exactly the same thing.

And somewhere at the bottom of the page, in very small print:

The average person who buys online marketing information gets little to no results.

But who reads that?

Not the hopeful person who has just spent forty minutes hearing about the $27,000 presentation, the multimillion-dollar company and the wonderful life that could possibly (maybe) one day be theirs.

Emotionally, the pitch says:

This could be you.

Legally, the disclaimer says:

It probably won’t be.

And when it doesn’t work?

The business model is never questioned.

You are.

You didn’t believe enough.

You didn’t take enough action.

Your mindset was wrong.

You lacked discipline.

You weren’t sufficiently committed to your own freedom.

Convenient, isn’t it?

The guru keeps the money. You keep the shame.

Is everyone doing this a scammer? No.

Can some of this information be useful? Of course.

But we should at least be honest about the loop.

People are making money teaching people how to make money, so those people can eventually make money teaching more people how to make money.

It’s a hamster selling other hamsters the secret to winning the wheel.

And apparently this is what we now call freedom.

Personally, I am trying something deeply unfashionable. I want to create work that is useful because it is useful and not because it promises to turn you into me.

I want to write because I have something to say.

I want to earn money, yes. I like paying my bills and buying food but I do not want a business that requires me to constantly activate your dissatisfaction so I can sell you the next level.

Maybe real success is not endless growth.

Maybe it’s meaningful work, enough money, a decent nervous system and a life you still have time to live.

Terrible marketing, I know, but I actually feel free and my integrity is not available as an upsell.

Love, sarcasm and truth.

Eva :)

P.S. I kinda talk about ‘meaning over money’ here in case you wanna watch.

And I did. And you can see it in some of my posts.

I never used it to write for me but for ‘polishing’ (fucking AI wording) and give it flow and, at the beginning, I could not see anything wrong with it.

Until now.

Everyone and their mother sounds the same. Every email wanting you to sign up for something, every note here on Substack (well, 90% of them?), every caption, every clickbait…

It is everywhere.

Some try to disguise it but others don’t even bother.

My excuse?

English not being my first language, it’s obvious that my writing is not going to be at Shakespeare level (I think I just proved that) but what happened was that, since this Substack madness and the emergence of 1.001,025 writing circles, groups, magazines, Substack coaches… I started feeling like I am not good enough and “who the F am I to write in English when is not even my language”?

Imposter syndrome at its finest and my mind going: “I can’t be good at writing in English if I am Spanish, right?” I need Claude or GPT or Gemini or any of those bitches.

The Confession

I have been using them like this:

I write a raw piece and then I ask the robot to correct any grammatical errors (that’s kind of cool) and give me feedback about the writing itself as if it was my editor.

Well, not a single time IT says: “It is a good article, well done, only a couple of grammar errors, A and B, whatever”.

No, first it tells you what’s good (great, thanks) and then it lists a series of ‘suggestions’ that, essentially, change what you just wrote 🥴

Now… why?

Although I was having mixed feelings about the results most of the time, I was agreeing to those suggestions assuming that an AI knows better than I do.

Big mistake.

And big lesson.

I am Spanish and I write in English because I fucking want to and I do it my way. It’s up to you to read me or not. And that is going to be the rule in here from now on.

I just thought to tell you since you’re subscribed.

I don’t reject AI, rather the opposite, I think it has amazing applications and it is a huge help for many things… writing isn’t one.

Even if you create “your voice profile” and ask it to use it. It won’t.

I won’t bitch - well, just a little - or trash anyone but I can’t stand reading stuff that has been CLEARLY written with AI because it is off putting.

But I only realize that now after the ‘experience’ of it, if that makes sense.

And it may be that the writer is doing similar to what I was doing and the original writing comes from the ‘human’ (or perhaps doesn’t) but, if that is the case, the fact that it reads AI, to me, makes me scroll past and unfollow.

AI is here to stay and we know it, but, after flirting with it for the last few months, I don’t see a way back for me in the writing.

I am here to write from my soul and I want you to be here (if you choose to) to read what I have to say, my ideas and worldview and not to win the Pulitzer.

Machines don’t have a soul.

Love,

Eva:)

Why older than 30?

Well, if what I am about to say applies to you and you’re younger…just wow, the matter may be worse than I think.

Why do women stop wanting sex?

Last night I watched a (mediocre and ridiculous - yes, I judge, I am human) BBC documentary on Youtube about sexless marriages.

There is a Sex therapist and two couples where the woman has lost desire and does not want to have sex with the husband so the relationship is miserable and so are they.

The younger couple is in their 30s and they have sex twice a year or so. The husband nearly left a year ago because of that and the wife is worried and wants to do something about it so they go to therapy.

First of all, let me tell you what I see and the documentary totally ignores.

They have a daughter. Both work full time but she does night shifts so they see each other one hour per day.

She comes back from work when he gets up and, when he comes back from work, spends like an hour with wife and daughter and then she leaves.

Imagine that life.

I would not only lose desire for sex, I would lose the will to live, just saying.

However, there’s always the weekend, right?

One would think that after a week of not even seeing each other, they would be looking forward to the weekend together and that, if weekdays are definitely not a good time to have sex, at least the typical Saturday night shag would be a great opportunity but no… too tired, not bothered, basically, “leave me alone”.

He jokes saying the bedroom is dead - she giggles - and then he says he nearly left and that he feels rejected.

Here is when it gets interesting.

The therapist talks to her alone first.

She says that he is not tender to her or makes any efforts to approach her and that he just wants IT (the sex) and that all of that has made her distance and avoid any intimacy so she rejects him.

Is it me or that is a contradiction?

So…he does not make any effort and only wants IT and, at the same time, I reject him the moment he tries?

I did not hear the therapist bring this up at all. Instead, they went to her past experiences with men and found that she had a few bad relationships from the age of 15 (who didn’t!) and had felt forced to have sex when she did not want to, just because he (the partner at that time) wanted.

Please note the words: she “felt” forced not “was” forced. The conversation wasn’t referring to non-consensual sex (or rape) but more of agreeing to have sex so he stopped asking.

DUTY SEX

That’s called “duty sex”.

Where is the subtle line crossed there? Because I have been exactly there too and, I dare to say, every single married woman has too at some point (am I wrong?).

That time (or times) where the last thing you’re thinking about is to have sex and would rather curdle up in bed and sleep 9 hours in a row but, instead, your husband advances and places his hand on your hip, kisses your neck, slides the hand up to your titty…and then you think: “Oh no, please don’t, not now”.

BUT you know you haven’t had sex in a couple of months (or however long) and you have rejected him a handful of times lately and, in a way, you understand that if you say no again, he’s going to be pissed off - probably with good reason if you’re not communicating properly about it - so, what do you do?

You respond positively, finding his lips and grabbing his dick with the hope that it ends as quickly as possible so you can get back to sleep in peace.

Is that no-consent?

Is that OK?

My take: It is Ok if it happens occasionally, of course, and, in fact, I am sure other women agree that, sometimes we are just lazy and, once you start, you end up enjoying it too. All good here.

It is NOT okay if that is the default mode in the relationship, like my parents and grandparents’ were.

Don’t believe anything I say, just make your own conclusions. The reason I mention this is because in the documentary, it is not like they find in therapy that she has some sort of childhood trauma or anything, I mean, all quite “normal” stuff in there.

Back to the therapist.

What she tells them to do (and here my jaw dropped) is to have a flirty date night but banning them from having sex. And she also tells her to read erotica.

Sarcasm Button On -

“Because, obviously, they cannot figure this out on their own and need to pay someone else to tell them” -

Sarcasm Button Off.

The documentary (absurdly scripted) shows how they have a date night in their garden. He cooks and she does not drop the erotica book even when they are sitting at the table with candles (like wtf!).

They are drinking wine and, clearly, get tipsy.

What happens next? They disobey the therapist and have sex and, in the wife’s own words: “it is mind-blowing sex”. The best sex she’s ever had in her life.

I am not being skeptical here, I am being extremely skeptical, to be more precise.

What was that? Was it the theatrical date night or it would have been enough to share a bottle of wine? Who cares, right?

The documentary finishes with them going on a picnic as if it was a Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant 60s movie. They are all flirty, holding hands, cuddling each other (well, she is a better actress than he is) and that’s it.

Come on! Get outta here!

Do you see what I see? I bet you those two are now divorced or, if not, as miserable as they looked one month before the therapy.

Because, oh yes, that’s also interesting. All that miracle seems to happen after around one month of therapy.

Now my version

Romantic love is a scam.

It is like going out and drinking 5 margaritas. You have the time of your life, a super fun night with laughter, maybe dancing, flirting… the night is great.

The next morning you feel like shit, your head hurts, you realize you spent way too much money so you curse the tequila, the laughter, the club, your stupid lightheaded friend who kept ordering shots and just want to close your eyes and go back to the moment you left the house the day before and turn around put your comfy clothes on and stay in.

Don’t get me wrong, romantic love is an amazing adventure, you know? Getting ready, making sure you’re shaved and clean down-there, new underwear… you can’t wait to see him and have sex because that’s the only thing that seems to matter when you’re under that spell.

Because it is a spell and it wears off, like the midnight clock striking in Cinderella’s story.

But this society has made it into the foundation of a story ending in marriage. How preposterous is that!?

And what happens is that, instead of losing the crystal shoe on our way back to the carriage, we lose our fucking mind and actually believe that, because we feel that lust for that person in that period, we are ready to sign a contract for life!

Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking:

“Noooo, I did not get married when I was ‘in love’, we were together for a few years already and everything was great, we had a baby and we were an awesome little family and sex wasn’t a problem at all”.

That may be true but then, what happened?

I’ll tell you, won’t I?

What happened is that life is constantly changing, nothing in the Universe is static. And if, as a human being who came here to earth to evolve, you stay put in a thing called marriage which is based on made-up assumptions and ridiculous expectations, what’s actually going to happen is that you end up feeling like you’re half living a life, like there has to be more to it than just…that.

You lose the spark, you lose desire, not only sexual desire but desire for life and end up in a spiral downwards where it only tends to get worse, never better.

Why? Because the moment you start thinking: “there’s gotta be more to this”...you automatically feel guilty and a failure.

That’s programming, that’s not you, is your mind talking you out of that curiosity.

Your soul is the one inquiring, your mind shuts it down and being incoherent is how most of the population live nowadays.

I might not be answering the question I came here to answer:

Why do women stop wanting sex?

Because we fall out of love with our partners. Because we love them dearly (if they are not assholes) but we lose the desire for what is familiar.

It is life and the way it works for us, humans.

We have an ego that we need to survive and we acquire roles once we grow up and leave the parents cocoon.

We become independent adults and then we identify ourselves with “the girlfriend”, “the friend”, “the therapist”, “the accountant”, “the whatever”...and then, when you enter the hamster wheel of life by following that particular script: “the wife” and then “the mother”... it involves so much giving and so little receiving that the next logical step is wondering who the fuck is that guy snoring next to you who wants you to behave like the younger and wishful version of you who went to that ball and lost the shoe…and what you are actually craving is yourself and your freedom.

The thing I don’t hear anybody say is that you don’t lose the desire for sex, you lose the desire for that person who has become too familiar.

Sexual desire requires curiosity and mystery and that is next to impossible to get in a traditional model of marriage.

But people don’t admit this.

Also, some people might not have the opportunity to test my theory if they never meet anyone who makes them “feel alive again”.

Falling in love is not that easy, especially now, that our lives happen on screens most of the time. But, to those who might be thinking I am talking nonsense… wait and see once you start getting your underwear wet again with a new person, let’s talk then about who has lost the desire for sex.

Romantic love is a scam, yes, but is part of life also. It’s just that it was mixed up with building a family and expecting it to be sacred and forever. Forever.

Women don’t stop wanting sex. Women stop wanting sex with the same person forever.

Prove me wrong.

Eva :)

It was 2019 and, after splitting up with my husband in 2017, my savings account showed £0. I had been taking a little out each month just to make ends meet.

I was on a £30K salary, which is, sadly, below average in the UK, and I did not have enough to pa…

Read more

But today is the 4th of July and tradition says Americans celebrate Independence Day.

I wonder how many Americans actually feel independent today (genuine question).

I also wonder what are they celebrating exactly?

Historically, it was a rebellion against the British Empire, right? A declaration of independence. A refusal to be ruled from elsewhere.

And then America started doing exactly the same thing they rebelled against.

Weird.

Then there’s the famous sentence: “all men are created equal” written in that declaration 🤔

Errr… it has been 250 years and that sentence is still simply not true and a deeply sarcastic joke.

I don’t find it funny.

Because what does freedom mean for you?

Not as an American or a British or a Japanese. As a person, as a human being.

Do you think you’re free?

Free from what? Free to do what?

We’re not even free from our own minds, let alone from this soul-sucking system that feeds itself from our attention, our fear, our desire, our outrage, our labor, our loneliness and our silence.

What does freedom mean when so many people are still afraid to live honestly?

What does freedom mean when telling the truth makes you difficult, dangerous, inconvenient, censored, punished, or, in some cases, prosecuted?

What does freedom mean when people are allowed to speak, but only if they say the acceptable thing?

What does freedom mean when so many are still trapped inside marriages, jobs, identities, countries, algorithms and roles that no longer feel alive?

Why are we still celebrating a lie?

The desire for freedom is beautiful but I find this type of celebration really contradictory. It is not reality, is more the performance of a myth.

Just food for thought.

Bear in mind that I don’t celebrate: Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Valentines Day, Black Friday, Easter Sunday, Halloween, Prime Day or any other day where the collective suddenly decides what I am supposed to feel, buy, post, remember, desire, forgive, decorate, consume, or pretend.

I don’t like being told when to be grateful, or romantic, or festive, or patriotic.

And, by the way, I am on the sparkling water today so no cava or tipsiness going on.

I am actually shattered because I am still painting my bloody fence but I fancied to sit and write this reflection just before bed.

Don’t hate me if you are an American celebrating 🙈

Or do, that is your freedom I suppose.

“Happy Saturday, 4th of July”.

Love,

Eva :)

It is a Sunday in the middle of the World Cup (couldn’t care less) and the first day of a bit of a break after a heatwave that is literally frying my brain.

I’ll also lock part of this post for paid subscribers because there are certain things I don’t want to share for free. As simple as.

I am intentionally tipsy because I choose to be. If you feel the need to judge, feel free to unsubscribe. You chose to be here.

And you may be surprised but… I have never been happier, so I am not drowning my pain in alcohol. Cava, actually. Love it.

I am celebrating myself and my weirdness.

The world seems to be agitated. The earth just expressed her anger in Venezuela and that made me very sad. I learnt about a former colleague who killed himself last week, 61, apparently having a perfect life. The wife of an acquaintance died in her sleep a few days ago, also 61. I’m not really sure why, but every time I open bloody Instagram, the algorithm shows me a post about somebody way too young to die, dying.

Is this a conspiracy? Is the Universe telling me something?

Maybe. Maybe not.

You know my life is shifting direction, right? (you probably don’t if you’re a new subscriber). I am currently focused, and extremely excited, on a coaching training that is literally changing my life, and also on writing a book.

I made a few videos on my YouTube channel about all this transformation. The first one was “I Am Fed Up with the Beast” and, in my Aries fire, it was quite cryptic and angry, but I did not explain very well what was going on.

Then I made “Whatever Happened to Miss Dawson” and that felt to me like a cosmic orgasm. I needed so much to get that out of my system!

I came out and told my real name because something inside of me was trying to break free.

(I’ll leave it here, but I had been suffering with skin issues for years, literally cysts on my face, and hey! They are gone now and I have recovered my baby-ass face. Just saying.)

And, essentially, I have been trying to find a place to fit in because I don’t fit into the “online sex work communities” and, as I now know, I don’t fit into the “spiritual communities” either.

I just don’t fit in. Period.

And I am starting to think that maybe that is the point.

I want to say something here, especially to the women reading this.

There are more of you here now 🥳, and I am genuinely grateful for that. I want you here. I really do. I don’t want this place to be only men looking for the fantasy, or the woman they think they know. I want women who are curious, complicated, honest, tired of pretending, maybe a bit uncomfortable but willing to stay with the discomfort.

Some of you may already know what I have done for work over the last few years. Some of you may not.

So let me say it plainly: I have been doing adult work online. OnlyFans, erotic content, fantasy, all of that. It is part of my life and part of the reason I know the things I know.

I understand this may not be for everyone.

That is okay.

I am not here to convince anyone to approve of me, but I do want to be clear about the kind of space this is becoming.

This is not a place where we sweep desire under the rug and then pretend it is not running half of our lives from underneath.

This is not a place where women have to act clean, sensible, spiritual, respectable, healed, sexless, motherly, desirable-but-not-too-desirable, powerful-but-not-threatening, honest-but-not-that-honest.

I am not interested in that game anymore.

And I don’t think many of us are free while we keep playing it.

I want to talk about desire. I want to talk about fantasy. I want to talk about money, men, bodies, shame, ageing, marriage, loneliness, sex, performance, power, survival, and all the things we are supposed to have neatly resolved by midlife but obviously haven’t, because look around.

I want women here who can hear the truth without immediately reaching for moral superiority.

And that does not mean agreeing with everything I say or everything I have done. Please, God, no. I am not starting a cult. It means being willing to look.

To really look.

At what we desire, what we judge, what we consume in secret and what we condemn in public.

At what we have done for love, money, safety, attention, survival, freedom, or simply because we wanted to know what would happen if we did.

So if you are a woman reading this and something in you feels curious, welcome.

If something in you feels a bit confronted, also welcome.

If you need every woman to have lived a clean, explainable, respectable life before you can listen to her, then this is probably not going to be your space.

And I say that with no bitterness.

I am just too old, too tired and apparently too full of cava to pretend.

So, behind the paywall we go…

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It was a great surprise to see how, despite being the youngest there, lol, people were openly talking about sex and orgasms. I really feel comfortable among people who don’t look away when those words come up.

Another great surprise (one that really fed my ego) was the recommendation of a book I read years ago. The Road Less Travelled, by M. Scott Peck. If you’ve never read it, the short version is that it opens by telling you life is difficult and then refuses to comfort you about it.

My kind of book.

And at some point in that talk, a couple of ideas that, I already knew but never really understood fully, hit differently than it ever had on the page.

Co-dependency is parasitic behaviour

Boom! That landed in my stomach like an arrow.

I saw my 22-year-old self in bed crying her eyes out and hiding the phone (one of those early brick mobiles) in a drawer because I did not want to keep checking every twenty seconds to see if HE had messaged back. Fucking embarrassing. That was me, yeah. A parasite.

The thing we call “falling in love” (the can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, you-complete-me thing) is temporary by design. Peck describes it as your sense of self collapsing for a moment so you can pour yourself into someone else. The loneliness stops. You feel infinite. The two of you against the world, and the world doesn’t stand a chance.

And then… life.

He wants sex, you want sleep. You want to talk about your day, he wants Netflix. The boundaries snap back and you wake up next to a separate human being with their own opinions, their own mess, their own morning breath and their own disgraceful habit of not replying to your bloody messages immediately (how dare they!).

The feeling fades. It was always going to fade.

That is not a relationship failing but the honeymoon doing exactly what it does. But, because nobody explains us this, when the feeling goes, you start thinking that you married the wrong person, or you became the wrong person, or love “just died.”

And you start grieving a thing that was never built to last in the first place.

Love is not a feeling

Marrying for love (that wonderful feeling!) is barely a few hundred years old. We treat it like ancient law and it’s actually a recent experiment. Before that, marriage was property, alliances and duty. Cold and practical and sometimes brutal.

Then somewhere around the 1800s, someone had the bright idea to sell it as romance instead (two incomplete halves finding their missing piece) and we’ve been chasing that fairy tale ever since.

Well, I’ve been a few times 🙄

So let me be me and yell for a moment:

We never chose any of this. We inherited the fairy tale, and then we inherited the shame when the tale didn’t hold.

And I keep chewing on this: monogamy in itself was never the thing that made us miserable, we just ran the whole thing on autopilot and signed an invisible contract nobody read to us, in a language nobody taught us, and then called it failure when we couldn’t make it work.

The philosophers mentioned in that talk (Peck, Fromm, de Botton if you want the full reading list) all say the same unglamorous thing: Love is a skill. An art. A discipline. Something you learn, like an instrument or a language. Not something you fall into and pray survives.

And all that makes sense BUT - I love fat buts - the talk did not go into what happens when, despite you learning and choosing to love somebody, despite respecting them, there comes a day when you don’t want their tongue in your throat... then what?

Then silence. Avoidance.

The one thing I was most interested in wasn’t even mentioned.

Every one of those brilliant men will tell you love is a verb. A discipline. A daily choice. And not one of them will go into what happens when desire is literally...gone and you can’t think your way back from it.

That’s the part everyone skips. The philosophers file desire under “shallow” (a reflex, not real love) or under “maintenance problem” (the boredom, the novelty wearing off). Either way, they get to look away from it. Convenient.

You can choose to love someone. You cannot choose to want them.

“I love you” and “I want you” are not the same, and pretending they are is how people end up in disciplined, dignified, loving marriages that are also a slow starvation. The will says yes. The body left years ago. And everyone calls that endurance virtue.

I won’t.

I don’t have a tidy answer for you, because there isn’t one. You can’t force desire. You can’t negotiate it, or guilt it, therapise it, spiritualise it or discipline it into being there.

Nobody is wrong for not wanting and nobody is wrong for needing it.

But the moment you stop lying about which one you are, is the moment your life starts feeling alive again.

So I am going to ask you the question I had to ask myself, the one that wrecked my comfortable little story and took me where I am today:

Did you ever consciously choose any of it?

I have been doing some interviews with my mum and friends and the consensus is that they married “because you were supposed to do so”.

That does not sound like love to me, just saying.

But let’s not end on a downer.

Everything has a solution except death, as we say in Spain, and there is nothing better than telling the truth if you want to set yourself free.

So, if you are one of those people stuck in a relationship that, despite being loving in the living room, it is dead in the bedroom, I want you to know this:

I’ve been building something for exactly this kind of work, not to tell you what to do or if you should leave or stay but to help you get to the truth buried under the rug before life detonates it for you, the way it did for me.

I’m going to run this first as a small beta with only five people, individually.

Five private processes, one person at a time, so I can test the structure properly and make sure the work is as honest, useful, and grounded as I want it to be.

More on that in a few days.

For now, just answer this question honestly, just for you, nobody’s watching:

Did you actually want to get married?

More soon,

Eva :)

You may be still curious, though. Keep reading, if you want.

But I want to talk to the people who are in long-term relationships and don’t have much intimacy (or none at all).

Intimacy is not only sex, let’s make that clear, it is passionate kissing tongue to throat in the cinema (and the occasional fingering 😅). It’s the craving, that movie-like scene on the kitchen table or going down-there just because and not just on your birthday.

I know your exact thought right now:

Who on earth does this in a 20-year relationship?

I mean, seriously, if you’re one of them, please tell me in this button below because that needs and deserves to be told. But for the majority of us, we kind of accept that this is just what happens with long-term relationships.

They get boring... and, eventually, sexless.

Where did passion go?

If you know me, you know the story, you know I was in one of those (the boring ones 😕) but the key thing is: I didn’t know I was in one.

I didn’t have the awareness. I didn’t come across any post from anyone at the time. Back then I wasn’t really using social media. If I had been, maybe I would have stumbled on somebody talking about this, and I would have gone: “Oh, wait. So that’s my situation. That’s me. That’s why.”

But there was none.

After a few years with somebody, things get familiar. There’s no excitement, no newness. There’s nothing. And then you just lose it. We just lose the attraction, right? (or at least one does). But because you’ve already built something and there‘s a project and a family, you stay.

Think about it. When you’re with somebody and you haven’t built anything yet (still in the boyfriend-girlfriend stage) and the attraction dies, you just break up. It’s easy. I don’t feel anything for this person, somebody else comes along, you feel pulled toward someone else, you move. Easy.

But once you build something with that person (and this is the key), once you’ve got the history, you get stuck. And then you accept that the passion is gone. Declined. Diminished. And you accept it. And that’s it. And that can carry on forever.

Stay with me here. Let’s look at the energetics.

When someone manages to take that lost energy (the unused sexual energy) and pour it into something else: work, a hobby, a passion, they’re kind of okay, at least for a long time.

But most people don’t know how to use that energy and then come the addictions. The destructive ones. Along with other things, of course (we’re complicated, there’s traumas, abuse, etc.) but let me stay on the sexual energy, because it’s primal.

Maybe it’s the base of everything and if you’re not channeling it into creativity, and you’re not burning it off in addiction either (some people aren’t addictive) then you’re depressed. Profoundly unhappy.

I know one person who fits this exactly. Doesn’t get drunk, nothing like that. Just drinks every day and is depressed, hopeless and pessimistic about everything.

And then there’s the person who wakes up. Who does the work. Who notices things, gets self-aware, starts looking around and asks the question:

- What’s actually going on here?

I couldn’t do that because what happened to me wasn’t just a question. It was a tsunami (the one I describe in my book).

And the thing about a tsunami is: you can’t respond to it. It hits when you don’t expect it. You can only react by trying to stay alive. That’s what I did.

And what does a tsunami do? It destroys. And then you spend a long time cleaning up the mess. I had to do that and I wish I hadn’t had to.

The way to avoid it would have been awareness. That calm awareness. Just looking at it and saying: “Okay. I’m telling myself this is normal but something in me knows it isn’t and I’m allowed to ask whether I even want this.”

I was 43 but the age doesn’t matter, the question is never how long am I going to be like this.

The question is right now: Do I want to be living like this?

The other way

My message is not: “get the fuck out of a sexless marriage now”, like there’s no other option.

The only time I’d ever say that (to anyone, to the world) is when there’s abuse, then yes, that's therapy territory (and I'm not a therapist) but these other situations are much subtle. You can be in a loving, caring relationship and still be starved sexually, of intimacy. That’s very specific. And honestly, those are the people I most want to work with.

And I’ll be honest, I’ve probably never said it quite this way before. But this is what I want the message to be.

So the question I throw out is this: what if you could keep the good things (the familiarity, the comfort, even the friendship) and release only the tie that isn’t working anymore? The romantic one. Just release that.

Because there’s always something good in your relationship. There has to be (otherwise it’s madness, why are you even there!?).

And there’s a lot tangled up in it (money, the history, the project you built, the family) lots of ties. You keep the ones that are good for everyone. Especially anything to do with the kids. All of that stays (yes, even if it means staying in the same household). You just let go of the romantic tie, because it’s dead anyway.

And I think the simple act of doing that (even if the family carries on, even if you stay under the same roof) is already a step forward. A healing, in a way.

(It has to be looked at case by case, obviously. The kids’ age changes everything, young kids and grown kids are not the same situation at all. Always individual. Like everything in life, because we’re unique beings with unique situations).

So I’m talking to the people who were where I was. Where everything looked perfect, and the sex was just… gone. A roommate situation.

Why would you sleep the rest of your life in a bed with someone who feels like family? Who feels like a brother/sister?

That’s against nature.

If you reach this in your 80s, okay. Maybe that’s natural. I’m not going to tell you to stay sexually active into your 90s; some people do, but that’s not my point. There may come a stage where you’re self-aware enough to say, I’m done, I’m done with sex, and I’d understand that completely. But that is not where you are in your 30s. Your 40s. Your 50s. Your 60s. Probably your 70s. Depending on who you are.

The Big Fear

I find that, when people start thinking about leaving, they jump straight to imagining another relationship like their life depends on it and then the big fear appears: “What if I leave and I never find anyone else? Ever?”

Good question. I don’t know the answer myself but at least you’ll be open to it.

You’ll keep growing your own awareness, and who knows where life takes you from there. At least you won’t be starving for passion lying in a dead bedroom, closed to the possibility (or perhaps waiting for a tsunami that could happen to your partner too, just saying…).

And even if no one ever comes (even alone) it’s enough to grow you as a person. To make you feel better which, in the end, is what we all want.

To feel better.

Love :)

Eva

But at some point, it is time to stop politely ignoring the joke and call out the shit. And if no one else does, I will.

At first glance, I am going to sound bitter, jealous and probably like a bitch. But I am not any of those things. That is just what this social contract (the one that keeps the circus-planet spinning) loves to call someone when they say the truth.

Sadly.

I have always thought that YouTube channels teaching people how to grow a YouTube channel were shady, to say the least. And when I see Instagram accounts with 200 followers selling a course called How I Make Money Online From Home Working 5 minutes a Day as a Full-Time Mum, it feels exactly like watching those men on London Bridge running one of those plastic-cup shell games and taking bets.

What is that called again?

Oh, yes. A scam.

I can see it. I mean, can you?

I can see through the BS. I can spot a liar. And when I meet somebody new, I can feel them, so to speak.

You’re warned 😉

I don’t see auras or chakras. I don’t hear archangels whispering in my ear. There is no choir of angels humming in the background and God, apparently, doesn’t have my number because he never rings.

Don’t be offended. I like to joke like that.

But I do feel energy. I really do. And the more I do this work of going within, excavating the shadows and looking at my own nonsense the more intense it gets.

Anyway, this is not about me.

Well, obviously it is a little bit about me because everything we write is about us, even when we pretend it isn’t.

But I am not going to name anyone on this platform. There is no need. I am not interested in public witch hunts. I am interested in pointing at the thing we can all see but keep pretending not to see.

So I am going to say this:

Every account here - or on any platform, for that matter - whose main thing is writing about how much money they make or teaching others how to grow on the platform can piss off.

There. I said it.

I am not saying they are lying.

I am absolutely sure they do make the money they claim they make. That is not the issue.

The issue is that they make that money from people who, naturally, want to make the same money and are desperate to be told how to do it.

And yet, somehow, the whole thing is presented as if they are being paid for their writing.

Excuse me?

Am I the only one seeing the catch here?

Because let’s be honest. Some of these viral articles about “how much I make on Substack” may come from people who also write about other things. Fine. Wonderful. Good for them.

But can we stop pretending they grew mainly because they wrote a poetic essay called “What I eat for breakfast in the mountains on a Sunday”?

They grew because they published the magic words:

I make money writing on Substack.

Come on.

We are human beings. We want things. And one of the things we want is money. Obviously. So, when someone says, “I am making thousands from my writing,” people click. Of course they click. They are hoping for the secret potion.

(I bet $fuck-all won’t get any clicks 🤣)

They are hoping someone will finally tell them the thing that will make it happen for them too.

And then some of those people will eventually do the same thing. They will publish how much they make, show the beautiful lifestyle, talk about growth and freedom and income, and attract another wave of people wanting the same dream.

And round and round we go.

Smoke selling smoke.

Meanwhile, most people will never get past a handful of subscribers. They will struggle to make $100 a month. They will wonder what is wrong with them, their writing, their voice, their niche, their personality, their offer, their consistency, their “authority,” their bloody nervous system.

And maybe nothing is wrong with them, except that… maybe they are just not selling the dream.

Of course, some people do succeed. I am not saying nobody can. But have you noticed that many of the most successful accounts on here were already known somewhere else for years?

They arrived with an audience, with credibility, with a name. Context matters.

So what is my need to call this out?

What does that show about me? 🧐

I can’t help asking this question every single time, which is exhausting, by the way. “Know thyself” sounds very poetic until you realize it means you cannot even have a proper bitchy rant without immediately dragging yourself into an inner inquiry.

But here we are.

I don’t think this bothers me only because I think some of it is misleading.

It bothers me because of the digital noise.

The endless more culture.

The ridiculousness of it all.

Grow more. Earn more. Post more. Build more. Monetize more. Scale more. Optimize more. Sell more. Be more. Become more. Make more. Prove more.

More, more, more. 🤢

Frying our brains. Shattering our attention. Killing our ability to sit in a room and simply be a human being without wondering if the moment could be turned into content.

And then the question that comes to my mind:

What do you want to make $100K a month for, exactly?

I am serious.

What for?

To keep growing and growing and growing… until when?

This is a rhetorical question, of course. One you can ask yourself if you want. I have asked myself something along those lines many times over the last few years and it has taken me to very interesting inner places.

Uncomfortable places too, obviously, because apparently that is my hobby now.

I’ll share some of it.

It may or may not resonate with you, but as human beings - you and me - we want to feel safe. That is what we want. But “safe” means something slightly different for everyone.

Obviously, none of us want to be killed by a python. I think we can all agree on that but beyond survival, safety becomes personal.

Some of us grew up in environments where money was scarce. Money was something you earned by working hard. Money was not playful. Money was not abundant. Money was serious. Money was survival. Money was “don’t waste that.” Money was “we can’t afford it.” Money was “be sensible.”

I went with my mum to the market on Saturday mornings and we bought the cheapest fruit (they call it wonky now at Tesco). I never had new clothes, only clothes inherited from cousins and we never went on holidays.

We looked at rich people as if they belonged to another species. Something unattainable. Something not for us.

And yet, ironically, I felt safe as a child because I trusted my parents. They were sensible adults. I knew they would do whatever they had to do to make sure our needs were covered. And they did.

But now I am the adult. Now I am the parent.

Now I am the one holding the invisible basket, trying to make sure there is enough fruit, enough rent, enough future, enough options, enough protection from the storm.

And partly because of this insane culture of more, I often feel behind.

Even after having earned more money than my parents ever did, I still don’t always feel safe. Because everything is expensive. Because the world is a mess. Because being responsible for your own life, your children, your future and your nervous system is no small thing.

So yes, money matters.

Let’s not pretend poverty is spiritual.

No money, no life. That may sound brutal, but it is true enough in this world.

So the question is not whether wanting money is wrong cause it isn’t.

The question is: How much do I actually need to feel safe?

And the answer “as much as possible” is not an answer. That’s greed.

That is the culture of more on steroids.

I am not judging it from above. I know this pattern. I have lived inside it. I have chased. I have posted. I have performed. I have fed machines I now want to unplug from.

So no, this is not me standing on a pedestal, pointing at everybody else.

I am in the mud too.

But I am tired. I am tired of the noise, of the digital circus pretending to be wisdom. I am tired of people selling maps to places they only reached because they sold maps. And I am tired of the constant suggestion that if we are not growing, scaling, optimizing or monetizing, we are somehow failing at life.

What if we change the How do I make more? for:

How much do I need before I stop selling my soul to the culture of more?

And I don’t know about you, but I am also tired of feeding the machine with my fear.

So yes, let’s make money but let’s also ask the forbidden question:

More for what?

Because maybe less is where sanity begins.

And maybe the best thing we can do in a world screaming “more” is to pause, look at our own life, our own fear, our own hunger, our own bank account, our own body, and ask:

What am I really trying to feel safe from?

I’ll leave it there.

Not because I have the answer.

But because I think the question is better than another bloody growth strategy.

Love,

Eva (a bit grumpy today)

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This is one of those stories you don’t hear every day - unless, of course, you receive emails from me.

A few years ago, and I can’t remember exactly how, I ended up emailing with what I assume was a Chinese company making sex dolls and toys. They offered to send me one and pay me a grand in exchange for a sponsored video on YouTube.

My rational mind thought: Great. I’ll get this product for free (because I would never buy it) and I’ll make a lot of content with it for my page.

My soul was rolling her eyes and facepalming.

This happened twice. First, there was Britney. Then, later, there was Mark.

I don’t know if you’ve ever watched unboxing videos but, with all due respect, they are boring as hell. For me, this became a challenge. And I love a challenge.

So I did what I love the most: I created.

I made something entertaining out of it. Something absurd, slightly ridiculous, and hopefully funny. For Mark, I even adapted a Marilyn Monroe song and sang it (video below).

Basically, I had a lot of fun creating those videos and on top of that, I was being paid for it. Win-win.

Worth mentioning: I did get in trouble with YouTube because, naively, I did not think spanking or squeezing silicone naked half-bodies would be offensive or against the guidelines.

I mean, some people are so sensitive.

Now, did I ever make all the extra videos my mind had planned?

Absolutely not. Not a single one. Ever.

I made the unboxing videos, put the dolls back in their boxes, and then kept them in the house taking up a ridiculous amount of living space for the next couple of years.

Without going too off-track, but taking advantage of the momentum here… I understand why now.

That’s not me. I don’t really want to screw a plastic man - well, a piece of one - or play the naughty girl with a silicone boob torso. No shame, no judgement. It’s just not for me.

And these huge, heavy boxes have been doing my head in. I knew I had to get rid of them. The problem was: how?

Dump them, yes. But where? Certainly not in my bin.

The only place I could think of was the recycling centre. There is a container there that says Bulky Waste, and I imagined myself driving in, throwing them in there, and driving off as fast as humanly possible.

But there was one small problem: I cannot lift the bloody things.

My masculine energy does not match my body. So I would need to ask the men working there for help. And more likely than not, they would ask what the hell was inside these suspiciously heavy boxes.

And having to say, “These are sex dolls,” is not something I wanted to say. Period.

So I have been stuck with them for a couple of years.

And this week, determined to reclaim my living space and my dignity, I did what I usually do when I need help with something heavy, awkward, or emotionally questionable.

I called my ex-husband.

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He’s 77. Every organ is malfunctioning. The doctors keep applying a bandage to one thing and screwing up another. He’s supposed to take over 30 pills and, because he’s a rebel (hello! it’s my Dad!) he doesn’t take them all. He’s given up on life a long time ago. He actually died in 2008, when my mum finally told him she was done. They were both 60 back then.

To this day, in 2026, they still live under the same roof. My childhood home (the one I always wanted to run away from).

Here’s an annoying thing I’ve noticed while waiting for that phone call: I have his coldness in me. I do. I can feel it. The part that observes instead of breaks. The part that reaches for analysis when the feeling gets too big. The part that, even now, is more comfortable writing about this than crying about it.

That is not something I am proud of but it is honest. And the way I choose to live my life now or to write or to speak is only worth anything if it is honest.

So yes. My Dad is dying. And I am, at the same time, trying to understand what his life is actually teaching me about mine and how it can be used to help the collective.

Because let me tell you another thing: sometimes, my friend, it is actually too late. If I hear one more time the cliché: “It’s never too late” I swear I’ll throw up.

Sometimes IT IS too late.

A Doomed Marriage

Brief story of my parent’s marriage so you have context: first relationship ever for both in the late 60s Franco era in Spain, a few walks to the cinema, months to hold hands, married in 1972.

My mum’s literal words about their honeymoon: “I knew that same week I had made a mistake.”

That’s where I come from.

I have studied my Dad’s natal chart thoroughly and it is fascinating - I am saying this for the astrogeeks like myself, because it is all in there.

Sun, Mercury and Mars in Aquarius in the 12th house. Also Aquarius rising. A whole identity built around being different, separate, mentally sharp, impossible to domesticate - and yet hidden. Buried.

His primal masculine energy, his anger, his libido, his capacity to act, to choose, to leave, to touch, to feel is in that hidden and foggy 12th house.

The man who should have used that fire to move, create, protect, rebel consciously, lead, love, DESIRE... instead swallowed it whole.

And swallowed fire does not disappear. It burns from the inside.

A man with enormous energy and zero emotional education. A rebel’s chart born into a repressive religious world. A man who was told his natural body was wrong, literally. He was left-handed and forced brutally to use his right hand. He was abused by an authoritarian mother who told him he was possessed by the devil and ignored by a sick old father who did not have a say.

He was made to believe he was born defective and that is the curse he owned and kept repeating his whole life: “I should have been killed when I was born” - I wish I was joking but I am not, my Dad uses this language on a regular basis and, let me tell you, sometimes he is actually quite funny. The paradox of life.

His sense of humor is as dark as the shadow he carries and, also, he’s got a big heart. He is a good man (now tears roll down), he really is. He’s just… unaware. He never asked any life-changing questions, he never knew what he really wanted (like 90% of the population sadly). He just followed a script written by who-knows-who. The same script everyone else around him was following.

And yes, he also was a rebel, but an unconscious rebel is not free. He is a prisoner in his own mind while his heart starves. He got stuck saying no to the past instead of yes to life.

That was my Dad.

Then there is Pluto in the 6th house: The body. Work. Illness. Daily life. The routines that either sustain us or destroy us.

His body now looks like the final document of his life. Every organ failing. Every system compromised. Dialysis, pills, hypertension, cardiac failure, glaucoma, pain, dependency, slow collapse.

Pluto in the 6th (symbolically, at least) feels like a life where the body becomes the place where everything unprocessed eventually gathers. I am not saying astrology caused his illness or that illness is always psychological but when I look at his life, his body now feels like the final document of everything he never knew how to make conscious.

My Dad did not know how to kiss

I don’t mean that as a joke. I mean it as not knowing how to place his lips to kiss my mum on the cheek when they were dating. Kids learn to do things by imitation, right? There were no kisses in his home. A kiss was a sin in the religious cult nonsense he grew up in.

But a kiss is presence. A kiss says: I am here. I can feel you. I can soften. I can meet you. Without hiding behind performance, duty, fear, religion, shame, control, or the television.

He just couldn’t.

A man physically there but not embodied. A man with desire, buried under shame and conditioning, with a wife but no real bridge into his inner world (let alone hers!). A man who could father children but never understood the sacred responsibility of touching another human being with consciousness.

And what happens with unconscious desire is that it leaks and becomes entitlement. Bad sex. No sex. Duty. Resentment. Illness. Children who grow up feeling something is wrong before they have the vocabulary to say what.

And then those children spend half their lives trying to understand the atmosphere they were raised in.

Conscious Desire

I think I am giving birth to it because I come from a line where desire was not conscious. Where nobody knew what they actually desired. Where bodies were used, ignored, controlled, shamed, obligated, neglected, or sacrificed. Where people got married before knowing themselves. Where women stayed because they had no money (my mum’s true story). Where men touched without presence. Where duty replaced truth. Where the body eventually screamed what the mouth never said.

My Dad’s body is screaming now.

This is not about follow your bliss or manifest your dream life or any of that pastel nonsense. It’s about something much more serious.

What happens when a human being does not listen to what is alive in them?

I always missed a present Dad, not physically - he was always there - but in presence and awareness. Emotionally present. Determined, strong, protective, proactive. A Dad I could run into and ask for help. That never happened.

Even now, I am still the one who secretly hands him money so my mum does not notice, because they are tight and he wants to spend it at the pub. I catch myself doing it and I recognize her - the girl who learnt that love looked like solving things. The savior in me. I have done a lot of work on that girl but she still shows up.

The gift

And maybe this is the part I have had to face in myself too: the temptation to keep rescuing people who refuse to participate in their own life. Because that is also unconscious desire. The desire to save. The desire to be needed. The desire to finally receive love by becoming indispensable (just in case you thought I was a white angel with wings or something).

The gift my Dad leaves me is, precisely, the awareness of not becoming him.

That is harsh. But sometimes inheritance does not arrive as wisdom but as a body collapsing in front of you, showing you with brutal clarity the road you are not here to take.

Like a warning from the darkness. The living map of what happens when desire goes unconscious, the body is ignored, pride replaces softness and survival replaces aliveness.

My Dad is dying and I am giving birth to Conscious Desire, not because I want to make something pretty out of pain but because somebody has to look at the inheritance and say: this ends with me.

That is what Conscious Desire means to me: the break up with the family script nobody questioned.

Love,

Eva:)

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And the reason it happened like that is because we never had THE conversation.

That is the real thing for me. Not just the lack of sex. The silence around it. The avoiding. The two of us carrying on as if everything was more or less fine, when obviously something very important had gone missing.

And when you don’t face reality, reality doesn’t go away because you’re too busy with the kids, the house, dinner, school runs, and pretending to be a normal functioning adult. It waits. And then it enters through the back door like an elephant in a China shop 🐘.

In my case, something external came in. A third person. And then there was no time to process, no time to respond consciously, no time to sit down and say: hang on, what is actually happening to us? It just exploded.

Maybe that pain was necessary. Maybe that was the only way life could wake us up at that point. But I do think some of the mess could have been softened if we had been honest earlier.

I talk about it because I wish someone had said to me:

“Stop for a minute. Tell the truth before life forces the truth out of you.”

Because if you don’t have THE conversation, life eventually has it for you. And life is usually much less polite.

Here is the part you perhaps don't expect me to say.

I was the wife who didn’t want sex. I was the one with the excuses. Too tired. Not now. Maybe tomorrow. I was the one quietly checking out while someone next to me was becoming a ‘friend’ - and I did not want to see it.

He didn’t either. We just accepted it silently as ‘normal’.

And I didn’t have the language, the awareness, or the courage to face the reality. So life created the rupture for me.

This is also why I see it everywhere. So many people around me (family, friends) and online forums full of frustrated and resentful people are living some version of this. Two people sharing a house, bills, children, holidays, maybe a bed, but not really sharing themselves anymore. Functioning. Managing. Keeping the machine going. While the romantic and sexual relationship has quietly disappeared.

And we keep mixing up love and wanting as if they are the same thing.

They are not.

You can love someone and not want them.

I know that’s brutal but it’s true. You can care about them, raise children with them, laugh at the same stupid joke, worry when they’re ill… and still not want their hands on your body. That doesn’t mean the love was fake. It means the erotic bond has changed. Or died.

“I love you” and “I want you” are not the same sentence.

And this is incredibly painful for the person on the receiving end. Because wanting to be wanted is not shallow. It is a very human need. And when you are being rejected over and over while someone tells you the marriage is still good - that is a very specific kind of suffering.

A sexless marriage is rarely only about sex. It is usually a symptom of disconnection. Resentment. Emotional distance. Loss of attraction. A relationship that has changed shape while both people were busy surviving life.

One day you wake up and realize you’ve been running a very efficient domestic operation with someone you used to be in love with. And nobody announced it. Nobody decided it. It just happened. While you were busy.

The model most of us inherited was never designed around desire, truth, or two people actually choosing each other. It was designed for appearances and survival.

The dead bedroom is not bad luck. It is a predictable outcome of a broken blueprint.

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The Way Out

So I am not here to tell you what to do. I am not a therapist. I am not going to give you a seven-step plan.

What I will say is this: start by telling the truth. No need for throwing a grenade in the kitchen while the other person is making tea ( I did a version of that ☹️), truth can be calm and uncomfortable without being cruel.

You can say: “I don’t know what is happening to us but something is not right. I don’t feel connected to you anymore. I miss being touched and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend this doesn’t matter.”

That conversation may not save the marriage. And I think this is important, because maybe it doesn’t need saving. Maybe it needs understanding. Maybe it needs a different shape. Maybe it needs to end as a romantic relationship but continue as a family.

You cannot know any of that while everybody is avoiding and pretending that “not tonight” is still just about tonight, when it has clearly become the whole marriage.

The pain of truth is immediate. The pain of avoidance rots slowly.

That is why I talk about this. Not because I did it beautifully but because I lived the mess. And I have also lived the other side thankfully, a different kind of family, a more honest life, a life where love did not disappear but changed form.

I didn’t break my family. I broke the model.

And I know that is possible.

But it begins with the conversation. The one you are avoiding. The one I avoided. The one that might hurt but might also stop you from sleepwalking into a much bigger pain later.

I talk about three possible paths in my Sexless Marriage Way Out (free download and fucking worth it. I have worked hard on that 😅).

And by the way - to make it clear - some people are in a sexless marriage and, if both partners are okay with it, then there is nothing to fix, talk or face.

It only becomes a problem when it is only one-sided and there is one who is NOT okay with not having sex anymore in this only lifetime we are given to live. 😓

And another thing is true. You can:

1. Do nothing about it and, if nothing happens from the outside, carry on “til death do you part” while putting your energy in other areas. Doable I guess.

2. Do nothing about it and wait until life does (could be unexpected and painful, ask me how I know).

3. Consciously look at the beast in the eye and just…talk it through. Sort it out with the best intentions and heart in hand. With love.

So, despite the videos I am finding about this topic (and that I am going to comment on soon because how could I shut my mouth, right? 😅) that focus on “fixing it” mainly, in my world, when romance is gone and desire walks away … no amount of Super Glue will ever put the pieces back together because there are no pieces. It’s just gone.

Love💕

Eva :)

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Everyone is out here searching for their purpose.

Their mission. Their calling. What they’re meant to do.

And the whole industry around that (the coaches, the courses, the retreats, the journaling prompts) is built on one assumption: that you’re ready for that question.

You’re probably not. And neither was I.

Because purpose is about doing. What am I supposed to do here? What have I incarnated in this lifetime?

And you cannot figure out what you’re here to do until you know who you actually are.

That’s meaning. And it comes first.

Who am I? What is this all about? How do I actually want to play this game called life?

Most people skip that part. It’s uncomfortable. It requires...work, it requires sitting with yourself and opening some boxes you’ve kept shut for a very good reason. There’s stuff in there. Old stuff. Heavy stuff. Ugly stuff. The kind of stuff that’s easier to leave alone while you stay busy looking for your mission.

So instead they go looking for purpose ( or the plan, the niche, the five year vision) and wonder why it never quite fits.

Why they keep pivoting. Why they feel empty even when things look good from the outside.

It doesn’t fit because it’s built on a foundation that it has not been laid yet.

And nobody tells you this. The purpose industry doesn’t tell you this because meaning is slow, it’s internal, and you can’t really package it into a course called Find Your Purpose in 30 Days.

But you can do the work. Real work. The kind that actually moves something inside you rather than just filling another notebook with someone else’s framework.

That’s what I’ve been doing. And that’s what I want to start talking about more - here, and on my Substack, where I go deeper.

Because I’m also putting together something more structured for people who are ready to actually sit with these questions rather than just consume content about them. A workshop. Hands on.

If that’s you - Come and find me there.

Eva :)

Why do I say America and not the USA? Obviously, because I literally mean the first time in the whole continent, I’d love to visit so many other countries in South America too!

It was Nashville, Tennessee of all places and yes, I have already been told it does not represent what the USA actually is, of course, but I already knew that (I am not a dummy). In Spain, if you visit the south and the north, they are totally different places and people in many ways so there you go.

I went with no expectations as I did not know what I would find in there (suspected boots and hats though🤠) but, I gotta say it, I have been very pleasantly surprised and, the image that is portrayed in the media (in general) is not what I found there.

And yes, of course, like in every other country, city or place, there are both: bad and good things but I haven’t found any of the ‘bad’ ones there so that’s that.

People I passed by on the street smiled at me. People at the hotels, waiters,...super polite and smiley too. My Uber driver was in love with the ‘old’ Spanish football team (I think Americans call it soccer?) and he named all the players while I smiled and nodded only recognizing a couple of them 😅.

The streets were very clean also (don’t hate me but I’d say London is not THAT clean, lol). Verdict? I loved it.

Now, I did not go as a tourist (I kinda dislike tourist visits and, in fact, although I had the chance to, I did not visit any of the iconic places there. Call me weirdo). I went to an event with beautiful people and God was it worthy!

The Seed and the Sprout

You may remember that I went to a Visionary writing retreat a few weeks ago during the equinox and in there, a seed was planted, for my upcoming book: Naked (winning title for now but leaning into something else with current developments).

This other event in Nashville has been where that seed has started to emerge from the soil. The little first sprout you see in a plant. That one.

I went to Avalon to connect with the magic and, since then, it has been present in my life and it presented as well in Nashville.

You may know by now that I am shifting identity or, rather, career...(or probably rather life?). I have been hinting at all of this for a long time in the last few years. I have written about it, made videos about it...(and more to come). I have just reached a point in my life where I can no longer live if it is not by the truth 🤷🏽‍♀️

And the truth is... I've outgrown the whole game big time. The online content machine. And this time I mean it in a way I haven't before.

Well, let me explain. This is not exactly what it seems though.

There is an upcoming video (I wanna make it a documentary! The audacity! haha) where I’ll be talking about this with real depth.

Let me also tell you that I am making really big changes in everything I am doing including this Substack, so you know. And since I am in truth-telling mode tonight... if you've been on the fence about the paid subscription, now would be a bloody good time. No thirst trap required, just me asking like a normal human being.

The Buffalo

I will never condemn pornography or sexual fantasy right off the bat. These two things are neutral and it is (as it usually is with everything) the use/misuse/abuse you incur when you consume it’s what makes the difference.

Saying that, I won’t be advocating for ‘sex worker’s’ rights or the normalization of pornography either, if you know what I mean.

That is not my battle to fight.

However, my battle is Truth and integrity and what has been a burden for me and the root of all contradictions with the online adult work has not been the fact of having nudity behind a paywall.

I have always seen that as ethically and morally correct (I know most people don’t see it like that) because, in my case, is done consciously and even with compassion.

So, in that respect, I don’t think is wrong per se, I am just tired of it all.

The real issue has been the promotion of that type of ‘spicy’ content.

The terrain is the social media platforms where the strategy has become really aggressive and the whole ‘thirst trap’ business has gotten out of control. You can see boobs and booty every-fucking-where on Instagram (well, that is if you engage with that type of content of course).

And again...let’s not condemn this behavior per se… (yet).

If you’re a woman with humongous tits/ass and you have a spicy page and you want subscribers so you post this type of content and those who like it, engage and ‘click the link’ choose freely to subscribe or not. Simple.

Well, yes, but that is a very simplistic explanation and even childish if you ask me. The problem is in what foundations this whole process occurs, what’s the benefit for each part involved and, certainly, the ethics and integrity around it.

And that is where I started feeling off about this whole thing when I saw beyond the veil as it were after my spiritual awakening a few years back.

What seems to be harmless is really a huge fiasco where loneliness and disconnection in men is commoditized and taken advantage of. Then we go into the fake intimacy promise, the draining of wallets as common practice and the literally zero compassion or care for the greater good but just the own self.

I literally heard somebody say in a chat: “I don’t give a shit about anyone, all I want is to make as much money as possible so my kids don’t have to work their entire lives” and I was like...

Here’s the world we have created in plain sight. 🤦🏽‍♀️

I don’t want to be a part of that anymore. I just can’t. I do care about the state of the world. A lot. I care about human beings and here’s what came to my mind after I read that statement:

Do I really want my kids to be filthy rich in a world like this with people like this?

And the answer is fucking NO!

Those are not the values I stand for and those are not the values I want to pass onto anyone else.

And you’ll be wondering...

What has this gotta do with Nashville? I wonder that too but my fingers keep writing in flow, sorry. Well, something else happened in Nashville…

There was a blind draw of a spirit animal for each of the participants in the event and it is said that these totems carry the energy you need at that moment and that they choose you.

A white buffalo chose me.

Now, I didn’t know much about it at the time so I looked it up and... wow!

The white buffalo is one of the most sacred symbols in Native American tradition, especially for the Lakota people. It comes from an old legend about a woman called White Buffalo Calf Woman who appeared to the Lakota during a time of starvation and taught them how to pray and how to live in connection with the earth and with each other. Before she left, she turned into a white buffalo calf and said she’d return when the world needed a big change.

A white buffalo is born roughly once in every ten million births. Let that sink in. Ten million.

So when one appears, it means: your prayers are being heard, change is coming, and it’s time to get back into alignment with what is true.

Hope. Renewal. The end of one cycle and the beginning of something more honest.

And I am standing there in Nashville holding this little figure in my hand thinking... are you fucking kidding me? Because that is literally what I have been feeling for ages!. That something is dying and something is being born and I can either keep clinging to the old thing or I can trust what is asking to come through.

The white buffalo didn’t just choose me. It confirmed what I already knew but didn’t have the guts to fully say out loud yet (I tried in a few videos, 😅).

I am done feeding a machine that profits from loneliness. I am done plastering the internet with content that has no soul just because it sells. I am done participating in something that, at its core, treats human desire as a transaction and nothing more.

Not because it’s wrong for everyone. But because it is wrong for me. Now. At this stage. With what I know and who I am becoming.

The buffalo said: it’s time. And honestly? I already knew. I just needed the universe to say it back to me in the most unlikely place, in the most unlikely form.

So yeah. Nashville did that.

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Here’s my final reflection.

I invite you to do this exercise with yourself and your own life choices.

Imagine yourself being on your death bed and saying (in my case):

“I made as much money as I could, out of the loneliness of some men by plastering the internet with meaningless thirst trappy content to ONLY my own advantage”

Versus

“I did as much as I could to leave this world in a better place than I found it”

I don’t know about you but I choose the second one.

Love and Yee haw!!

Eva :)

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