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 :)

Share Midlife Erotica

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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I’ve just uploaded a new YouTube conversation with astrologer Danny Darko, and the link is below.

But before you panic: this is not an astrology talk in the usual sense.

It’s not a video about predictions, jargon, or finding your soulmate 🙄.

It’s really a conversation about whether astrology can help when life feels off. When you feel disconnected, aimless, out of sync, or like something in you knows there must be more than this.

And yes, it is very much for skeptics too.

I’ve had this happen a few times: I look at a skeptical friend’s chart, tell them a few things, and they go, “Wow. That’s accurate.”

And then?

Nothing.

They carry on with the same life, the same habits, the same problem that made them ask in the first place.

Which, honestly, is very human.

We don’t want change because change is scary. Period.

This has been discussed since forever, how we are conditioned and programmed exactly in the same way a computer is, and we prefer to stay in the program WE KNOW even if it is crap.

Anyways, point being, it is okay if you don’t give a shit about certain things, it is okay if you prefer to live the life you’re living and do the same things. Whatever. It’s your own life.

We all have a different worldviews and different circumstances BUT (this is one of my big fat huge buts) one thing you HAVE TO AGREE WITH ME HERE is:

As a global community we have not done a great job so far with relating to each other. Sure we have built amazing stuff and even rockets but you know that is not what I am talking about.

I talk about love and peace. We are starving for it.

All we see is hate and war.

So, yes, if you don’t agree with me… get outta here!🙈

I am here to do whatever is in my tiny hands to help change that. I won’t build a rocket to go to the moon (as if! 🤭) but I can strive to live a little better every day and inspire others to do the same.

That is part of why I care about conversations like this.

I’m not here because astrology is the answer to everything. It isn’t.
But I do think it can be one useful tool for self-awareness, and self-awareness matters if we want to live better, relate better, and maybe contribute a little less madness to the world.

You probably know by now that I do not have a neat little niche.

I’m not here to help stressed mums, wannabe YouTubers, or singles in despair.

I’m here for human beings.

Which, according to every marketing expert on Earth, is apparently a terrible idea.

So yes. Once again, I remain professionally weird.

Back to Danny.

This conversation is about astrology as a tool for self-awareness: one possible way of understanding our patterns, our timing, our relationships, and the strange moments in life when old certainties collapse and we are forced to become more conscious, more responsible, and more ourselves.

So whether you love astrology, roll your eyes at it, or are simply curious, I think you may find something interesting here.

Watch the conversation here:

With love,
Eva:)

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I went to set the intention to write my book and get the magic from the land but, to be completely honest, I did not have a clue what I would find in there or what to expect.

What happened there surpassed any expectation and it was certainly a magical week. From here I want to thank and praise because she is the best host and writing coach you could ask for. She was amazing. I only met her over Zoom before the retreat and, meeting her in person and feeling her energy will stay in my heart forever 💖.

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This is good.
This is bad.

Oh God, do we love to judge.

Fantasy is neither good nor bad. It is neutral. It just is.

Fantasy is human. Desire is human, whether we admit it or insist on repressing it. Projection is human too (and mostly unconscious).

So the real question is : since fantasy exists, can we enter it with honesty, with self-awareness, without turning it into a fake substitute for intimacy?

I went all in on the world of adult fantasy with zero awareness. I had never done anything like it before and didn’t fully understand the game, so I basically took my cards and hoped I’d learn as I went.

I was financially struggling after separating, and I saw an opportunity. That was it. I didn’t think much further than that. I needed extra income because my salary wasn’t enough.

Then, instead of making just a bit extra, I made twice my salary in my second month.

So I kept going.

To the moralists who believe (because they genuinely do) that the online adult business is the devil dressed in nylons… relax.

There are ugly things in every industry: abuse, bullying, manipulation, exploitation, coercion. None of that is exclusive to adult work.

And no, there is also no need to threaten me with the old cliché that “what you put on the internet stays there forever.”

Yes. And?

Once I’m dead and my body is dust - or ash, preferably - who cares?

If I discovered my grandmother’s nudes today and found out she did that because she was struggling, and that it not only helped her survive but changed her life and, indirectly, my mother’s too, I’d be fucking proud of her.

But back to fantasy.

From the beginning, I kept being hit by questions as I learned more about what other people in the industry were doing. I learned from them, yes. I also did certain things I would never do again. Juicy material for the memoir, no doubt. But sooner or later, some things stopped feeling right to me.

What troubles me is not fantasy itself.

What troubles me is fake intimacy: the simulation of personal connection sold as real while hiding the fact that it is manufactured, outsourced, or emotionally deceptive.

A lot of men are not only looking for sexual release when they go online. They are looking for attention, relief, recognition, a sense of being seen.

And that is exactly why this matters.

Because if what is being sold is not simply erotic content, but the feeling of personal connection, then the truth about who is actually present matters.

If intimacy is being simulated, then the product is no longer just fantasy.

It is deception.

And that is a hard no from me.

You, the reader, may not be an online adult creator (though you may be) so this might sound a bit cryptic. The average person has no idea how much of this world actually works. Especially the people hiding behind usernames, throwing their projections and repressed desires into comment sections while acting morally superior.

Selling nudes online is neither degrading nor empowering.

Again, it just is. You choose to do it or you don’t.

What I find more interesting is not whether it is right or wrong to sell nudity, but whether it is right or wrong to sell intimacy.

Because that, to me, is where things get muddy.

A man subscribes to an adult page and gets instant access to nudity from that creator. Most likely, he will soon be offered upsells in the form of more explicit content sent as PPV (pay-per-view). That content is extra, not included in the generally low subscription price, and totally optional.

Fine.

But then there is a much murkier territory: the attention he receives through messages.

The technical term for this is sexting. Sexual talk, basically.

And that is not included in the subscription either. Naturally. It is - or should be - the creator’s time, and therefore it has value.

When I was a newbie back in the day, I used to offer sexting sessions for $30 for 10 minutes or, once I learned that was far too low, $50 for 15.

I still remember making dinner while messaging some guy, saying, “Yes baby, I’m so turned on,” while chopping onions.

Some of the girls in the group I was in used to laugh because, according to them, their favorite time to sext was while sitting on the toilet.

Charming, I know.

But strangely enough, that didn’t feel deceptive to me.

The men had explicitly asked for a sexting session. I assume they understood we were entering a temporary agreement, a fantasy game. Nobody was pretending it was something else.

That was back in 2019 or 2020.

Things have changed a lot since then.

Now almost nobody offers sexting like that. What many pages do instead is chat you up for free at first, flirt, create emotional momentum, and only later start dripping PPV content with the aim of extracting as much money as possible.

If you know the “pig butchering” scam, the structure is similar: love-bombing, seduction, emotional hooking, then monetization.

Some of these pseudo-sexting exchanges end up costing men hundreds of dollars.

And here is the part worth thinking about: many of these pages operate 24/7. No matter when you subscribe, no matter what time zone you’re in, there is always someone there to reply.

Critical thinking should enter the chat at some point.

I’ll leave it there.

Conscious Fantasy

This is why I’ve started thinking in terms of Conscious Fantasy.

To me, Conscious Fantasy is the meeting point between desire and self-awareness.

It is fantasy without counterfeit intimacy.

It does not deny projection, imagination, erotic play, or longing. But it refuses to pretend those things are something they are not. It creates a space for fantasy without insulting the intelligence of the people entering it.

In plainer language, it means making it clear that fantasy is fantasy. That the interaction is an agreement, a game, a chosen illusion - not a hidden manipulation.

And logically, if what you are after is fantasy itself, then perhaps it should not matter so much who is on the other end of the chat.

Frankly, in the age of AI, if all you want is endless sexting with no truth attached to it, Claude will probably do it much cheaper and without trying to sell you locked messages every five minutes.

And by the way, even if the world suddenly caught up with my genius idea of Conscious Fantasy and it became an actual thing, I still would not offer that kind of chatting on my page.

I’m not interested in chatting people up in any way, let alone sexually. Full stop.

And if I ever created some AI-assisted version of myself for that purpose (which will probably be technically possible very soon) it would be fully disclosed.

Because that’s the whole point.

So, can fantasy be conscious?

I think it can. But only if we stop lying about what it is.

Only if we stop dressing up manipulation as intimacy, and deception as desire.

Fantasy is not the problem. Dishonesty is.

Stay well,

Eva:)

In fact, I only found out today was Easter Sunday when, earlier around 1pm, I drove to the supermarket and found the parking lot completely empty.

Why is it shut? Sundays are open until 4pm.
Well, not today.

Then I had a message from my friend Laura. We were together yesterday filming some titty talks (don’t ask) and she told me there was this French guy on Instagram leaving long comments under her posts talking about me. Well, Miss Dawson, you know. According to him, he lent me money for a bunch of completely ridiculous things. Including me being in Bolivia and having to pay some inheritance tax after my parents death 😯

Total insanity.

Why he is commenting on her account and not mine remains a mystery, but I can tell you that today, this was the last thing I needed.

Clearly, the man has been scammed by someone using my photos, because whatever story he believes, it has nothing to do with me.

There’s also been a few other things lately. A few realizations. About people. About life. About the general state of things.

And what I have realized is that you may find people smarter than me, more intelligent, with more credentials and therefore more credibility, more beautiful, certainly taller 🙄, less Spanish, etc. etc... but you won’t find anyone with more integrity than me.

Equal, yes.
More? No.

And integrity is something many people these days cannot exactly brag about.

Anyway. Venting done.

So I stuck some junk food in the air fryer, made myself a gin and tonic, and switched on Netflix (if the day had been normal, I’d be on Youtube instead).

Yep. That was the level of “a day” I was having.

And then, after the usual ritual of almost giving up because I can never find anything I actually want to watch, I landed on a film called Ordinary Angels.

I already knew I was going to need tissues, so I was prepared.

But man.

My heart melted like the ice in the gin. My eyes still hurt and my chest feels like someone has shoved a basketball under my ribs. Strange feeling.

I am going to spoil it a little, so fair warning, but it’s worth it. Especially now. Especially looking at the state of the world.

The film is based on a true story and yes, I’m sure parts of it are dramatized for tension and emotional impact (understandable) but it still hit hard.

Tip: when you have one of “those days” and feel like crying, watch it. Assuming you’re not a psychopath.

The basic story is about a little girl in Kentucky in 1994 who needs a liver transplant.

But that’s not even the part I want to talk about.

The last part of the film is one of the most powerful things I have seen in years.

What moved me was not just the little girl’s situation. It was watching a whole town step out of private life and into shared humanity. People shoveling snow. Searching. Calling. Organizing. Doing whatever they could. Not because they had to. Because they cared.

That was...wow! Not one hero but a whole community together.

Miracles do not always come from above. Sometimes they come through ordinary, flawed, struggling people who decide to care.

That, to me, is the deepest part.

Because ordinary lives are not ordinary at all.

And here’s what I believe: deep down, we are all like that. Kind. Loving. Compassionate. Our souls know there is only one of us here, scattered into millions of little sparks, wearing different faces and names and lives.

And yet, apparently, it takes extreme circumstances for that truth to break through.

Why?

Why do we wait until things become unbearable to remember each other?

We don’t actually want to fight each other. It makes no sense. We want to help each other. We want to love and be loved. We want to feel that we belong to something bigger than our own little private struggle.

Wouldn’t we all be happier if everyone else was happier too?

Utopia.

I know.

I’m not trying to sound silly or woo-woo. I know the world is not that simple.

But I will say this: the more people wake up to that truth and choose love over hatred, compassion over power, humanity over money, the better this place becomes.

And maybe that is what moved me so much about this film (well the fact I felt like shit did not help).

I also know there are many movies like this, which, to me, confirms that’s our natural state of being. I think I am going to look up “Pay it Forward” next. It’s coming to mind now and that one is definitely sobbing material.

If kindness moves us so deeply, that must mean something fundamental about who we are. Tell me: don’t you get moved when you see kindness and cooperation? And...don’t you get upset when you see war?

Then... Why are we still playing by the rules of a game that some psychopaths with deep issues decide in a board room? It’s just insane, isn’t it?

Have a great day/afternoon/evening/night 💞

Eva :)

Now… that goes against every YouTube success course where you are supposed to have a plan, a schedule, a filming day, an editor, a thumbnail designer (like what?! I just literally screenshot my mug and add a text 😅)… nah! Not me, I do it my way (my favorite song).

(I’ll omit the part where I should say I am not very successful at YouTube and making money with it though 😂😂😂)

Venus and Mars War

I might be coming back to this for a while because I realize that what we are lacking as a society is not more sisterhoods and brotherhoods… but HUMANhoods.

And I am not saying the gendered ones are wrong at all, they are cool. I was in a sisterhood of two last weekend (my friend Laura and I, that is) and just found out that most women cannot orgasm during penetration. I was like…🫥 I had to google it and ask the robots! I had no idea!

So I can understand a little bit better now when older women who hardly orgasm during their marriage, get divorced and get all hyped up with the ‘women empowerment and self-pleasure’. I mean, bless them.

But not my case at all. And when I told Laura that, except for my very first time at 18 (when I did not even know what I was doing), the rest of the time (you-know-what-I-mean) not only have I not missed one but I also make it happen at the same time (you-also-know-what-I-mean) - she was like…: WTF, you’re a man! 😆

Last time I looked between my legs I wasn’t - but I have always had this instinct that I was one in my previous lifetimes 🤷‍♀️

Anyways - back to the script we didn’t write.

The video: it starts with my family and their scripts… but it ends up being about all of us. About me. About you. About the story running your life. Where it came from. Why changing the outside never seems to stick. And the one question that kicks off the self-inquiry.

Watch it here →

And if it lands - I’m running a workshop called Go Off Script where we do this work together. Paid subscribers, you’re in for free. Everyone else, watch this space.

Eva :)

Well, me. 🙄

I’ve been a bit missing for a week or so, and I wanted to explain why, because you may have seen my last video a few days ago and thought: what is this all about?

I know. And I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be confusing, but as things stand, I can’t really help it. It is confusing.

Or at least, it looks confusing from the outside.

From the inside, what’s happening is actually quite simple: I have reached a point where I can no longer ignore the gap between the life I’m living and the life that feels true.

And that is what you are witnessing in real time.

It’s not a dramatic overnight collapse but the very real struggles ( which I do believe are blessings in disguise ) of a 52-year-old woman realizing that the version of herself she has been living is no longer the one she wants to continue feeding.

If you’ve been following me for a while ( I mean really following me, not just scrolling past a photo here and there) you’ll have noticed that this shift has been happening for some time now. This did not come out of nowhere. It has been building for months.

The video I recently published, Whatever Happened to Miss Dawson?, was not random. It was simply the moment where something I had been feeling privately for a long time became impossible not to say out loud.

Because the truth is: Miss Dawson has been a role. A persona. A stage name. A version of me that served a purpose, and perhaps served it well. But a role is not the same thing as a soul.

My real name is not Rose. It is Eva.

Eva means life - the living one. No wonder it feels like a return.

So there you go. It’s Eva, actually.

Saying that publicly felt liberating, and that alone tells me it was the right thing to do.

In a few years’ time, I don’t think it will feel strange at all. Right now, perhaps it does. Transitions are awkward like that. They are rarely neat, rarely clean, and almost never as straightforward as people want them to be.

And that includes the practical side of all this too. I’m still not entirely sure what I’ll do with social media. It turns out changing the handle of a verified account is not exactly the smoothest process in the world, so time will tell. This won’t be some perfectly tidy rebrand where everything changes overnight and all the little boxes line up nicely.

Life is not a Canva template.

One thing I do want you to understand, though, is that if you see me “active” on Instagram or elsewhere, it may mean very little. I’ve been reusing content there for a long time. Social media, for me, is a tool. I do not consume it. I use it.

Substack and YouTube are where I want to be more fully from now on. Those are the places where I can actually think, speak, and create in a way that feels more aligned with where I’m going.

And where am I going?

Well… into what I’ve been calling the Eros Path.

Not because I’m trying to sound fancy, but because I needed a name for something I had already begun to discover and couldn’t ignore anymore.

The Eros Path is not a path you follow.

It is a path you make.

The simplest way I can explain it is this: it is the difference between waking up into a life you actually want to live and waking up with that familiar feeling of: “Oh no… this shit again. Let me scroll a bit, have a drink, distract myself, numb myself, postpone myself.”

The Eros Path is about aliveness. Alignment. Purpose. Energy that wants to move toward life instead of away from it.

And no, this doesn’t only apply to artists, mystics, or people with unusual lives.

I was speaking today with an old ex-boyfriend of mine, who is a musician and has made a living through music his whole adult life. At one point I found myself saying to him, “You are living the erotic life!”

And he immediately understood what I meant.

It is a Sunday. He was having his coffee, as I was having mine, and when we finished talking he told me he was heading to the studio to finish some work before taking his dog for a long walk later.

Sunday!

Now, if you’re in the herd mentality, Sunday is not a work day, right?

But if you are living an erotic life, Sunday is as good as Tuesday. Because the thing you call “work” is not a dead obligation you drag yourself toward. It is where your energy actually wants to go. It is part of the current of your life.

That, to me, is living erotically.

And just to be clear, I am not saying you need to be a musician, or some wild creative, or quit your job and run barefoot into the hills. You can have a regular 9-to-5, work as a plumber, work in an office, whatever - and still live erotically.

Because it is not only what you do.

It is how you do it.
How you feel in your life.
Whether your days are connected to you or merely endured by you.

That’s the conversation I’m interested in now.

Not fantasy for fantasy’s sake.

Life.

Real life.

And perhaps that is why this whole last week felt so important.

Stonehenge

I was in Stonehenge for the equinox, and it was magical. We got up at 3am, arrived around 5am, then walked in the dark toward the stones to watch the sunrise.

It felt powerful, ancient, symbolic - like standing inside a threshold. It was freaking 0 degrees Celsius too 😅

Astrologically, the sky right now is intense. There are transits happening that mark the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. I know astrology gets resistance. I know many intelligent people dismiss it. But I also know what I have seen, what I have felt, and the moments of recognition it can give people when they are willing to look.

And yes, many people have a reading, have their little aha moment, and then go straight back to their same life, bored as fuck, as if nothing happened.

That frustrates me sometimes.

Not because I want everyone to become an astrologer, but because it says so much about how hard it is for human beings to really change - even when they are shown something true about themselves.

The whole week in Avalon felt transformative to me. A rebirth, really.

And what came out of it was a kind of breakup.

Not with another person.

With myself.
Or rather, with a version of myself that had served its purpose and now feels strange, distant, and no longer fully mine.

That is what this moment is.

That is what this shift is.

And maybe the clearest way to say all of this is this:

Sometimes confusion is not a sign that you are lost. Sometimes it is what happens when an old identity is dying before the new one is fully formed.

That is where I am.

And maybe some of you are there too.

So no, I do not have a polished conclusion for you yet. I am still in it. Still feeling it. Still making the path by walking it.

But I do know this much:

There comes a point when the life that still “works” no longer feels alive. And when that moment comes, the bravest thing you can do is stop pretending you don’t feel it.

More to come soon.

Eva :)