What Shame Stole From Me

They say the body never lies, but mine learned to stay silent by age six.
Not because it had nothing to say—but because every time it spoke, it was punished.

As an adult, I thought there was something wrong with me. I wanted pleasure. I craved intimacy. But every time I got close to it—truly close—my body would short-circuit.

It didn’t matter how loving the partner was, how sexy the moment, or how badly I wanted to feel.

Somewhere deep inside, a circuit breaker would flip.

I would numb. Shut down. Drift.

And it wasn’t until an erotic weekend in Big Bear—years into what looked like a sexually liberated life and marriage—that I finally understood what shame had done to me…

We had just arrived at the cabin, my husband and I, along with a group of sexy, open-hearted friends. It was supposed to be a weekend of play and permission.

And it was.

But something happened when one of the men in the group—someone I had flirted with now-grown into someone I trusted—led me to the downstairs bedroom.

I had said yes. I wanted it.

But as we began to play, my body clenched.

Not because I didn’t desire him. Or because I wasn’t safe.
But because I didn’t know how to let myself have it.

And I don’t mean the sex. I mean the pleasure. The wanting. The receiving.

My body didn’t think it was allowed.

When I was five years old, I was molested by my babysitter’s husband. When I was six, the abuse became more confusing—this time, by my oldest brother.

And the thing no one tells you about childhood sexual abuse is that sometimes your body responds.
Sometimes, the touch feels good.
Sometimes, arousal happens because that’s what bodies do.

And when it does—when your young body floods with sensation and you don’t yet understand what it means—your mind scrambles to make sense of it. Especially when you’re being warned to keep it all a secret.

I was conditioned to believe that my pleasure was dangerous. That arousal was something to feel shame about.

And so I built a life around the suppression of desire. Around managing other people’s emotions. Around being the good girl. The safe one. The one who never wanted too much.

I shrank from my own longings before anyone else could shame me for them.

This wiring showed up everywhere:

• I’d rehearse my texts before sending them, trying to sound easygoing instead of wanting.

• I’d downplay how excited I was about an opportunity, afraid of being seen as arrogant.

• I’d delay celebrating something I was proud of, just in case it made someone else uncomfortable.

• I’d soften my laughter, shrink my outfit choice, and hold my breath in rooms that didn’t feel safe for my bigness.

Until Big Bear.

Until that moment, in that bedroom, where someone with no agenda except to delight in my pleasure whispered in my ear:

"Whatever it is you’re holding onto… you can let it go."

And something cracked.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, not because I was afraid, but because I felt seen.

Because for the first time in my life, I realized:
It wasn’t the abuse that broke me.
It was the shame.

Shame taught me to fear my own desire. It taught me to disconnect from the very energy that makes life worth living, and to regulate my joy.

This is what shame steals: Not just the act of pleasure… but the belief that pleasure can be safe.

And reclaiming that? That is the journey of erotic sovereignty. Of remembering that you were never broken.

Your body has always known the truth.

And the moment you’re ready to listen—it will siiiiing.

That moment in Big Bear marked the beginning of everything I now teach. Because once I understood what shame had done to me, I began the work of unwinding it. Of retraining my nervous system. Of reclaiming pleasure as something reverent.

And that journey—guided by sensation, devotion, and spiritual truth—is what led me to spiritual mastery through pleasure.

It forged the foundation of the Life Turned On platform.

A living path. A lived example. A pathway back to power, presence, and the deepest sovereignty I’ve ever known.

When your desire is no longer regulated by fear…
Pleasure gives everything back.

And life begins to bend.

In shameless sovereignty,
-Sharon

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