I first encountered the word Tantra over twenty years ago.
At the time, I was drawn to everything Eastern: meditation, Buddhism, India.
I remember watching a documentary series that introduced these themes to the mainstream. When the topic of Tantra appeared with its emphasis on breath, energy, and slow, conscious connection something in me lit up.

Shortly after, a book found its way into my hands:
Tantra: A way of living and loving by Radha C. Luglio

It was a turning point.

Radha’s story swept me into the world of Osho and the deep spiritual path of Tantra. From that moment, I knew this was my path. But I buried it.

I hid my connection to Tantra for years. not because it didn’t resonate, but because I was afraid. Afraid of the stigma that Tantra is only about sexuality.
Afraid of being misunderstood, especially as someone who worked with touch.
Afraid of being seen as a provider of something I wasn’t offering.
Afraid, also, because I was a mother.
Afraid of being exposed, of being vulnerable.
Afraid of the very healing I was craving.

So I distanced myself from Tantra – even though I knew it was my truth.

About ten years ago, I finally allowed myself to attend a traditional Tantric ceremony.
I only said yes after making sure there was no nudity, no sexual touch.
It was a beautiful experience – two circles: an inner circle of women, surrounded by an outer circle of men. We simply looked into each other’s eyes.

It was powerful. Safe. Deep. Healing.
I left full of soft energy and quiet joy. For the first time, I realized: there is a version of Tantra that fits who I am.

A year later, I joined a therapist training program focused on breathwork. I didn’t know it would take me into such a deep emotional process or that sexuality would inevitably arise.

The course itself wasn’t about sexual healing. But when you go deep into the body, old stories rise. And mine did.

The theme of sexual healing hovered around me like a quiet thread, walking alongside my main journey. Not parallel, but woven in. I could feel the path waiting for me to say yes.

But I still wasn’t ready.
I stayed close, but not too close.
I was willing to observe, to feel, to name, to cry, but not to commit to healing. Not to bring this into my work. Not to go all the way in.

Besides that one ceremony, I stayed away from anything labeled “Tantra.”

Then, I read The Way of the Superior Man by David Deida.
That book opened my eyes.

I began to see the dance of masculine and feminine.
I started to recognize the unconscious patterns that shaped my sexuality.
And most painfully I realized how disconnected I was from my own body, my own pleasure.

It was confronting.
I started experimenting with slowing down, breathing more, being present.
Trying to undo years of conditioning, while not having a steady partner, was hard.

Frustration rose.
I felt unmet.
Unfulfilled.
Desperate for something I didn’t know how to name, but was sure existed.

One moment of light during that time was my connection to my inner man.
Through Deida’s writing, I realized I could re-educate him.
I made a vow: My inner man will no longer be forceful or unconscious. He will become loving, present, awake.

After that, I discovered the book that changed everything: Making Love: Sexual Love the Divine Way by Barry Long.

He described what I had been longing for all along. in the most simple, grounded, and poetic language:
A form of sex that is healing, sacred, and conscious.
A way of touching that restores the soul.
A kind of union I didn’t even know was possible.

Since reading that book, something in me shifted.

I hadn’t yet experienced it in full but I knew it was real.
I tried, with a few partners. It didn’t quite work. But I kept the faith.

Because now, I knew what I was searching for had a name:

Making Love.

To be continued…