A Return to My Body, My Worth, and God.
I never intentionally chose celibacy. There was no vow, no spiritual declaration, or sudden conviction. It simply, just sort of happened. And the longer I remained celibate, the stronger the signal became that I was exactly where I was meant to be. My body stopped letting me override her. My soul stopped allowing its own abandonment. And somewhere between the collapse of who I once was and the slow resurrection of who I was becoming, my entire relationship with intimacy, self-worth, and spiritual connection transformed. But to understand what these past four years have taught me, I have to start with the years before, the years I was gone.
The Years I Wasn’t in My Body.
By 2014, I didn’t realize it, but I had become completely dissociated. On the outside, I looked functional, alive and capable. But inside, I was a ghost.
I had lived a lifetime of repressed childhood trauma, layered with relational traumas that cracked me open in ways I didn’t yet have the language for. Growing up, I had spent years with low self-esteem, chasing boys who saw me as a body to use rather than a woman to cherish. Then came the young man I fell in love with, my younger self’s “dream guy.” And that’s where the worst wound opened.
His Jekyll-and-Hyde nature awakened a monster that his own wounds had created. But I didn’t leave. I stayed. I tolerated emotional and psychological violence. I begged for crumbs of love. I allowed myself to be treated like a punching bag, hoping each time he pulled the rug out that maybe, just maybe, he’d choose me tenderly next time.
It was in 2007, after his most violent outburst, that I knew if I didn’t leave that day, the next escalation would be physical. I walked out of his apartment as a shell of myself, up to the top floor of the parking garage, looked down at the concrete, and imagined my head hitting the ground. I pictured the splatter. The end. I felt absolutely worthless and disgusted with myself that I allowed someone to treat me the way he did. Something pulled me back from the edge that day, but a part of my soul didn’t return with me. I was 24 and at the lowest point of my life.
The Woman I Became to Survive
After that breakup, I entered the Miss California USA pageant, not because I wanted a crown, but because I needed something to rebuild the self-worth he had destroyed. I had no pageant experience, yet managed to place top 10. It was the first time I had done something entirely for me. And it changed me, briefly.
I began reinventing myself into the kind of woman I thought I needed to be to be loved. Classy. Ambitious. Hyper-independent. Never needing a man for anything. What started as a young woman clawing her way out of trauma slowly became a maladaptive coping strategy. I pushed away every man I loved. I sabotaged connection. I armored myself so thoroughly that intimacy became dangerous. Three times I fell in love with good guys, different in personality, but each with the heart I longed for. And every time, I couldn’t get out of my own way. I could have married any one of them, had I been whole.
The Surgery That Broke My Spirit
In 2014, I went in for breast implant surgery to “fix” scars from a childhood accident, scars I had always been ashamed of. I went under anesthesia twice for revisions. I now believe that being under like that, with my trauma history, triggered a deeper dissociation. I didn’t know it then. All I knew was that I woke up empty. I became stuck in a permanent flight response. Running from everything. Moving cities. Burying myself in work. Wearing masks. Pretending.
By 2017, I was no longer in my body at all. I lived in a new city with no community, isolated, performing a role at work that required constant self-abandonment. I wasn’t living, I was floating above my life.
Therapy, Awakening, and the Shock of Reentry
In 2018, I began trauma therapy. Slowly, we traced the lines back to where I lost myself. And then in 2020–2021, something happened; I came back into my body. Gradually, then violently. And when I returned, the first thing I felt was that my soul had been violated. Every intimate encounter I’d had between 2017–2020 had occurred while I was deeply dissociated. My body was there. My essence was gone. My soul had not consented. When I awakened, I screamed “rape.” My body remembered what my conscious mind was separated from. And since then, during PTSD episodes, that scream still rises, it’s the body remembering what happened when I wasn’t home.
This is the part no one talks about:
When your soul leaves your body, something else enters. In my case, I had entity attachments, energetic intrusions that came in through my womb during those years of disconnection. The last four years of celibacy have been, in many ways, an exorcism. A clearing. A reclaiming. A return home.
The Womb as the Portal of Resurrection
Celibacy has been the process of healing my womb, the place where trauma stored itself, where my essence fled, and where the intrusions entered. Sexual energy is healing energy. It is life-force. It is God-force. But when your sexual energy is wounded or leaking, you live in fragmentation.These past four years have been the deepest womb healing of my lifetime. As I cleared the attachments, the trauma, the abandonment, the self-betrayal, something miraculous happened...
I became me again. More me than I’ve ever been. More radiant. More alive. More connected. Clear. Vibrant. Whole.
What Celibacy Taught Me About Self-Worth
Celibacy taught me that:
- Sex is the last thing that should enter a connection, not the first.
- If you remove sex from a “relationship” and there’s nothing left, it wasn’t love. It was attachment.
- My worth is not determined by my desirability, my beauty, or my ability to please.
- My body is sacred.
- My womb is a temple.
- And intimacy without presence is spiritual violence against oneself.
People ask me why I’m still celibate. The truth?
Because once your sexual energy becomes a pure flow again, you become powerful. Your heart expands. Your intuition sharpens. Your life-force becomes a wellspring. You open to a reality that didn’t exist when you were fragmented. Celibacy is not the absence of sex. It is the process of coming back into wholeness.
The Return to God
Celibacy brought me back to God, to Source. To the truth of who I am beneath the trauma, the masks, the coping strategies, the men, the wounds, the implants, the filler, the Botox...yes, even that.
There was a period where it felt like something had hijacked my body, obsessing over my face, trying to erase myself, fill myself, numb myself. That was not me. That was the dark spirits that entered when my soul left. What you see in me today is not performance, it is survival, resurrection, a spiritual reclamation. Celibacy was my way back to my soul.
Four Years Later
Today, approaching four years of celibacy in a few days, I can say... I have never been more whole. I have never been more embodied. More sovereign. More aligned with God.More in possession of my energy. More at peace with my past. More ready for a love that will meet me as I am now; A woman who knows her worth, her power, her truth.
Celibacy didn’t deprive me. It returned me to myself. And that has been the greatest gift of my life. I'm sharing this with you because celibacy is often looked at as weird, especially as a grown adult. "Why would someone choose that?" - Most people ask. What a lot of people fail to realize is that our womb is a portal directly connecting you to God, to the infinite, and to an abundance of love. It is where we hold our power. If you've been considering celibacy, it means spirit is calling you. It's not what you lose, it's what you gain.
Always with love,
Saddaf