I have been going back and forth with this article for weeks, since I came home from that infamous trip to Positano, and then I read this in Blithe Saxon’s most recent article, Boyfriends Are Embarrassing. Lovers Are Chic, where her friend described situationships as “a lack of information mixed with ego and fear of abandonment,” while a lover allows you to “explore, try, be more open, without the fear of it ending.”

A situationship is about the other person. A lover is truly about yourself.

I thought, f*ck yeah. That’s where this is going.

When I began writing this Lover Girl series, I thought I was writing about Relationship Anarchy, but 3 parts in, after one of the most extraordinary, topsy-turvy, testing and oh so magical summers of connection so far, I realise I have actually been writing about something far more intrinsic to the larger philosophy of my life: belonging to oneself.

And how connection, when I am deeply rooted in that belonging, becomes this glorious playground where I get to experience so many versions of that self, nuances and layers and parts of me I could never access alone because they require the mirror, desire, friction, safety, intimacy and presence of another human being to pull them out of me.

People hear “Relationship Anarchy” or “multiple lovers” and assume I’m a raging whore having empty sex with whoever I want, which always makes me laugh because physical intimacy is only a small percentage of what my connections have ever been. The men in my life are some of my biggest supporters and celebrators; many remain deeply important to me when the romantic or sexual part of our relationship changes form, and some are only meant to be in my life for a season. These connections are genuine. They have depth.

So when people repeatedly ask me how many lovers I actually have, or what the hell I am searching for if I’m not dating to find a husband, a long-term partner, somebody whose parents I need to meet or a forever person, I think I finally understand why the question has always been so difficult for me to answer.

I want the freedom to live my life exactly as I want to live it. I want to spread out across my bed in my gorgeous little studio I created with my bare hands and my own coin, and I don’t want a man in my space. Ever.

I WANT TO EXPERIENCE MYSELF.

I am learning what opens me, what deepens me, what excites me, what nourishes me, what makes me feel wildly alive, and what allows me to soften enough to surrender. I am learning what I can no longer tolerate and what I never even knew I wanted until another human being gave me the experience of it, and with every connection I get closer and closer to understanding the kind of love, intimacy, freedom, and partnership that actually fits the woman I am becoming.

Perhaps this is why duration has become such a strange measurement of the importance of a relationship to me. One man can give me 5 years of intimacy, history, and a language of loving each other that belongs entirely to us, while 2 men can give me 2 days in Positano that change me on a cellular level, and another person might barely make it through a few messages before showing me that a dynamic I once found SO EXCITING BECAUSE TRAUUUUMA BONDING now makes my pussy shrivel up like the Sahara.

They are all information. They are all mirrors. And each time I walk away knowing myself a little more intimately than I did before.

What I want and crave in a lover changes because I change. I am not the same woman I was 3 months ago, and I can honour the depth of something I shared with another human while recognising that we are no longer aligned in the ways I need today. Deep love and incompatibility can coexist, and someone can change you on a cellular level while eventually belonging in a completely different place in your life, without needing a victim, a villain, or a reason to make the beauty of what happened mean it must continue forever in the same form.

And when someone leaves, or our connection changes, or the thing that once felt completely aligned no longer does, whatever part of myself I discovered in their presence doesn’t disappear with them.

The man doesn’t take that Katie with him when things end. She belongs to me.

I used to project entire futures onto men who had barely earned a recurring role in my life, wanting to know what something was, where it was going, what I meant to him, what he meant to me and whether this delicious little connection was going to become THE BIG THING, because the man was still far too often the protagonist and I was experiencing myself through whatever was reflected back at me through him.

Now I belong to myself, and from that place I have become far more fascinated by who I am in the presence of another person.

MY MENTY B

Which brings me to the scary burnout that knocked me sideways a few weeks ago, after months of pouring myself into my upcoming book BECOMING, finishing 90 days of intense subconscious work with a cohort of soulmate clients in ym WO’MENTORSHIP, travelling, lovergirl-ing, writing, upgrading and evolving and finally gifting myself something I have wanted for YEARS: paying myself a generous wage so I could take on only 2 clients this month and write my book full-time. I woke up one morning essentially inside this dream life I had worked so hard to create, and my body said I NEED A BREAK!

Once I started crying, I cried for 5 fucking days.

And for once, I let other people hold me when I truly had nothing left to give. One ex took me for a fancy Michelin dinner to give me an excuse to put on a beautiful dress and leave my brain at home; he also grew me mushrooms so I could start microdosing and bring my subconscious back to equilibrium.

While another ex had spent a month growing sunflowers from seed for my terrace because they are my favourite flower, he also hired a car and drove me for hours to watch an eclipse that hadn’t happened in 100 years in Spain because there was no other person in the world I would have wanted beside me.

A platonic male friend organised me a room in a 5-star hotel so I could escape the chaos of my neighbour’s child for 1 night, my best friend sat on the phone with me for 2 hours while I unloaded every petty little thought in my brain, and I paid my hypnotherapist to hold a space that was completely and utterly FOR ME, because ugh, something about transactions and clear containers makes me exhale. I learnt how to ADVOCATE for myself, and ask for what I need. Which also resulted in me getting a penthouse upgrade from the manager when the room they gave me was dirty. The old Katie would never have said anything.

For 24 hours I sat in that penthouse bath and I disappeared from anyone needing me, (even Cindy Clawper!), climbed into ridiculous thread-count sheets and read Paris Hangover for probably the 20th time, a book I originally found in a discount bin when I worked in a costume store in Sydney and which eventually inspired me to sell my life and move to Spain, until I could finally feel myself coming back online.

When I came home, I sat down to write about my infamous Positano Love Triangle and laughed because exactly 4 weeks earlier, on the same day of my luteal phase, I had woken up in my little home in the mountains of Amalfi with that same melancholy humming underneath my skin, restless after coffee and wine at precisely the point in my cycle when I should fucking know better, deeply craving human connection while simultaneously telling myself that I had come to Amalfi to write my book and therefore I should stay home and WRITE MY FUCKING BOOK.

Then this little voice popped into my head and said, “Katie, these are the days that will become the most important chapters of your book and your series. Get out there and fucking live.”

So I did. I put on my best dress and lip gloss and took myself down to the ferry to Positano, and I had no idea just 7 hours later, I would get back on that same ferry a different woman, and even writing that now still brings tears to my eyes.

So here it is, my dear paid subscribers (click here to get a VERY special discount!), this story is being commissioned by one of my favourite magazines, but I wanted to share it deeply and intimately here unedited: in its rawest, messiest form!

The Positano Love Triangle

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How are we all feeling after that Mercury retrograde? Even those of you who don’t believe in planets spinning around in reverse cowgirl, seemed to feel whatever the hell that was over the last few weeks.

I’m writing this sitting on the other side of Santorini, Amalfi, and Berlin, and well, fuck, I’m not quite the same woman who boarded that first flight at the beginning of this cosmic uplevel.

Between exes reappearing in my life simply to mirror how much I’ve grown, getting caught in a Positano love triangle with 2 best friends who changed me on a cellular level (only for 1 of my favourite sex-positive magazines to commission the story!!!) travelling across Italy from Amalfi to Tuscany and, most importantly, witnessing myself move through old situations as this new version of myself, I feel like I’ve spent the last month living inside one giant identity experiment. (Funny how that happens when you’re writing a book on identity)

There is a permanent confidence that follows me now that I don’t think could have arrived any other way. It has come from the deep rewiring, the identity shifts, being who I said I would be and doing what I said I would do, until slowly, I became the woman I’d been trying to become all along. The quiet magic of the second half of your 30s. When you finally stop caring so much about what everyone else thinks, and become deeply invested in what you think of yourself.

You’ll see quite a few of my previous Substacks linked throughout this article because this journey didn’t happen overnight. It’s been one hell of a journey BECOMING Katie Valentine, and I have spent the last 3 years creating an entire space of subconscious practices, identity work, and rituals that helped me become the woman writing this blog today.

Case of the Ex

The morning of the first day of Mercury retrograde, I opened my front door to an unexpected package and a $350 DHL bill from my ex.

Inside was my grandmother’s ring, the one I had accidentally left on his bedside table on that final night together when I cried into his chest before flying back to my life in Barcelona because something deep within me already knew I would never see him again. The relationship had become too energetically taxing. I could no longer shrink myself for his ego, and my body was starting to respond through acne, UTI’s and loss of my creative power.

When I opened the parcel and saw the necklace I had designed for him sitting beside my grandmother’s ring, I fell to the ground in shock.

It felt so vile, so harsh, just SO C*NTY, and my mind immediately went to that place it always does; ‘He’s been reading my Substack’

That’s the bittersweet thing about growing this little corner of the internet. It has become the community I always DREAMED OF, to be able to grow this space 4 times its size since January and find my spiritual misfits, yet I also know so many of my exes, people from my DJ life, ex friends, and people I’ve crossed paths with quietly come here to read. Some men have ghosted me after finding this space. Some have voyeured me for years.

I’d spent weeks running around Bali designing that necklace for him, infusing it with his purpose in Human Design, ‘The Cross of the Phoenix’, because I wanted it to remind him who the fuck he was every time life asked him to burn everything to the ground and rebuild. I’d taken a photo of one of his favourite rings and somehow managed to rope ChatGPT and 2 jewellers into an absolute rat race creating it in time for Valentine’s Day and finding me 2 replicas of that stone. One would become the centrepiece of his necklace, the other would sit on my altar so that, wherever we were in the world, we’d be connected. It felt romantic and symbolic. It felt exactly like the way I loved. Holding it in my hands again felt like a huge slap in the face.

Sitting there on my kitchen floor, I realised he had never been able to hold the love I had to give. This precious little omen that I’d spent weeks creating, pouring so much thought, love and care into, hwas in the wrong hands.

It had always belonged to me.

I sat him on my altar and did Ho’oponopono. (An ancient Hawaiian ritual used to cultivate freedom, healing, and forgiveness. ‘Thank you, I love you, Please forgive me. I forgive you)

I forgave him for whatever I may have awakened in him, and for whatever he was carrying long before I arrived. I thanked him for everything he had awakened in me, for the uplevel I endured through loving him, for what he had ignited in the beginning of our connection, and I replayed every beautiful moment we had shared because, in the end, it was everything I'd wanted from my Bali chapter.

Then I gathered every Rumi poem he’d sent me and the rose petals I’d saved from all those weekly deliveries, placed them into a bowl on my terrace, set them on fire, watched them burn, felt it, cried it, djumped into my Nervous System Reset meditation, came back into my body, and let him go. And then, I felt nothing.

A few weeks previous, I was running underneath the Brooklyn Bridge on a babygirl trip to see H and the Reverend when one of my closest girlfriends sent me a voice note as I was still digesting that the man I once loved had morphed into someone I did not recognise.

“How do you never become jaded when things don’t work out with men?”

I realised I’d been living the answer for years. I’d just never tried to explain it.

In my anxious attachment days, I had once made men the protagonists. Each connection became the beginning of a future, and each ending threatened the entire story. For years, I had moulded and shaped myself to cater to a man I had just met, and made him more important than the most important gal in the world, myself.

Now I’m the main fucking character of my life; the script writer, the protagonist, the casting director and the star of Summer of Katie, and although the last few weeks have not been without discomfort, endings, and more plot twists than I would have ordered for myself, I am having the time of my life!

As a relationship anarchist, connection has always been my playground for growth. Every man feels like an initiation into another version of myself. A motherfucking pokeball.

Every relationship has revealed a treasure within myself, or mirrored back to me where there is more work to be done. And for that, I am always grateful.

source: my bible The short instructional manifesto for relationship anarchy

I stopped measuring relationships by how long they lasted and started paying attention to what they awakened in me, what they asked me to release, which version of myself walked away when they ended, and whether I’d quietly left that man better for the next woman, even if he would never acknowledge it.

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I’ve decided to keep the membership 50% off for one more month because with all that’s happened as of late, I’m feeling particularly generous. 😉

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“Do you ever fear it's a sin?” I ask my Reverend over mimosas at a famous Tavern after a morning of dancing in our underwear to 50 cent’s ‘get rich or die tryin’ while drinking champagne and watching all the men going to work in a scurry from our penthouse suite on Wall St. “To live this deeply inside pleasure? To follow your desires. To have a life that looks so unconventional from the outside, while waking up every morning completely devoted to work that genuinely serves other people?”

“When it comes to sinning I believe the ‘why’ is infinitely more important than ‘the what’.

Katie, I spend my life with men who thought they were doing the ‘righteous’ thing. They married because they thought they should. They built the life everyone applauded, and now they sit across from me, grieving the life they never let themselves live. What is more of a sin? Swear words, debauchery or a lifetime of performance for a marriage and children you are not sure you even wanted?"

Performance VS TRUTH

Life away from the internet has been very full and wacky and wonderful and ridiculous, and oh how many times have I burst out laughing at myself in the mirror, scribbled what the fuck across the top of my journal on a flight to another adventure, smack bang in the middle of the Summer of Katie and freedom I have been yearning for for 5 years.

I’ve run around the secret speakeasies of New York, danced in my underwear to Get Rich or Die Tryin’ while drinking champagne for breakfast with my Reverend overlooking the hustle and bustle of Wall Street. I’ve been Lady Luck at the craps tables in Vegas, screamed every word of Don’t Speak at the No Doubt concert inside The Sphere, flown over the Grand Canyon by helicopter celebrating 5 years of growth, debauchery and my OG unconventional lover H.

I’ve taken myself on a date to Santorini and hiked across the island at 5 a.m. in the wind. I’ve spent hours staying up far too late talking, dancing, and cum crying in the arms of my Italian. I got stranded in Amsterdam after a cancelled flight and somehow turned it into a luxurious side quest funded by the airline. Then I disappeared into a music festival in the middle of a forest, snort-laughing in ridiculous costumes with strangers and the wonderfully strange humans I somehow get to call my friends.

The festival was run by my ex-lover and first-ever Dom from 10 years ago, back when I sold my life and moved to Spain. He came running towards me on the dance floor, grabbed me by the shoulders, and said, “I have never seen you so happy. So beautiful. So yourself.”

For he has met every version of me.

The insecure one.

The fragmented one.

And now this coherent one.

I also got to do the work that makes my soul feel like it’s on fire. I held sessions for women overcoming addictions, starting businesses, stepping back into dating with entirely new standards, and changing from the root so deeply they became someone new without betraying who they already were.

I fulfilled a lifelong dream of helping a woman who came to me in shambles on December 27, completely turn her life around AND recover from an eating disorder.

After our final call, I fell to my knees and ugly cried.

This is what I do. This is what I love. This is what I live for.

And yet, somewhere amongst all of that beauty, I have also felt lonely. Judged. Misunderstood. I have lost followers for living out loud. I have spent countless hours in transit, been inflamed from too much coffee and American food, and caught myself holding back beautiful parts of my life because I was scared they might make someone else feel smaller.

What has kept me afloat is the work inside THE PORTAL.

Every time I wanted to shrink, every time my nervous system fried, every time I felt myself wobble, I came back here and found myself again.

And now I feel oh so fucking ready to bare it all.

NEW YORK

My jet lag, after an intense week of holding space for all the different spectrums of women inside my world before jumping on a flight to New York, had me waking at 5am. My precious Reverend woke with me and, before either of us were fully awake, we slipped straight into the deep conversations I live for.

“What is more of a sin? Swear words, debauchery or a lifetime of performance for a marriage and children you are not sure you even wanted?”

As usual I run to the bathroom to write it down before we embark on our next quest. My Reverend has designed a very special trip for me, wanting me to visit all the monuments I will see in movies for the rest of my life and remember this trip.

He gifts me an “I ❤️ NY” kangaroo he'd stayed up until 1 a.m. bidding on eBay for a few weeks before our trip.

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THE PORTAL is my private sanctuary for women who are done white-kn…

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“I want you to live the magic life you created and be happy. You’re the most incredible, cheeky, magical, alive woman I’ve ever met. I want you to feel expansive and creative. But your body is speaking to you. I know you love me. But you’re not happy. I want babies. You want Europe.”

I came to Rome after watching Roman Holiday on my flight home to Barcelona from Bali. I jumped on my usual 6 am flight for 36 hours in the eternal city, to get lost, to be anonymous, to let Rome reignite me with the truth I can only ever seem to hear properly when I am walking alone through beauty with no one to answer to.

The moment I landed, I slipped right back into my magnetism. An Italian George Clooney chased me with his number written on a receipt within minutes, and I burst out laughing. I’m back in my magic.

The moment my feet hit the cobblestone streets of the magical city that had carried so many versions of me these last years, the truth slapped me in the face. And I knew I needed to make that phone call.

And he knew it too. He had sent me flowers the day before, acknowledging my silence and making me feel deeply seen through a Rumi poem.

Because a self-possessed woman who has gone within and filled herself UP with her own life loves in a way that feels deeper, intentional, and far more powerful.

She does not give herself away in petty reactions. She gathers herself back into her own energy, into the wisdom of her inner knowing, and only then does she respond.

Her silence is not a performance. It is sacred protection.

But it was time to face the inevitable we both knew existed since the moment we met.

The mundanities of long distance had been eating away at my relationship, but so had the propulsive impermanence that had always existed inside the connection since that magical first date all those moons ago.

Phone communication, in my world, is for organising flights, the details of the next date, tiny check-ins here and there. I do not need a daily report of what you ate for breakfast or what you did between meetings (ugh, it makes my pussy crawl back inside of itself). I am a woman in her own full life.

But when I am sitting in front of you, dressed up for dinner, my phone on airplane mode in my handbag, in our own little portal of a world, I want to know everything. Every tiny f*cking thing. Every thought that flickered through you. Every place your mind went. Every feeling that moved through your body when I was not there.

The strain and mundanity were killing the magic, and it started to show up in my body.

Because who a woman chooses to date is the MOST EXPENSIVE decision she will ever make.

Long distance had taken something that once felt emotionally rich and made it emotionally thin. Lord help the man who dates an artist, because her creativity and sexuality are directly connected to how she feels in her relationship, and I could feel myself becoming disconnected from my feminine, from my insatiable sexual appetite, from my art, from the part of me that turns life into devotion.

My digestion was off. My body was screaming. Everything in me knew it was time for transition, time to call our relationship by a different name.

Because with me, it is never really a breakup. It is simply a change of title, a new shape for a connection that still mattered, still changed me, still deserves somewhere beautiful to live in my life.

Most of my exes stay in my life. In fact, I went hiking across Spain with my ex Venetian loverboy last Monday, and my ex Dom is taking me out this Sunday for a platonic Michelin dinner. Our new monthly tradition. And he was the one who consoled me on the day of my breakup. I had been through an almost identical situation with him.

“I just spent 30 minutes straight talking about you at lunch. How does one explain the enigma of Katie Valentine!?” he wrote to me today as I sat to write this blog curled up in my favourite writing chair in front of the Cathedral.

How frustratingly difficult it is to love a visionary woman who doesn’t want marriage or children. Who dates for evolution. To leave the man in front of me better for the next woman. And to evolve and expand and love and grow and melt into connection.

I also have to honour the woman out there who is searching for exactly what V wants to provide. As for so many of my ex-lovers, V is the absolute dream for another woman. How could I possibly deprive another woman of that for my own pleasure?

Because the truth of it all is his life is in Bali. He wants a wife and three kids (two little boys to be best friends and a little girl for them to protect), and he even has a space down the side of his ribs for their names. I could never take that experience from him. He is also still building his empire, which I deeply believe in and spoke life into every day, but that becomes taxing on a woman. I deeply desire a man who just is.

And me? My life is in Europe. I run a business that sets my soul on fire, and that business is my sugar daddy to travel the world. I love coming home to an empty apartment exactly how I left it, spreading across my bed like a lioness each morning. I don’t have a maternal bone in my body. Cindy Clawper is my furry daughter, and men are my art. My playground. My evolution.

My hobby and greatest joy is getting lost in a portal, dressed to the nines in a dimly lit restaurant with a magical genius man who devours my mind and makes my life better simply by existing inside it before he ever enters my body.

In a world that teaches you to settle and go against your intuition for something good on paper, you have to be ruthless with what you know you want in the DEEPEST PARTS OF YOU, and you have to say no to anything that is not that.

I walked the city for 2 hours with his voice in my headphones as we moved through the same loops I have heard so many times before as a woman who does not want marriage or children, a woman who evolves through relationships, a woman who has learned over and over again that choosing herself and the life she created will always be the devotion underneath everything.

How difficult it is, once again, to end a relationship that isn’t wrong per se. No one hurt anyone. No one did anything wrong. In a newsfeed full of women singing “where the hell is my husband,” the engagement rings, the babies, the marriage, the life society tells you you should want, let me tell you, it is fucking terrifying to walk away from a man who truly wants all of those things.

At 36 years old, I am ‘expired’ as someone from my hometown (Gold Coast, Australia, where beauty is currency) so gracefully told me in my comments section.

But as a woman living by European standards? Ha. My life is just getting started.

“I love you with all my heart,” I cry as I move through the crowds at Trevi Fountain. And I realise how much I mean it. But I love me more.

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This is a BIG ONE TODAY; I feel it is such an expansive part of my journey, and I want to share every moment of my becoming with you. Your undivided attention, your likes, your comments, your love. It means EVERYTHING to me (it took me so f*cking long to write all this, I’ve been circling my laptop for weeks. Pressing publish is what I imagine heroine to feel like.)

Highly suggest booking your own creative retreat on your own terms, locking in on yourself and your vision, and doing a fun self-timer shoot in the process! I was feeling completely bloated and full of pimples on the final day of my 4-part quest around Bali, but I got up at 5am and took these photos for my 90-year-old ‘tit sagging. to her ankles’ self who will be SO PROUD OF ME. Everything I do, I do for her!

Stepping back into my life in Barcelona since my time in Bali has been like shapeshifting, because I am standing in the same life as 5 months ago, but I am no longer meeting it as the same woman.

When a woman goes on the voyage within to become regulated, turned on by her own life, and deeply anchored in who she is, her ENTIRE FIELD around her shifts. The clients and abundance. The masculine men. The opportunities that she missed when she was overfunctioning. The speed at which they become available to her. The quality of what she will and will no longer entertain

My connection to my home feels more sacred, my relationships have deepened, and even the things that used to SEND ME INTO A FRENZY: the screeching sound of my neighbour’s child at all hours, the old mothering dynamic I got tangled in with my ex, the way I was living inside a beautiful life but still felt disconnected from myself, from my body, from pleasure, from my purpose: all of it has softened, sorted, reorganised itself around the woman who came back.

I went to Bali to write an ebook on everything I know about healing and film my new dating program, Devotion. I went there to LOCK IN with goals in sight, to come back with something tangible in my hands. Instead, I plummeted into the depths of myself, stepped into a relationship that was one of my biggest mirrors and teachers, extended my visa 3 times, and gifted myself more time for repair, integration, replenishment, and a deep restoration of self.

If I had begun that book from the dysregulated self I was before Bali, I would have written the wrong book and wasted months! I would have been writing from the middle of an identity shift, forcing something into form before I had integrated it on a cellular level.

Bali stripped me back to myself. It pulled me out of urgency, out of performance, out of that old lingering identity that still believed I had to grip life by the throat if I wanted something big and beautiful to come through.

I FELT BETWEEN WORLDS; ONE FOOT IN THE OLD; STILL NOT QUITE IN THE NEW

The medicine was daily devotion, the private kind that nobody claps for, showing up for a version of self before you can fully feel her.

Those 4 months became a holy space in which I built the muscle of my future self: strong but with a soft spine. Where scattered energy gathered itself into embodied POWER, where mothering and giving too much softened into receiving devotion more cleanly.

Somewhere inside the stillness, the slow mornings, the loneliness, the rituals, the bodywork, the waking up at 3 am for calls with my coach and my hypnotherapist, walking the rice fields, and the days that looked uneventful from the outside but were rearranging me from the inside out… I slowly but surely became her.

I became a woman who is rested enough to hear herself, regulated enough to stay with herself, and coherent enough that everything she wants in this life now feels inevitable without pushing, because it is no longer coming from urgency or fantasy, but from TRUTH.

The woman I now prance the streets of Barcelona as now feels like someone I have been meeting in the dark for months, someone I was building in private, someone whose arrival was not loud but unmistakable.

My friends can feel it. My clients can feel it. My lovers can feel it. Hell, even my favourite waiter felt it!

That was the real offering of Bali: Deep Restoration. Something sacred, not many women gift themselves in this high-functioning, unregulated world.

There comes a point where you realise the life you DESIRE is going to ask something much more private of you than ‘ambition, performance, or force’ ever could. It asks for the version of you who can HOLD the life you say you desire.

It asks for a nervous system that can STAY when life gets good, because so much of the work is not in ‘manifesting’, it is in becoming the woman who does not flinch when it arrives.

And somewhere inside all of this, I got to truly live out and EMBODY my next program DEVOTION, instead of simply ‘create it’. Because there is the work we do single and then there is the moment life brings you face to face with the kind of masculine man and relationship that asks you to actually EMBODY everything you say you want to teach.

And now I am back in my writing chair in Barcelona, I am salivating at the mouth to RELIVE IT ALL! And whilst I am DYING to share EVERYTHING and all the lessons from my connection start to finish, today I want to begin with the end.

Because, as my time in Bali came to a close, I booked my very own 4-part quest around the island: Jungle. Mountains. Sea. Ricefields. Each part of this magical portal of an island seduced and mirrored and TRIGGERED something different in me.

It dragged me face to face with the old wound that still makes me want to run the moment love starts to feel real, the moment intimacy asks me to stay, the moment life begins asking more of me than performing, pleasing, or keeping one foot out the door.

Ready?

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Almost every single one of my monthly members upgraded to a yearly subscription during my annual sale! That means EVERYTHING to me, because this has NEVER just been…

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This idea moved through me this morning after a week of deep transformation in my own world, in the world of my clients, and in the women who are standing right on the edge of saying yes to themselves.

I felt it come in while I was running through the rice fields and I just knew I had to come home and create it for you.

I woke up at 3am this morning to meet with my coach on the other side of the world, and afterwards I went for that run, came home, got dressed up, and decided to take myself to my favourite beach club, sitting here now giggling to myself because the first time I walked through here I remember thinking… wow, imagine living here, imagine waking up to this every day, and now I live next door.

(For portal memebrs only)

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If you have been feeling EXHAUSTED these last days, or just plain “fuck this”. My goodness, this is for you. Let mumma give you a big ass permission slip TO REST. TO RECEIVE. And how to harness this powerful energy.

I absolutely loved embodying my slutty Cupid fairy godmother energy over Valentine’s Day weekend.

Quietly sliding into inboxes, gifting free subscriptions to women who have been circling this space and finally letting them taste the work my 1:1 clients lean on to become their most magnetic, wealthy f*ck yes version of selves. There is something deeply satisfying about creating from your own darkness, building a body of work while chasing your dream life, then turning around and lighting the path for other women to build theirs beside you. After listening to my Princess Treatment Subliminal all last week, let’s just say I had one of the most magical Katie Valentine’s Day’s and wanted to return the favour!

First of all, if you are reading this, my corner of the internet means EVERYTHING TO ME. It holds my truth, my evolution, my becoming in real time, unfiltered and alive. I have felt exposed on the internet since I was 15 years old, offering pieces of myself to rooms that were never built to hold them. Creating an intimate, paid corner of the internet was a reclamation, because the haters love to come and gorge here, but they’ll rarely pay 12€ to go deeper. A decision to bare all without contorting myself so that it would land in the right hands. The gals who GET IT! Because I must write. I must share. It is a part of my DNA. I must alchemise in real time, or I start to feel unwell inside my own skin.

One of my biggest frustrations as of late has been “F*ck, should I have built The Portal on another membership platform and kept my writing separate?” But then I had a huge creative ephiphany during my “Clearing Blocks Hypnosis.” (a 10-minute meditation for release and clarity that connects me with my inner knowing and saves me HOURS of doom trying to figure it out logically)

Here on Substack, I get to live my dream of being paid to write my heart out in my unapologetically slutty blog ‘My Unconventional Life’, AND I get to create for The Portal, this living library of the exact tools that guide me, hold me, and expand me so I can sustain this life. The writing is the transmission. The tools are the EMBODIMENT. The women inside this space understand that. This is why they stay. They are not passive consumers. They become it on a cellular level.

AND I JUST FUCKING LOVE that my Mondays are dedicated to sitting here by the ocean with a coconut and pouring my heart out to you and whatever lights me up. What a dream!

Back in 2018, my writing was rejected7 times by Elephant Journal. The 8th time I submitted, my poem went viral. As a female DJ, I COMPLETELY SPIRALLED over how vulnerable it was to be seen like that. I even emailed them asking if we could take it down. Instead, the opposite happened. The music industry applauded me, even people I once thought hated me.

I ended up winning an award and getting paid $300 for it. It was the first time I had ever been paid for my writing. NOW I MAKE MY RENT ON MY STUDIO IN BARCELONA ON SUBSTACKALONE!!! WHAT?!

ON FREEDOM AND A LIFE ON YOUR OWN TERMS:

Yesterday, I also decided to extend my stay here in Bali even longer, creating a little personal tour of 14 days solo travelling around Bali to sacred little places I have never been, staying in gorgeous jungle and beachside villas and hotels and bringing my new Ebook (a transformational memoir on Feminine Identity) to fruition. OFFFFT I feel so so lucky to have that freedom! That my business supports me like a lover and pays me like a sugardaddy.

This last year of the snake has been brutal for so many of us. I have written about it again and again, this feeling of one loooooong shedding. One foot in the old world, one foot in the new. Bursts of creativity where I am electric at my laptop, followed by afternoons crying on my sofa watching Real Housewives because my body simply cannot pushout another sentence. The fire to pour my heart out, paired with the knowing that nothing of integrity is born from depletion. So I let myself rest. I let myself be human inside the becoming. I bow down to the fact that this little unpredictable cyclical WOMAN created a life where I can get back into my nightie at 1 pm and call it a day. Or do a 3-hour morning routine and work at the beach all afternoon, and drink coconuts.

I am currently waking in the middle of the night to work with my coach across the world as I build my next body of work. I am also working with a hypnotherapist, installing the identity of the woman I am stepping into. My coach, who has given birth, told me that carrying a business through an identity shift like I am FEELS like labor. Stretching in places you did not know existed. It sucks. It is not glamorous. It is pure DEVOTION.

6 months from now, the woman I am becoming will be grateful for the standards I am holding and the moves I am making in the dark. I can feel her already.

Tomorrow, February 17, we FINALLY step into a NEW ERA. CAN YOU FEEL THE EXHALE, MY DARLINGS? WE MADE IT.

As ambitious women in a fast world, it is so easy to reach a milestone and immediately start chasing “the next thing” rather than REVELLING in what we once dreamed of.

On Saturday morning, sitting in the sauna with my 5-minute manifestation meditation in my ears, the rice fields spilling out in front of me, I burst into tears. I realized how obsessed I am with every tiny little detail of my current life. WHAT A SLUT I AM FOR THE LIFE I HAVE RIGHT NOW THAT WAS EVERYTHING I PRAYED FOR!!! I cried for my freshly clean home with crisp sheets from my cleaner & my laundry folded and ironed on my bed (what a gift!!!!!), a freezer full of grass-fed meat, coconuts in the fridge, flowers decorating EVERY corner from the man, an inbox full of women telling me how my work held them through something hard or helped them call in something big. I felt silly for the pressure to prematurely birth my next body of work when I am so in love with the life I am already LIVING!! When I have SO MUCH EVIDENCE of beauty.

ON THE SICKNESS WE ALL UNCONSCIOUSLY LIVE IN:

Last week, a faulty iPad update meant I could no longer record, and I had to put Instagram on my phone for the first time in 2 years. Within days, I could feel the derailment. Losing 20 minutes at a time. My nervous system was buzzing with noise when I knew I was meant to be writing.

I truly saw the sickness we are living in, and it shocked me how quickly it entered my body. I have always been deeply disciplined with social media, almost militant about protecting my focus and my nervous system, and yet within days of having Instagram back on my phone, I felt myself unravel in ways I did not expect.

This morning, I opened it before my routine, before my Red Light, before my cacao, and something inside me went very still. I knew I had crossed my own boundary subtly enough that my body felt tight and crowded.

So I deleted it and exhaled. My finger kept drifting to the place where the icon used to live, muscle memory reaching for something that was no longer there, and I found myself laughing at how quickly the habit had formed. 3 hours later, after a 90-minute massage with a bodywork therapist a dear Portal member sent me, I felt the anxiety I did not even realise I had been carrying drain out of me. My breath deepened. My thoughts slowed. The static cleared.

It is wild how easily we acclimatise to noise and call it normal. ah! Never again!

So my darling, as I wrap this up, I promise you my 5-part series is on the way. The one I have been formulating in my head, still integrating, yet living every day in this magical little new life of mine.

MY EXACT PROCESS FOR FEBRUARY 17:

February 17 is about alignment at the level of identity. The quiet decision to stop abandoning yourself in micro ways (TRUST ME, they all add up.) The willingness to sit in stillness long enough for your life to reorganise around the woman you are becoming.

I want you to wake up with intention instead of urgency. I want you pressing play on the practices that settle your body before you touch your phone.

Your life does not change because you hustle harder. It changes because you become congruent. When your body feels safe, when your system feels anchored, when your desire and your capacity are finally speaking the same language, everything begins to accelerate in a way that feels clean.

Don’t be surprised when 1 month of ALIGNMENT will shift your life in ways one year of hustling never could.

Meet tomorrow as ceremony.
Meet it as devotion to who you are becoming.

Portal members: Here is how I want you to meet tomorrow, deep in ceremony with yourself, fully aware that the woman you are becoming requires self love and intention before expansion.

Begin with the 12-minute Nervous System Reset so your body feels grounded enough to hold and sustain what you are calling in. Every woman in my 1:1 spaces who desires something bigger than her current reality benefits from regulating first, because your nervous system sets the ceiling for what you can receive.

Move into my New Moon Ceremony, 20 minutes of sound healing and intention setting that brings you back into alignment with who you already are. Let yourself feel what you are calling in so deeply in your body that it shifts from wishful thinking into embodied inevitability.

On a side note, 2.3k angels have taken my END THE SNAKE YEAR CLEAR quantum healing, and the feedback has been beautiful. For that, I am so grateful. (This is also just a little taste of the magic that awaits you in my members’ space)

AS A BONUS FOR MY PORTAL MEMBERS (BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND OVERDELIVERING AND WISH I HAD ACCESS TO A SPACE LIKE THIS FOR $12!!!!!!!!!) I shared these journal prompts on my close friend’s stories earlier today, and the response was immediate, almost as if your bodies recognised them before your minds did.

They ask for honesty. They ask you to look at the parts you usually glide past. They may feel confronting, because a heart-led, f*ck yes life stretches you into rooms you have never occupied before.

Earlier today, as I moved through them, something inside me shifted in a way that felt physical, like a key finally turning in a lock I had been fumbling with for months. When clarity lands like that, it changes the way you walk through your own life.

Take these prompts slowly. Let them open something. Let them show you where you are still playing small, where you are still bracing, where you are ready to rise.

If you meet them honestly, they will ignite something in you, too!!!

With love and deepest belief in your highest potential. Katie xxx

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I have missed this space deeply, in the way you miss a lover who does that thing you like. The way you miss someone you can trust and exhale with. Someone you know will understand when you finally sit down and tell them what has been moving through you. This deeply sacred and powerful time of my life has asked for slowness. For the kind of presence that feels like a Sunday morning lover, not a rushed, quick f*ck to be palatable for an algorithm.

I am in the middle of writing a 5-part series for my paid subscribers, going deep into what I have been experiencing in connection. The journey within myself to hold this new life. The intimacy. The devotion. The capacity. The expansion of my inner capacity. They have been watching this all unfold on my private stories, and the love I receive from these magnificent women in my membership is like no other. My own little corner of the internet!

So I thought I would drop in here with a little interlude. A Palette cleanser, if you will, to reconnect with the long-form space I cherish and love the most in a distracted, burnotu overstimulated world.

I also wanted to share with you below everything I am loving recently. From the books and movies that have touched me and shapeshifted me, to the little routine hacks that have held me, and the tools that have lead me smack bang into this dream life

Yesterday, as the rain pitter-pattered over my new, precious home in the rice fields, all I wanted to do was sit down and write to you. Instead, I cried on the phone to my deeply masculine and patient partner for an hour in deep frustration with myself. 20 minutes later, there were flowers on my doorstep.

A cried a deep, feral cry that I felt I had been holding in for weeks. I felt clogged up. Pregnant with words. Full. And yet unable to sit in front of my laptop and do the damn thing.

For the alchemist does not create for the sake of creation, when she ignores the truth and fire in her belly (that quiet internal compass that knows before her mind does), she becomes a menace to society.

And as my healer says, “The world is a better place when Katie is in her truth.”

In 2025, I learned how to cry without attaching meaning to it. Sometimes what is old simply leaves.

Sometimes, you have to give in to the fire, throw your hands in the air, and say “I can’t fucking do this”. Pour yourself a big glass of Spanish red, slip into a rose lavender and magnesium bath, and passout to a shitty tv show that rots your brain.

When I woke this morning, my blender spat cacao everywhere. I laughed at the sky and said, “Not today Satan. Not today”

I took back control of my morning and dropped into my Clearing Blocks Meditation inside the Portal, I infused this one with sound and Reiki for my lsiteners, and let it move through my body slowly until something finally unclenched. I opened my eyes feeling like I’d had a mini exorcism, and suddenly the floodgates opened again.

So here I am! AND WHAT A MAGICAL DAY IT’S BEEN IN MY WRITING CHAIR!

Last week, I checked into my little Jungle Executive Suite, the same place I stayed when I landed in Bali 2 months ago. I remember sitting there with trembling hands, pouring onto the page, unsure of who I was becoming but willing to meet her anyway. I had no idea what would unfold. I had no idea how much my life would rearrange itself from then until now.

On Monday, I woke up and extended my visa on a whim, and extended the villa I prayed for without a second thought. The decision to remain here did not feel dramatic. It felt quiet, true, and solid in my authority in Human Design. My gut

The best piece of advice I ever received came on my final weekend in Bali.

It was still mid Covid, and I was flying to Barcelona on a whim with a broken heart and no home. Just a suitcase & no plan. I was beginning again. AGAIN.

I cried to a friend on the dance floor, “What the f*k is about to happen to me? I have no idea what I’m doing!”

He put his hand on my heart & said,

“Katie, do whatever blows your hair back in the moment.”

That sentence bypassed logic and went straight to my body. It rewired the way my prefrontal cortex makes decisions. It reconnected me with my authority in Human Design, my gut. My divine inner compass.

From that moment on, I stopped building a life that made sense and started building a life that felt true. I stopped obeying logic in a loud & distracted world & followed what lit me up instead

Last year, what blew my hair back was creating a home in Barcelona as my launchpad to roam Europe solo. Trains, planes, cities, lovers, bucket lists cracked open one by one. Paris, one day. Amalfi the next.

And yes, oh yes, the comments came

“Travelling again?” “I’ve stopped trying to keep up with your life!”

Perfect. So had I & I loved every f*cking minute of it.

I stopped living in the constraints of others’ belief systems. I permitted myself to live my dream life no matter the cost, until it stopped feeling extraordinary & became my baseline.

Right now, what blows my hair back is staying here in Bali. Asleep by 9 pm. Awake at 4:45am, salivating at the mouth for my morning routine.

Studying relationship coaching. Writing my ebook. Reading my old words. Floor dancing and pushing my body to its edges. New class every week on Classpass. Running in the ricefields, laughing and smiling with the locals. Dancing and cooking in my kitchen,

Waking up & asking my gut, ‘what do you want to create today, babygirl?’ in the silence of the land. No friends. No noise. Just me.

Evolving inside this new connection

Softer in my nervous system. Stronger in my spine

Life as an art form

Relationship as evolution

Ritual as prayer

Creation as necessity

This is your reminder. This life is yours. Find your authority in HD, YOUR COMPASS, and respond to it.

Let everything else reorganise around that truth

And as I packed up the Executive Suite to cross the threshold into this new home, one that I had manifested through a very Katie sequence of events, a swallowtail butterfly flew into my room and died softly on the windowsill.

A butterfly dying at a threshold like a window signals completion. The end of a coping strategy that once kept you safe. The end of adapting to temporary spaces. This species survives by changing form, by knowing when to become something else.

The timing felt precise.

I am no longer moving. I am no longer adjusting myself to environments, to my neighbour’s screaming child, to relationships, to anyone or anything. I am here.

Real integration is quiet.

It does not announce itself.

It does not sparkle.

It simply lets go.

The message was simple, as if sky daddy whispered:

“Babygirl, this moment is not about becoming someone new. You are her. You are exactly where you need to be.”

_

FOR SUBSCRIBERS: MY EXACT PROCESS ON MANIFESTING MY HOME (PLUS, EVERYTHING I AM LOVING RIGHT NOW! From books, movies, the gut hack that changed my skin, and the new workout that changed my body in 4 sessions)

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To curl up and read love notes from my courageous past self. This particular piece has been sitting in my drafts for a month, in this same writing chair in Bali, where I poured my heart out so many times during Covid, held by the vast, wavering ocean. My environmen…

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I am all settled in my Bali life, in my magic little villa I manifested and I have my cards with me! I know a few of you missed out on an entire year for 88 € (that’s just 6.80 € a month!!!) and receive a voice-recorded, channeled reading from me — covering a question of your choice your current energy, love, prosperity, 2026 forecast, and…

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My intuition finally speaking in full sentences

My body f*cking thrumming with recognition

Those final days in Barcelona sliding out of the foreground

This 9 year breaking open inside my cells

What I dragged back from the underworld locking in my system

I can’t sleep and it’s not insomnia

I…

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I told him I write. I wrote a whole goddam novel that I have not been able to…

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This space feels like home to me.
As my main Substack has grown in ways I never expected, I’ve craved the intimacy of this corner more than ever. You feel like my private circle. My inner room. The women who get me. The ones I can speak to without filtering, shaping, or performing.

I’m writing this from my little jungle exe…

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Weaving the two versions of self together, the lovergirl who surrenders and receives, and the woman who belongs completely to herself.

“I miss you already,” he says in his Italian accent as he turns around, taking one last look back at me, standing there in my French lace g-string, my ass facing hundreds of Londoners scurrying to the office, glued to their phones. Me, the lovergirl with messy hair and her soul on fire on a random Thursday morning, knowing that as soon as that door closes I will cry from release. From alchemy.

Because I had received what I came for. Because these unconventional connections “on my own terms” mean everything to me.

Last week, I spent two days in the mountains of Sintra, wandering through fairytale palaces and royal gardens for hours, enveloped by the wisdom of nature. Where there is death, decay, and abundance all at once. Words began pouring back into my notes app, the way they always do when I return to myself. I did a month’s worth of work in two days and remembered why these solo trips matter so much.

I stood at the Chalet of the King’s Lover—proof that even the royals understood non-monogamy in their own way. The chalet was built with artistic flair for Elsie, an artist and lovergirl who never wanted to be Queen. Something channeled through me as I stepped into her world.

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A few weeks ago, I was sitting in Sardinia airport after 3 days on the beach, without my phone, digestin…

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I always start these blogs with my thought process on how hard they can be to write. To illuminate the process of being an artist and the fears that show up when we are the face of our brand, our story, our legacy.
There will always be that fear in my fingertips. It is ancestral. It is deep. But we can learn to love it, to dance with it, to show up regardless.

As my Substack grows, I’ve noticed myself second-guessing what I want to share. My deepest intention for this space is for you to get lost in my world. To see remnants of your dream life reflected back to you. THE POSSIBILITIES!
I also deeply value discretion, intimacy, and most of all, my safety.

Someone I once loved deeply, and parted ways with long ago, sent me a message recently — a stream of words that felt more like a cry for help than anything grounded in truth. She said her ancestors showed her that I hide behind a paywall to steal her work. It felt strange, almost eerie, that after all this time, she’s still here watching me, feeling things I no longer carry. Last week, a man from a dating app googled me, consumed this space, and tried to psychoanalyse and gaslight me. Thankfully, I now have the intuition and grounded tools to move through moments like that with ease. My ex’s new girlfriend still watches everything I do. It’s all just f*cking bizarre, really.

And I understand — this is the life I’ve chosen. To be a writer. To be an alchemist. To share pieces of my heart online and let them be witnessed.

And yes… Some days, I wake up feeling violated and disturbed, but I will never let any of these people who are obviously at war with themselves take away the love I have for sharing my world.
For alchemizing it into something beautiful that serves not only me, but you, too!!!

I am learning to live with the tension between being watched and choosing to be witnessed.

In a world that’s becoming more conservative, more self-righteous, to live a life of freedom and love with reckless abandon is an active rebellion.
It opens me to judgments and projections, but I find solace in the blogs of other women who live freely, securely, happily in themselves. my latest writer girl crush, I am talking to you!!

Because, my darlings, people who are truly content with their own lives rarely have the time or the emotional capacity to judge or obsess over yours.

Let that sink in.

I have been on a voyage of beauty, travel, pleasure, and integration. Across Amalfi, London, Paris, and Lyon.
Because travel is the one thing you can buy that makes you richer.

Every person, a messenger. Every experience, an oracle. Every city, a mirror.

My recent trip to Amalfi has been hard to put into words.
It felt sacred, delicious, personal.
I have conquered this side of the world and made it my second home.
That I can come to my precious corner of the earth whenever I want and create beauty.

One week alone in the mountains, getting lost and getting found.
Taking myself to Capri, my biggest bucket list place, the place I always thought I would go to with a man, but have now taken myself twice this year.
Climbing down the side of a mountain and sitting on a rock in the ocean with my little picnic and tears in my eyes.
Sitting in the garden where my favourite movie scene was filmed.
Feeling Panthenope, the greatest lover girl, whose freedom mirrored and triggered all those around her, pumping through my veins.
A beautiful stranger saw I was having a moment and asked to take my photo.

How do you explain to someone when their small talk starts to feel like an interrogation? When simple questions land heavily on a woman who lives by her own rhythm. Why London? Holiday? Work? How do you explain that freedom doesn’t always fit neatly into categories?
How do you explain that you browse Skyscanner and Booking.com late at night, like others scroll TikTok?
That you’ve always wanted to take the Eurostar from Paris to London. So you did, because you could?

Why Paris? Vacation? Work? The bartender asks me.
How do I tell you that I love the colours of autumn in Paris, that this city always reignites the writer in me? After years of trying to crack it, I feel as if I cracked the code. That my lovely ex from 7 years ago allows me to stay in his home with my own keys, free to roam and wander as I please in the day, while he spoils me with luscious dinners at night. Looking into the same mirror I once cried into because I thought I was so ugly. The low self-esteem that ended us back then.

His awe of the woman I’ve become.
“You really do light up every room you walk into, don’t you, mon chérie?

Why Lyon? Are you on vacation?
How do I tell you I found a deal on a presidential suite on one of my late-night scrolls, that my outer vision and gut authority in Human Design screamed “THIS! This is the place you will begin your next book.”

That, after weeks of trying to formulate it after the idea shot through me on the dancefloor at a festival, it finally poured through me on that train from Paris to Lyon as the man next to me smiled, watching me write like a madwoman.
Now, the entire outline is there. That this could not have happened, forcing it out in front of my laptop in a café in Barcelona.

It’s when I’m out in the world that my higher self drops clues through people, places & synchronicities.

Through my journal. Through conversations. Through days of wandering with no compass.

This is my work.

Every time I follow my HD (aka a life of romanticising everything), I become wealthier

And even though I sometimes feel alien in my choice to live for beauty, pleasure, and fullness, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Let nothing undo this serenity, I read in Elizabeth Gilbert’s book as my plane descends into London.
Let nothing disturb this peace you have cultivated.

I am in feminine ease after survival.
When these moments happen, I breathe them all the way down and screenshot them into my nervous system so I never forget.

I’m in the chrysalis stage of creation. Metamorphosis isn’t about constant movement.
When a butterfly is inside the cocoon, its old body liquefies.
That’s what’s happening to me: old identities, old survival patterns, old ways of relating to work and love dissolving.

On the surface, it looks like stillness. Inside, it’s sacred reconstruction.
This phase feels disorienting to someone who’s used to motion as proof of worth, but I know this is how the new version of me is forming.

This rest period is part of my creative economy.
I’ve spent years building, producing, travelling, surviving.
I’ve proven that I can make money, rebuild, attract, and rise again.
Now my system is learning that receptivity is also productive.

When I read, walk, & allow, my subconscious connects dots my conscious mind can’t. That’s how the next project/connection/idea comes through cleanly, without the residue of hustle

Last week, sitting on my Bali daybed on my precious Spanish terrace, I felt the exact moment something inside me shifted. During my clearing blocks hypnosis, I knew EXACTLY what I needed to release, and carried it into my full moon ceremony, Hoʻoponopono’d the f*ck out of it, let it go, and 5 minutes later my phone dinged with a message that would alter the course of the next 10 days and crack me wide open.

Now let me tell you how, since that night, I’ve made more money in 12 days than I did in August and September combined. Every manifestation landed within 72 hours. How these days have unfolded like my very own film with a sense of peace and a radiance I have not embodied in so long.

Paywall for aforementioned intimacy and privacy.

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Here I am, tears in my eyes, in my precious Amalfi second home, in the writing chair that has held so many versions of me. Finally, I have the space to pour out the last few weeks into my little corner of th…

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