The Darkness & The Wild: Series 2
Tuesday 1st – Thursday 3rd September
Substack Live · 1pm Mérida / 8pm UK

We’re coming back!

We didn’t plan for there to be a second series but it seems one conversation wasn’t enough.

We had all the things to say…

Wild Feminine vs Dark Feminine was supposed to be a one-off series of three conversations where Agne (The Wild Medeina) and I sat down and pulled apart two archetypes everyone throws around and almost nobody actually understands.

What wild feminine really is versus the wounded version of it.

What dark feminine really is versus the aesthetic people cosplay on Instagram.

Lilith, Kali, Persephone, Medeina…

But by the end of the first one, we were asked about the next series, and as we continued the journey over the 3 days, it became clear that the next question was: okay, so now what do I do with this?

Introducing series two.

At some point, I’m sure you’ve felt the pull of one or both of these archetypes…but what happens when you actually let them live in your body?

I have my found my conversations have naturally taken this pathway recently as I’ve been exploring this further inside my membership community, The Dark Room.

And it was this topic that sparked the most reaction out of everyone on the live. *insert casual howling through orgasm suggestion here.

For this series, the intention is to go further in (and further down).

Over the three lives, we’ll explore three of the most exiled expressions of the feminine: sensuality, rage, and the refusal to be tamed.

What we’re covering:

Live 1: Eros

Sensuality, Sexuality & Life Force

We’re untangling three things that get collapsed into one and, in the process, lose all their power: sensuality, sexuality, and erotic life force.

Why shame is the thing standing between you and your own desire.

Why your body isn’t a distraction from your intuition, creativity, and magnetism, but the gateway to all three.

How juicy does that sound?!

Live 2: Feral Rage

The Emotion That Protects Your Soul

Rage isn’t the opposite of love, it’s what love looks like when a boundary has been crossed.

We’re talking about rage as protector, not problem; how to actually express it, how it’s tangled up with grief and desire more than anyone admits, and why “nice girls” get trained out of their own instincts.

Kali and the huntress will be in the conversation, because sacred destruction is still sacred.

Live 3: The Woman Who Cannot Be Controlled

This one is about the parts of you that don’t fit.

Where manipulation, seduction, rebellion, and hyper-independence stop being power and quietly become shadow.

What it actually looks like to be deeply loving and impossible to domesticate - in your relationships, your work, your ordinary Tuesday.

I, for one, LOVE this topic - obvs 👹

And what I love about this format, is the realness. There’s no polished masterclass and definitely no pretending we’ve got all the answers.

It’s just two women talking, exploring, questioning and probably going somewhere neither of us expected.

And honestly? That’s exactly the point.

We’re starting today.

The Darkness and The Wild: Series 2

Tuesday 1st September, Wednesday 2nd, Thursday 3rd

Substack Live

1pm Merida / 8pm UK

Bring your questions, your intrigue, your curiosity, and let’s see where the conversation takes us!

With love, and feral magic

Sim xxx

🖤

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There is something I have been sitting on for a while.

In The Dark Room is where I always intended to work through the deeper thoughts and ideas that ruminate in me and this is one of them.

A major pet peeve of mine, is the quite frankly, ludicrous idea that the one time ever a man created woman was the beginning of time.

And we are just supposed to accept and sit with that?

No.

So before we unpack rage or sexuality, or any of the taboo subjects that have been relegated to the dark feminine and is the reason I even do the work I do now — lets take it way back.

Back to the beginning of time.

Back to the bed of the first humans, where before the first sin, was the first fuck.

And somewhere in that story is where the demonisation of women began.

The refusal.

Enter Lilith.

There is a later Jewish text, the Alphabet of Ben Sira, that gives us the story of Lilith as Adam’s first wife. I am not interested in arguing the historical accuracy of this mythology but rather, what the story became, because honestly, look at what it gave us.

Lilith was made from the same material as Adam.

Same dirt, same breath. There was no hierarchy built into her being, she simply was, as he was.

And this is where the refusal happens.

Lilith refuses to lie beneath him. But the thing is…rather than negotiating herself down into something more acceptable, she leaves. Preferring exile to submission.

And for all these years, she is not punished for murder or some great act of evil.

She just said no.

She withdraws herself from a story that requires her to be less than what she is and mythology then turns her into a demon, and she has been demonised for it ever since.

Now, we could argue that the mythology is more complicated than that and the Lilith story evolved over time. But symbolically, I find this bloody fascinating.

Imagine if the first sin was simply withdrawing consent from something that never had her permission in the first place?!

That’s it.

That’s.the.whole.crime.

She didn’t want to lie beneath him, she wanted to stand on equal ground.

And the punishment was exile.

Then comes Eve.

Now let’s look properly at Eve, the second wife.

Woman v2.

She isn’t made from the same ground, but from him. A subtraction. Traditionally, she is described as being formed from Adam’s side - his rib - and whatever the theological arguments around that are, the symbolism that followed is pretty god damn clear.

Woman as derivative. As something made from man. I have had this lauded over me in far too many conversations…hence the irk.

According to texts, she isn’t even initially afforded the identity we understand her to have now.

She is just woman.

Wife.

Role.

And not knowing any different, she plays the role well for a while.

This is the original good girl arc.

She’s compliant.

Easy to keep.

She follows the rules.

She is rewarded for being easy.

And yet she still has an internal desire for more. A hunger that can’t be kept at bay, no matter the prison.

Eve dared to wonder.

She wants knowledge that wasn’t handed to her and so decides to reach for it herself, and through that single act of disobedience, she becomes Havvah — Eve — traditionally understood as the mother of all who live.

She had to disobey to become someone.

FUCKING. WILD.

And again, I find that so fascinating, because now we have two women: one who says no and one who says I want.

The original baddies. A woman who refuses what has been prescribed and a woman who reaches for something she has not been given permission to have.

But underneath it all, they are doing the same thing: deciding for themselves.

I mean, heaven forbid they act from their own interior!?!

And that, to me, is the actual story.

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Why rage and desire got buried together.

Both gestures are the same current wearing different outfits.

A woman with an interior that doesn’t answer to anyone isn’t governable and that has been the issue with the feminine from day one.

She has her own desire, disgust and knowing.

That uncontrollable, raw, creative, chaotic force cannot be allowed to remain completely free if the objective is control.

So the refusal becomes demonic and the desire becomes sin.

This is why sacred rage and sacred sexuality keep showing up together in this work. They have both been banished to the shadows of the feminine but they’re the same current:

I want this. I don’t want that. I feel this.

And apparently these things become dangerous when a woman is the one deciding which is which.

Because together, they add up to a woman with full fucking authority over her yes and her no.

And the result?

Demonic.

Hysterical.

Cold.

Difficult.

Frigid.

Slut.

Too much.

Not enough.

The centuries may change but the accusations stay the same: she stopped performing for us. How dare she!

Left hand, right hand.

Now this is where my rabbit hole deepens, because there’s a wider name for this split and it is something that has intrigued me on my esoterical path for some years now.

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Ok so here’s something I don’t think gets said enough: your rage and your eros come from the same place.

Not metaphorically. Literally the same wiring. Which means the moment you numb your anger - the moment you swallow the no, smile through it, call yourself “too sensitive” - you’re not just losing access to your rage.

You’re losing access to your want.

That’s what this month’s Dark Room audio is about Rage is the key to Eros.

It follows on from the How to Become Impossible to Manipulate, and it goes somewhere I didn’t fully expect when I sat down to record it, because apparently there was more here than a tidy anger episode.

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Have you ever thought about the other woman inside of you? What she would want, be, or do if she were allowed to roam free.

She could be the one who wants to run barefoot, howl at something purely to hear the loudness of her voice and feel the power of her body. Or she may be the one who wants to burn down whatever hurt her and feel deliriously free as the ashes fall around her.

Maybe you don’t know because we’ve been taught to fear both of them.

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We call the first one “unstable.” We call the second one “bitter.” And so most women end up shrinking themselves to be more “manageable.” A tidier version that doesn’t disrupt. But also doesn’t really live.

But we know she’s there. We feel her tug from the inside, and we’re now at a place where more of us are wanting to set her free. To channel her voice as you stand up for your right to exist as you want to.

Tomorrow, I’m going live with Agne, aka The Wild Medeina, for a three-part live series where we will be untangling exactly this: the difference between Wild Feminine and Dark Feminine. What they actually are, how we’ve confused them with something shameful, and where the line sits between embodiment and ego.

Two currents, not one archetype

Wild Feminine and Dark Feminine get thrown around like synonyms. They’re not.

I will admit, I too thought that they were one and the same at one point, but as I explored further, I found that they were different flavours of the same spirit.

Wild Feminine is Medeina. The Huntress. The Wild Woman. She’s instinct, nature, body, desire unmediated by anyone’s approval. She’s the current that reconnects you to want. To hunger, to movement, to the parts of you that were never meant to be tamed.

Dark Feminine is Lilith. Kali. Persephone. She’s the energy that walks you into shadow on purpose. Into rage, grief, boundaries, power, the taboo rooms most personal development won’t take you into but are exactly the rooms you are searching for.

You need both. To some degree or another.

Yet most of us have been trained to access neither. Shamed into submission and taught not to question why.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the middle of a revolution. And now is as good a time as any to let the “other woman” — the wild, the dark — take the space she deserves.

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What we’re covering

Live 1: Wild Feminine vs Dark Feminine: How to Tell the Difference

What each archetype actually is, the common misconceptions, and the difference between the wounded expression and the embodied one. We’ll walk through Lilith, Kali, and Persephone alongside Medeina, the Wild Woman, and the Huntress — what they represent, and when you need to call on each.

Live 2: Embodying Both: Why You Need Wildness & Shadow

The societal conditioning that taught you to mistake rage, rebellion, freedom, sensuality, and intuition for something dangerous — and why you were never meant to question it.

Then the practical part: how Wild Feminine reconnects you to instinct, body, and desire, and how Dark Feminine teaches you to face shadow, boundaries, and power. Real tools, not just theory.

Live 3: The Difference Between Empowerment & Ego

Where this work curdles into performance and escapism. Because both currents can be taken to the extreme — turned into a costume, a personal brand, a shadow-side aesthetic.

We’re naming it so you can recognise authentic embodiment versus the social-media-projected version.

This isn’t about being “pink fluffy feminine”, and it’s not about being performatively Kali either. It’s about which one is actually true in your body and how to recognise which one wants to be heard.

Why this, why now

If you’ve ever felt too much in one room and not enough in another. If you’ve felt your voice crack when you tried to stand up for yourself, or you’ve been called intimidating when you’re simply just existing, then this series is for you.

This is where we have the conversation.

Come as you are, come with your questions, come simply to listen to the discussion.

I can be sure that it will stir something in you either way.

The Darkness and The Wild: A 3-part series.

Tuesday 18th, Wednesday 19th, Thursday 20th
Substack Live
1pm Merida / 8pm UK

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

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You barely notice it at first.

You let a slight annoyance slide here, you don’t mind over riding a choice there, “it’s not that deep”, you say.

Before you know it, you’re saying yes to things that actually are a no but you “feel bad”, so you put your own needs down the list and keep it moving.

You might decide enough is enough and try to resestablish boundaries, only to be accused of “not being the same”, and so you question yourself - am I being too harsh? Maybe it is ok after all…?

Anything for an easy life eh?

But the thing is, these small chips accumulate. They turn into a much larger pile and now you’re staring at yourself in the mirror and wondering who that stranger is staring back at you.

That’s the actual opening manipulation walks through.

Not weakness.

Self-abandonment.

The part nobody names directly

The thing about effective manipulation is it doesn’t usually start with a lie. It’s much more insidious. It simply starts with testing whether you’ll override your own instincts to keep the peace.

A small dismissal. A joke at your expense. A little quip that jolts your nervous system. A boundary treated as unreasonable. And the real test isn’t the comment itself — it’s whether you’ll talk yourself out of what you felt in response to it. Whether you’ll laugh along with the group when you’re feeling the sting inside.

If you’ve spent years practicing self-abandonment — smoothing your reactions, doubting your gut, performing “easygoing” to stay chosen — then you’ve already built the exact skillset a manipulator needs you to have.

Not because you’re naive, but because that is how women are trained to behave. You’ve had years of practice silencing yourself before anyone else had to. Questioning yourself as you’re gaslit in literally every conversation you’ve ever had.

This is why “just trust your gut” is useless advice on its own.

If you’ve spent decades training yourself out of trusting it, the gut isn’t the problem my love.

The self-abandonment is.

Becoming harder to manipulate isn’t about learning red flags.

If we’re being honest - and that’s my whole M.O so of course we are - you probably already know most of them. It’s about closing the gap between noticing something’s wrong and actually honoring that you noticed it. It’s learning to be just fine with being named the villain if it calls for it.

The path (aka the part that actually changes it)

1. Recognition

The moment before you explain it away. Notice it.

That flicker of wait, that felt off — before the “but maybe I’m overreacting” kicks in. This flicker is data. It’s your body telling you a disrespect occurred.

Manipulation depends on you not trusting it.

2. Naming

Get specific about what you actually noticed.

Not “he’s a bad person” — that is too vague to act on. More like: he changes the subject every time I bring up something that matters to me, or I feel smaller after we talk, not bigger or I don’t feel good after leaving this persons company.

Precision is what makes a pattern visible instead of just uncomfortable.

3. Permission

This is the step self-abandonment blocks hardest.

Permission to have a reaction without first proving it’s justified to someone else. You do not need their agreement that something was wrong in order for it to have been wrong. You felt it. Now give yourself permission to explore it rather than completely disregard it.

4. Practice

Small, low-stakes reps first.

Saying “that doesn’t work for me” about something minor. Letting a silence sit instead of rushing to fill it with an apology. Disappointing someone and staying in the room while it happens.

This is where the nervous system learns that holding a boundary doesn’t actually end you.

5. Embodiment

The instinct stops needing your permission.

You notice the flicker and respond to it in real time, not three days later in the shower when you finally let yourself admit what you felt.

This is what “harder to manipulate” actually looks like in practice — not armor, just a much shorter distance between what you feel and what you’re willing to trust. And if it seems that a deeper conversation is to be had, it can be had, in that moment or much closer to the moment and not days later.

The pattern to watch for, is if you keep finding yourself in situations where, afterward, you think why didn’t I say something in the moment? That’s not a communication problem. That’s the self-abandonment reflex firing faster than your voice can.

The work isn’t learning what to say. It’s shortening the gap between noticing and honoring what you noticed.

This month’s work inside The Dark Room builds directly on this.

We’re exploring Door II: Sacred Rage.

Not rage as explosion but as information.

Here, rage is the emotion that tells you a boundary has been crossed before your mind has a chance to explain it away.

Because recognition is only the beginning.

The real work is teaching your nervous system that it is safe to believe what you already know.

If you’re not sure which part of yourself has been doing the abandoning, the Sigils of She quiz is a good place to start.

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

Inside The Dark Room this August

This month we’re exploring Sacred Rage.

Not as anger to suppress or perform, but as the intelligence that reveals where you’ve abandoned yourself.

Inside you’ll receive:

• 🪞 Door II of The Persephone Path, including companion practices to help you reclaim your instincts - (we’re here).

• 🎙️ A new audio transmission on why women disconnect from anger before they disconnect from themselves.

• ✍🏾 A members-only essay expanding on the themes of boundaries, self-trust and embodied power.

Door II, Sacred Rage

Naming it above is recognition, but here is where we get into practice aka the part that actually rewires something.

The boundary rehearsal

Boundaries fail in the moment for a simple reason; you’re trying to locate courage and language at the same time, under pressure, usually while also managing someone else’s reaction.

That’s too much to do live. So here we rehearse it first, when nothing is at stake and your body learns the shape of it.

Step 1 — The body first

Stand up. Feet grounded, wider than usual.

Before any words, just notice where in your body you physically brace when you’re about to disappoint someone. Jaw, stomach, shoulders.

Most women carry it in the same place every time. Find yours.

Just notice it, become aware but don’t fix it yet.

Step 2 — The phrase bank

Say each of these out loud, alone.

At full volume though, not a whisper. Let it feel real.

The point isn’t politeness, it’s hearing your own voice say a boundary without immediately softening it.

“That doesn’t work for me.”

“I’m not available for that.”

“I heard you. My answer is still no.”

“You can be upset. I’m still not doing it.”

“I don’t need to explain this for it to be valid.”

Notice which one felt hardest to say. Notice where you felt it in your body. That’s the one to repeat five more times.

Step 3 — The rehearsal

Think of one real, low-stakes situation coming up this week where you already know you’ll want to say yes when you mean no.

Say your boundary phrase out loud to that specific situation, by name, before it happens. Now, you're not scripting a fight. You’re simply just making sure your nervous system has already heard your own voice hold the line once, before it has to do it live.

This makes a massive difference in your delivery and helps with cortisol spiking.

Step 4 — The seal

Place a hand on your sternum. Say once, quietly: “I don’t need permission to protect my own peace.”

Let that be the whole ritual. No candle required. I mean obviously if you want to light one do if it helps you mark the moment as separate from the rest of your day. The point is not to soften you being deserving of peace.

Journal prompt, if you want to go deeper

Where in your life have you mistaken “keeping the peace” for actually being peaceful? Write for five minutes, no editing.

For those working the full Persephone Path:

If you’re moving through Door II in your ritual pack this month, use this rehearsal as your live companion — do the phrase bank after your written practice.

Release the emotion that is held in your body through the Rage Pages, then use this rehearsal, followed by the rage playlist. A full trifecta of rage work!

If you haven’t opened Door II yet, this is your sign. You’re already in the room for it.

Sim xxx

There’s a moment I go back to often.

Heavy techno moving through the speakers, the beats vibrating through my body. A room full of people I’d normally never share space with, doing things the puritanical rule book would call unspeakable. And me, in the middle of it, feeling more alive than I had in months.

Then the thought arrived, uninvited, the way these thoughts always do:

Should I be ashamed of this feeling?

I wasn’t interested in the kink nearly as much as I was interested in my own reaction to it. That question, that reflex to reach for shame before I’d even decided what I felt, is the thing I actually went looking for.

That question would become the beginning of my Dark Feminine Reclamation.

Shame doesn’t tell us what we desire.

It tells us what we’re allowed to admit we desire.

That’s a different mechanism entirely, and once you see it - you can’t stop seeing it. Shame is less of a wall around your desires, and more a censor sitting inside them. It decides in real time which ones are safe to acknowledge and which ones should be buried so deep you forget you ever wanted them at all.

These aren’t the parts of ourselves that never get explored because we don’t have them. They’re the parts shame got to first.

I found mine on a dance floor. Yours might be in a boardroom, a bedroom, your wardrobe.

This isn’t happenstance. It’s by design.

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The Good Girl is maintained by shame.

After my long-term relationship ended, I decided there were things I didn’t want to die and had not experienced, so I went looking - properly looking - for the first time in years. And the BDSM and kink scene, of all places, is where I found something nothing else had given me: the shape of my own power.

Turns out I’m not a submissive person. I didn’t bend to the male-domme script the way it’s “supposed” to work. That is not my nature. Instead, I leaned into what apparently is my natural register — magnetic, commanding, unbothered and yet perpetually intrigued — and it rearranged how I understood femininity altogether. Not soft. Not placid. Sovereign.

(True story: I once went to buy a sandwich from the supermarket and got stopped by a man complimenting my outfit. I thanked him. He told me he was looking for “a mistress”. I said, not thinking, “but I thought you weren’t married?” My colleague, watching this unfold, said only I could leave for lunch and come back with a submissive man.)

That version of me, the one who says the wrong-right thing without asking permission, was the exact version I’d spent a decade (maybe even 15 years) being told was unlovable.

The Virgin and the Lady in Red

Now we can’t have the shame conversation without the body count conversation.

Lately, I’ve been watching these podcast bros declare with their whole chest, that sex with a man decreases a woman’s value.

So now I’m thinking, well then what does that actually imply about the man?

These men are comparing women to used cars - commodities that depreciate with use.

And if experience “devalues” a woman, you have to question why is inexperience still marketed to us as the most desirable state a woman can be in?

We respect experience in literally every other domain of life. A well-travelled woman. A well-read woman. A woman fluent in three languages. Experience, everywhere else, reads as mastery.

Except here.

A woman has sex. She’s “used.” “Lower value.” “Damaged.” Men who obsess over a number rarely ask a single question about emotional maturity—hers or, more importantly, their own.

Which tells you the conversation was never about sex to begin with.

It’s about control. About convincing women that our worth is something to lose, earn, or negotiate on someone else’s terms.

I spent a decade with a man who made this his whole theology, like - why didn’t I let him have the last word — apparently a birthright that came with his anatomy, rather examining than the validity of his arguments.

I went out when I wanted to, without asking. I called out gaslighting when I saw it, and called out plain bullshit when I smelled it.

I was told by my first long term boyfriend of 5 years - more than once - that I’d need to find a white man. That he’d be the only kind “willing to put up with a woman like me”.

Turns out changing the man didn’t change the story I believed about myself.

And so there I was, questioning my femininity from scratch.

So I did what any questioning woman would do; I turned to YouTube. And I found an entire economy of soft-spoken women in baby pink, extolling the virtues of placidity. I watched, baffled. And then something in me snarled.

You can miss me with that thank you.

That’s not my feminine. That’s subservience with a pretty backdrop.

I don’t teach women how to become more feminine. I teach them how to become more fully themselves.

(Side note, I recently discovered my surname in Spanish means “wild”.

As in untamed. Deeply me. Like a Wolf. Honestly, it explains a lot).

Shame as a compass.

Here’s what I’ve come to understand about shame, from the dance floor to the decade-long relationship to every article I’ve written since: shame doesn’t live in the act. It lives in the gap between what you actually want and what you’ll let yourself claim.

I’ve spoken to countless women who have told me their personal journey with shame, and what I’ve come to realise is: shame can hide inside promiscuity. It can hide just as easily inside celibacy. Inside marriage. Inside kink. Inside modesty. I’ve talked to women for whom celibacy was the most erotically alive they’ve ever felt — because Eros was never about sex.

You could fill a room with naked bodies doing every act imaginable and find almost no Eros in it at all. Meanwhile, someone dancing alone in her kitchen to her favorite song, or eating a perfect tomato at a farmers market stall, is having a more erotic relationship with her own life than the room ever managed.

So the question isn’t what did you do. It’s:

Am I acting from truth, or from shame?

When something excites you, get curious before you get ashamed.

Ask why it excited you.

Ask whether it was the forbidden-ness itself doing the work.

Then ask who taught you it was forbidden in the first place. Then ask, quietly, what else you were taught to be ashamed of that has nothing to do with sex at all; your ambition, your money, your beauty, your rage, your hunger to be looked at, your refusal to be smaller than you are.

Open the box and explore the narrative hiding inside.

The greatest theft shame commits isn’t pleasure.

It’s self-knowledge.

I didn’t get free by becoming less ashamed of sex. I got free by using shame as a map. By following every flinch back to its root, and asking how it got there and who benefited from it being there.

That question doesn’t stay contained to the bedroom. It follows you into every room you’ve ever shrunk in. Every opinion you don’t let yourself say aloud. Every outfit you decided against.

So I’ll leave you with it the way I keep leaving myself with it:

Which woman has shame convinced you not to become?

If you want a place to begin, not with more thinking, but with something closer to instinct -that’s exactly what Sigils of She was created for.

🖤 Take the quiz. Meet the woman waiting beneath the shame.

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

---

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Some doors you don’t walk through until you’re ready. If you’re reading this, you might already be.

(If you’ve done the 3-day Mirror Ritual, you’ve already met her. This is where you embody her.)

This isn’t a course. It’s a ritual container — five doors, each one a descent into a part of yourself you’ve spent a lifetime managing, minimising, or hiding. You move through at your own pace. There’s no falling behind.

Door One — Shadow Work

Meet the parts of yourself you’ve been taught to hide. Not to fix them — to stop performing around them.

Door Two — Sacred Rage

A dedicated rage ritual, plus a curated rage playlist to move it through your body, not just your mind.

Door Three — Sacred Sexuality

Reclaiming your body and your desire as yours alone.

Door Four — Glamour Magic

Style as self-expression, not performance — includes the Dark Feminine Style Guide as a bonus companion.

Door Five — Mirror Work

Coming home to yourself, ritual by ritual, until she finally feels like truth. Includes the Embodying Persephone 3-part ritual guide.

You’ll receive:

• 5 ritual transmissions (one per door)

• Rage playlist + rage ritual pages

• Dark Feminine Style Guide (bonus)

• Embodying Persephone 3-ritual guide (bonus)

$69 USD / £50 GBP — yours to keep, revisit, and return to.

If you’re ready to keep going deeper after the descent, The Dark Room is where the work continues — $6/month, ongoing ritual and community.

What women are saying:

“Tangible infusions of the shadow.” — Viv

“Found the rage pages link — just wanted to say how much I absolutely love that. Being a Wild Siren and Sacred Slut is like a dream come true, I LOVE it so fucking much.” — Amanda

“Finished my 21-day dark fem... a huge influence in the decisions of the next steps I’m taking. Thank you so much for putting such a well thought out, beautiful program to follow. Feeling my power.” — Ellie

“I’ve started telling myself I love you in the mirror every day thanks to you.” — Belle

Enter the Path → https://buy.stripe.com/8x23cvbMF41PbON4ro0oM00

With love and magic

Sim 🖤

If you want the fuller story behind this path — how it came to be, and why it matters — you can read it here →

Read about the moment I realised I wasn’t just styling women - I was witnessing them negotiate with permission.

But very little time talking about the moment that comes before all of it.

The moment you hear the voice.

“I’m too much.”

“People will stare.”

“Who do you think you are?”

Most of us believe the work is getting rid of those thoughts.

But I don’t think it is.

I think the work is…

Read more

This week I wrote about what happens when women stand in front of a mirror.

When they try something on and decide whether they’re “that girl.”

After all my years as a stylist and the five years running my vintage store, I realised that I wasn’t simply watching women choose clothes. I was watching them negotiate with themselves.

I often witnessed the moment between desire and permission. The moment a woman decided whether she was “allowed” to exist out loud.

If you haven’t read this week’s essay yet, I’d start there.

(link)

Today, we’re stepping through one of the doors together.

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Style is the visible expression of who we believe we’re allowed to be.

“I’m not confident enough for that.”

I heard some version of that sentence for years.

Sometimes it was:

• “That’s too much for me.”

• “I wish I could wear something like that.”

• “I’m too old.”

• “I’m too big.”

• “People would stare.”

I thought I was selling clothes. What was really happening was I was watching women negotiate with themselves in front of the mirror.

At the time, I owned a vintage clothing business called The Style Merchants.

I was also working as a stylist, creating visual stories for artists, campaigns and editorials, which meant I spent years watching how clothing changed people - not because fabric has magic, but because identity does.

Whether I was in my shop, at a festival, on a market stall or on set, I kept hearing the same questions.

Who do I think I am to wear this?

What will people think?

Can I get away with wearing something like this?

Looking back, I realise every one of those questions was really asking the same thing:

Am I allowed to be this woman?

On set, everyone expects an artist to become someone else.

My job was to help them embody that version of themselves.

As a regular woman?

You have to give yourself permission.

Somewhere along the way, most of us learn that style isn’t about self-expression.

It’s about belonging.

We dress for our partners.

Our workplaces.

Our friendship groups.

Our age.

Motherhood.

Respectability.

Everyone except ourselves.

Style often begins as armour. It helps us belong while our identity is still forming.

But eventually the armour stops protecting us.

And starts suffocating us.

For five years, I watched what women reached for. I heard why they put things back, what they apologised for and dismissed as “not me”.

For those few minutes, I wasn’t simply selling an outfit.

I was helping women give themselves permission to be seen.

To let the part of themselves that instinctively reached for that piece... exist.

Out loud.

One afternoon, a woman tried on an outfit.

She smiled.

And instead of changing back into what she’d arrived in, she walked out wearing the whole thing.

At the time, I just thought I’d made a decent sale.

Looking back, I recognise that she’d made a decision.

Not just about clothes but about herself. And the woman she wanted to be.

Over the years, those conversations changed me. They sent me looking for answers.

They eventually led me to coaching, shadow work and ritual.

I realised I wasn’t interested in dressing women for other people’s eyes anymore.

I wanted to understand what happened before someone put an outfit on.

The beliefs.

The shame.

The permission.

Every woman has a version of herself she’s been taught to leave behind.

The woman who reaches instinctively for the leather jacket.

The sequins.

The red lipstick.

The sheer top.

The fishnets.

The dramatic earrings.

But when a woman stops asking for permission.

She starts asking herself a different question.

“What do I actually want?”

And that’s why I created the Style Archetype Quiz.

Not to tell you what to wear.

But to help you meet the woman who’s been waiting beneath your style all along.

The woman who’s been waiting for your permission.

Take the Style Archetypes quiz

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

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We’re sold a contract. A fairy tale.

The same narrative repeated a million times over:

Be desirable, be a good woman, a good wife, daughter, mother.

Do all of that and your duty as a woman is complete. You’ll be safe. You’ll be chosen.

But what happens when you follow the contract and it still fails you.

Emily Ratajkowski followed the contract almost perfectly. And it failed her.

One of the most recognizable models of her generation, from what I can tell, she did womaning “right”. Incredibly beautiful, she built her career around performing for the male gaze. She did the thing the male gaze is supposed to reward and married the dream - a wealthy man of status. The fairy tale ending good girls are promised if they play well enough.

But what nobody tells you, is what happens when you do all of that, and the floor still gives way.

This is the part of the conversation almost nobody is having about Emily Ratajkowski. What is the fall out when a woman has given her all, her autonomy, her sovereignty, to a system that promised the world and left her floating in an ocean of her own despair on a sinking raft made of nappies.

After what she describes as a brutal, traumatic birth, that was a “violent entrance into motherhood”, the marriage stopped being sexual (as she was naturally still in recovery), and from there, six months later by her own account, it collapsed.

And just like that - she’s thrust into the bosom of her nightmare. Raising a child alone, and as far as she can surmise - no longer being desirable.

Desire had been her currency. Now she has a baby strapped to her.

She did everything right, and the marriage still didn’t survive her body healing from creating his child.

Now the part that gets buried, is that she’s the one who left. After fearing single motherhood her whole life, she still filed and chose it over staying in a marriage that couldn’t hold her anymore. Over a man who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants long enough for her to heal. She chose herself. That’s not collapse. That’s agency, even when it costs you publicly.

But a woman choosing herself just doesn’t sell the way a woman “going off the rails” does, so that’s not the headline anyone ran with.

And as I read the different viewpoints on her article, all I could think was: this is the good girl promise breaking in real time, on one of the biggest stages there is.

And what I really want to talk about, is what really struck me - what happens after the promise breaks.

Who actually emerges from underneath it…

Because watching the discourse around her and the article she wrote, I think we’re watching several exiled parts of a woman that come back from the underworld at once, and almost nobody has the language to name what they’re seeing.

I do. I’ve spent years building that language. So let’s use it.

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Divine Darkness: Who Emerges From the Underworld

When the structure you built your whole identity around collapses - a marriage, your career, the good girl performance itself, the instinct is to question yourself, and ask “how do I rebuild what I had?”

But that’s the wrong question.

The collapse didn’t happen so you could reconstruct the same thing. The Tower didn’t fall for you to hurriedly build on the same flimsy, unstable foundations. It happens so that the part of you that has been exiled, finally has a platform to speak.

So the real question is: who is ready to emerge from my shadow?

I call this Divine Darkness; the descent as initiation, not catastrophe. Inside that framework are five archetypes I call the Sigils of She: the different exiled energies of a woman that return once she finally lets the old structure die. Once she is ready to awaken the parts of her that were buried under shame, guilt, rage - programming.

I introduced a couple of them last week; today I want to bring in two more, because I think we’re watching them surface in public, in real time, through Emily.

The Wild Siren is the first. Seductive, magnetic, unpredictable, led entirely by feeling and desire rather than performance. Her shadow wound is being told her sexuality made her unsafe, that her intensity was too much for any room to hold. What she’s reclaiming is the right to take up space with her wanting, in full view, without managing everyone else’s comfort about it.

The Sacred Slut is the second — the erotic truth-teller, the body oracle, the one who reclaims desire and pleasure as sacred rather than shameful. Her style becomes ritual: she dons her clothes as armor, not decoration. Her shadow is repression and the fear of being too much or not enough. What she’s reclaiming is pleasure on her own terms, dressing to turn herself on rather than anyone else. She revels in the deliciousness of her eros.

Watch Emily’s own description of who she built after the divorce; a deliberate villain, Poison Ivy, Catwoman, “sexual but scary,” gin martinis as a prop. That’s not a woman who lost herself. That’s a woman choosing a costume on purpose, she built a persona that was the opposite of softness, as though the woman she had been before no longer felt safe to inhabit.

She’s described it plainly: a woman who is leading with her needs - sexual or otherwise. She requires nothing from men to validate her. That’s the Wild Siren and the Sacred Slut, surfacing together, exactly on schedule, right after the good girl promise shattered.

The Misread

Of course, the internet doesn’t have this language, so it reaches for the only frame it knows: the mother/whore split. Candace Owens’ take was that this is feminism gone “too far”.

I paraphrase, but essentially that’s the whole split in one sentence. A woman is allowed to be the Madonna — beautiful, married, mothering. Or she’s the whore. What she’s not allowed to be, in this framing, is both. Women are sexual beings, obviously, and yet that’s still the part that gets erased. She gets filed as one half or the other, and the whole person underneath, the one who can be grieving and desiring and furious in the same breath, never gets to exist on the page.

That’s Christian purity culture doing what it has always done: dehumanizing women.

Be good enough, and you’ll be safe. Stop being good, stop playing the game, even for a moment, and you forfeit the right to be seen as in pain at all.

There’s a B version of this song playing through the comments: she’s rich, she’s beautiful, so she doesn’t get hurt. Privilege gets used as a disqualifier, as if the conditioning only counts as real harm once it’s paired with poverty too. But to me that’s backwards, because if the programming reaches a woman with money, fame, and conventional beauty, and it still costs her the marriage and her sense of self, that’s not proof she’s faking it - that’s proof of how total the system is.

It’s harder to be broke and struggling, obviously, but it doesn’t mean a wealthy woman is exempt from being shaped, used, and discarded by the same script. Rather it shows that the system as a whole is screwed up and ultimately serves no-one; designer bag or not.

Reclamation, Not Revenge

In her essay, Emily mentioned f---ing her way through grief as revenge against men, leaving them before the sun came up to go and “be a mother”. The discourse mocked this framing, citing “how is being a whore revenge, they don’t even care.” but they’re missing her truth, because they’re still centering the men.

This was never about the men. No-one gives a shit about the men.

Megyn Kelly denounced Emily for “becoming a slut”. Shaming a woman into the slut category doesn’t make her go away. It exiles her further into the collective shadow instead of letting her be seen, metabolized and integrated.

A woman who’s spent her life being looked at, contracted, owned in image if not in body, finally taking pleasure purely for herself isn’t revenge — revenge needs the other person’s reaction to mean something, and this doesn’t. The man is incidental. What’s being reclaimed is her own desire and autonomy, after a lifetime of that energy being something other people got to define and profit from and reject when it became inconvenient.

I once told a colleague: your hoe phase is your grow phase. It’s the rare window where you’re allowed to take instead of constantly being taken from. There’s this whole subthread around men taking women’s energy, but to me that completely disempowers women.

Good girl conditioning trains women to give - time, body, emotional labor, softness - on demand, to whoever asks. This phase flips that. No-one talks about when you’re ready to take. Or maybe not enough women are doing that.

It is in this time that you learn what you actually want. You learn how to walk away without apologizing for it, a skill women are almost never taught because it threatens the entire supply chain of female giving the culture depends on. You shed the Disney programming - the idea that your value lives in being chosen, rescued, kept - and underneath it, someone who was never given room to exist before, has space to thrive.

Now, this phase definitely has a shelf life, and that’s not a flaw in it. It’s just not wise to live there forever; eventually it curdles into its own kind of avoidance if you don’t let it complete. You lose sight of what you’re looking for. But while it’s running its course, it isn’t damage. It’s the place where the full version of you gets to solidify.

Which is precisely what the Sigils of She are: not a personality quiz, but a map of who’s waiting to come back once the good girl performance finally stops being survivable.

I know this arc personally. After my ten-year relationship ended, I did the same thing - used my body, my wardrobe, my own dark feminine as something between a costume and a weapon, not for the men in front of me but to find my way back into my own skin. To decide who I was moment to moment. To rediscover where my power lies.

Purity culture has no language for this. It can only see a woman using sex outside devotion to one person as degraded. It cannot see her using sex as the way back to herself. Conflating the two is exactly how good girl conditioning keeps women small.

The Real Cost

Ultimately, this isn’t just about Emily. This is the entire framework that we are conditioned to trust: be beautiful, be desirable, be a good wife and mother, and you’ll be safe. Emily is so many women out there that did the thing and didn’t end up with the prize they were promised.

That’s not a personal failing. That’s just the lie having nowhere to hide. And the ones who stayed? They aren’t winning either. They just stopped being visible.

Waiting underneath the lie though, is an archetype that was always going to come back eventually, whether the world was ready to watch or not.

The contract only works while women believe it’s real. Once enough women realise it isn’t, something entirely different begins to emerge.

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

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Hey love!

I wanted to reach out personally today, as you’re one of the very first founding members of Cauldron Conversations and that means the world to me. Your early belief in this space and my work is a beautiful catalyst for everything I am brewing next.

So as a token of my immense gratitude, I wanted to give you a gift. I know I’ve been sharing snipp…

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I’ll be honest with you all about how this one came together; I have been wrestling with it all week. Between too-loud cafes and tech failures - I didn’t even realize the recording had failed until I went to edit it! In the end, I simply shut myself in my room, closed the door, and just let it happen.

I loved walking through these five energies…

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Last nights moon looked particularly resplendent as I walked home. A large sliver of luna light shone against the backdrop of the sky, the silhouette of a palm tree was illuminated and the evening breeze was a welcome respite from the intensity of the sun’s heat.

This is my moon week.

As I’ve mentioned before, production slows down in my world at this ti…

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The thing about manifesting or co-creating our reality, is that we don’t consider what has to be released for our desires to come to pass.

In every real transformation, every level up of frequency - you have to physically let something go.

For me, it was my hair.

But let me back up first because this story doesn’t start in a hotel room in Cancun, where I finally decided my hair had to go.

As a Venus in Libra fashion stylist, glamour magic wasn’t something I discovered, it was something I’d always practiced without realising; the deliberate act of using your aesthetic and presence as a portal. Choosing what you put on your body based on what energy you wanted to inhabit that day…

Who you consciously decide to become every day.

I’d been doing it for years for myself, the women I worked with in personal styling and for the musicians that needed to embody a persona on stage.

But knowing something intellectually and living it fully are two very different things.

The Prayer I Didn’t Realise I Was Making.

After my Ayahuasca ceremony in Guatemala, I left with the aim of taking all my new found knowledge and sense of self, back home to “sort out my affairs”, and then return to start my next life.

I declared clearly, with full intention and my whole chest: “I’m ready for a whole new life.”

I meant it. I felt it. I was done with the old version of everything and had experienced a taster of what else life could be.

What I didn’t fully reckon with though, is when you call that in, when you step into that energy with real intention, the universe takes you seriously.

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Not long after I came home, it was my birthday and I pulled a tarot spread to show me how fabulously things were obviously going to be.

I pulled the Tower card.

For those who don’t know Tarot: the Tower is the card of sudden upheaval. Structures collapsing. Things being torn down. It is not a gentle card.

It was the last card I wanted to see.

So I pulled more, as in -there’s-no-space-left-on-the-table more.

I was desperate to override this omen, it was not part of my “new life, new me” story.

I was looking for a different message. I wanted comfort and certainty, I wanted more 10 of pentacles energy.

What I categorically did not want was that feeling that had arrived in the pit of my stomach.

A knock on the door signalled that my first friend had just arrived ready to celebrate, so I stashed the cards somewhere and started the merriment - pushing the Tower to the back of my mind, convinced it was a mistake.

No word of a lie - I couldn’t find those cards again for TWO YEARS. 5 decks - gone.

It wasn’t until I was packing up my flat for the last time that they resurfaced.

What The Tower Actually Is

Despite my attempts at turning a blind eye, the Tower kept coming though. In other tarot spreads, in articles, “randomly” on YouTube.

I couldn’t escape it and I knew it was for me to pay attention too. There was no running from it. If the universe wants you to have a message - trust and believe you’ll get it.

Here’s what I understand now that I didn’t understand then:

The Tower was the answer to my prayer. It was part of my path and I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to bypass my way through to my dream without hiccups or pains.

Smooth sailing only please!

The problem with this is; when you ask for a whole new life, space has to be made. Things have to go, whether you like it or not.

Whether it is actual things, people, identities or old versions of yourself you’ve been white-knuckling because letting go feels like loss. The clearing isn’t the obstacle to the transformation. The clearing is the transformation arriving.

It took me a year to get to this realisation.

In that year, as I was being haunted by that card, I watched things fall, I agonised, and I tried to hold on.

I remember thinking of the process of the butterfly and how unaware the caterpillar was when it decides to undergo its metamorphosis. No one comes back and tells it that it needs to disintegrate its entire being to be reborn as the most beautiful and free creature that we love to admire.

It simply surrenders and trusts the process.

The Hair

Through all of those months abroad, I had my hair extensions. I couldn’t handle dealing with my hair and being in new environments at the same time.

Until it became a shield, disguised as glamour.

I couldn’t bear “revealing” my real hair and so kept the style way longer than was healthy.

When I knew my friend was flying out, fresh bundles were the only thing on my list. That’s how tightly I was holding on.

It wasn’t until I was in a hotel room in Cancun on my last night, bags packed, about to fly home - I finally saw it clearly.

The hair had to go. I had been hiding. For all of these years. Traveling shone a magnifying glass on it that I couldn’t avoid.

It wasn’t even really the extensions themselves, but the identity they represented.

The woman who needed to look a certain way before she could be seen. Who wasn’t ready to show up fully - in her own hair, her own face, her real points of view.

I couldn’t bring that back with me after everything I’d discovered.

Two days after I landed home, my friend cut it all off. Then she dyed it bright pink.

I still watch the video sometimes, because I love remembering that feeling of pure freedom.

Freedom of the weight of my hair but also freedom from performance.

What Opened Up

From there, I let myself experiment in ways I’d always wanted, but hadn’t fully allowed - and that says a lot because I was not a wallflower before at all!

I felt more comfortable with completely mixing it up.

Different colours. Different aesthetics. New ways of dressing, moving, being perceived. Exploring sexually. Figuring out what work would look like.

Underneath all of that though, something way more fundamental was happening.

I was allowing myself to try on selves.

The hair cut didn’t start the journey, it simply freed something that was already there, something that had been waiting for me to stop gripping long enough to let it through.

This is glamour magic at its most real. It’s the actual shedding of who you’ve been told to be so you can embody who you actually are.

It’s you casting a glamour - your illusory spell - on yourself, loaded with your full, radically authentic desires.

Where you’re so fucking you, you couldn’t give a rats arse who wants to call you weird. Or side eye you, or talk about you behind your back.

Because you are embodying you.

And it’s your god damn life.

We spend our lives building our non-selves. Padding out our mask personalities to avoid the detection of our true self.

You can feel that tug from the inside though. You may shrug it off and tell yourself that it’s “unrealistic” or, “you don’t deserve that” or whatever thing you’ve decided to numb your desires with, but it never leaves you.

The Five Style Archetypes

As I worked with this process in myself, I began noticing something...

Women don’t all emerge in the same way.

We don’t all reclaim ourselves through the same aesthetic, energy, or expression.

However, over years of styling women, coaching them, and witnessing their transformations, I began to see distinct patterns of expression trying to emerge under the burial of societal compliance.

That’s where my Style Archetypes were born, out of my own journey, and out of theirs.

These archetypes give women a clearer pathway through their glamour magic.

These archetypes are to embody ferocious self-expression - no more shrinking, no more doubting your light.

Instead of asking “what should I wear?” — you ask: “which energy is trying to come forward right now? What does she need to feel real?”

When I cut my hair and dyed it pink, I was in Wild Siren and Rebel Empress simultaneously. I didn’t have the language for it then. But I felt it.

These aren’t personalities to perform. They’re doorways into the parts of yourself the old identity was keeping quiet. In The Persephone Path, through mirror work and glamour magic - you learn to walk through that doorway every day, as a ritual back to yourself.

You Sent For This

If you’re in a shedding era right now… if things are falling, people are leaving, old versions of yourself feel like they’re dying and you’re wondering what on earth is going on - I want you to hear this:

You asked for this.

Not the pain of it. No-one asks for that. But the arrival of it. The new life you called in is making room for itself. The Tower isn’t coming for you.

You sent for it.

The question is: who are you becoming now that the old life can no longer contain you?

This week inside The Dark Room, I’m exploring the Five Style Archetypes, how to identify which one is calling you, and how glamour magic helps us embody the woman emerging on the other side of the shedding.

Join us inside.

[Upgrade to join the conversation]

[Explore The Persephone Path]

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

My loves,

I’ve just uploaded a new transmission into The Dark Room, and I have absolutely no idea where it goes in parts… which probably means it’s exactly the kind of conversation I love. 😈

It began with the oracle card I pulled: Kama Kali.

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Twelve years.

That’s how long I spent building a life that looked exactly right from the outside.

Fashion stylist. Catwalk shows. Rihanna. Lana Del Rey. Sam Smith. Charli XCX. Music videos. Billboards on the London Underground; my work, on the walls while I stood on the platform waiting for the train.

A dream.

Right?

Except somewhere around year ten I started to feel it. A gentle but undeniable murmur. That quiet, creeping wrongness. The sense that the life I’d so carefully and painstakingly constructed, had somehow… stopped being mine.

I didn’t have language for it then. I just knew I’d stopped caring. About the clients, the briefs, the status. About the relationship I’d been in for nearly a decade. About my vintage shop in Camden I’d loved - until I didn’t. About London itself — the city I was born and raised in and had poured so much of myself into.

The pavement held the pain of my stylists feet.

I started “casually” asking my friends: do you still love this lifestyle? Do you still love styling?! Do you ever wonder what else you’d love to do?

They understood. They laughed and agreed, but none of them were leaving.

Maybe the split wasn’t deep enough for them yet.

I’ll never forget the last brief that widened that gap. The final dilution of my creative ideas in the name of commercialism. I was empty.

I didn’t know it then, but I was already in the descent.

—

Then the world stopped. COVID happened.

And in that stopping, I was given a lifeline.

Egotistical, yes - but it felt like the universe had stopped the world for me. I had nowhere to hide from the questions I’d been drowning in alcohol.

I had just returned from an epiphanal moment of clarity in Sri Lanka. As I sat on a beach watching people live lives that were genuinely, simply joyful, I thought: this is some bullshit. London is an illusion. No one cares about your next client or your next project here. This is real life.

Not with anger, well a bit, but mostly with the quiet shattering of someone who has just seen through a very long lie.

The worst thing is, I knew it was a lie. I had got lost in the sauce.

By the time lockdown hit I had money in — government support, and my granddads recent death meant I had enough to stop. Enough to finally breathe for a minute.

It was all I needed to actually ask the question I’d been afraid of:

If I could live any way I wanted for the rest of my days - what would that actually be?

—

I went to Mexico. Then Guatemala.

First solo trip of my life. I had no plan and knew no one.

Plant medicine. An off-grid yoga farm for two months. Indigenous practices. Herbalism. Channelling workshops by a volcanic lake. A busted ankle. Time travel regressions in my sleep.

I was cracking open in every direction.

And then, coming out of Guatemala, I found a lump in my right breast.

Granulated tumour. Level three. Rare, the doctor said. Benign - thank goodness. They had to operate. Twice.

While I was recovering, a best friend, the woman I lived with - left. Went back to Mexico because she “couldn’t handle the way I was dealing with it”.

Another best friend’s mum, twenty-something years of family - suddenly died, while she was angry with me.

That grief broke me in a way I had never experienced before. And I’ve experienced some shit.

Then in what was supposed to be a reunion, my dad - my childhood saviour - decided to believe a grifter over his own daughter. A woman on the long-con who hated that I had turned up to the island. Deciding I wasn’t worth his love or protection anymore, he chose someone else. Everyone else.

I went into the kind of depression that doesn’t have a bottom you can see from the top.

I can’t even begin to describe the pain that ripped through my chest as my being dissolved over those years.

—

But I want to be honest about what that period looked like.

Broke. Alone. Still trying to fight.

Back working in a vintage shop — a vintage shop, when I’d had my own! Feeling like I’d walked fifteen years backwards into someone else’s life. Questioning every single choice I’d ever made and why I was stupid enough to follow my spirit.

Surely styling wasn’t that bad? Maybe I could’ve stuck out the relationship…?

When my body betrayed the death I was living through, and I found myself involuntarily sighing as it gasped for breathe I didn’t know I was short of, I ended up back in Tulum. Living in the jungle. Trying to get my shit together.

Dead dogs appeared from nowhere. Huge spiders I’ve never seen in Mexico since, turned up in the middle of the night, like the universe was sending symbols I didn’t have the energy to decode.

Dark night of the soul isn’t a metaphor.

It’s an actual experience of dissolution.

Of not knowing who you are anymore because everything you built your identity on has been stripped away — career, relationship, friendship, family, health, money, home.

All of it. Gone.

Who are you when there’s nothing left to hide behind? What did you actually come here to experience?

—

Here’s what I didn’t expect.

On the other side of that question - not immediately, not without more mess, more grief, more mulch - was something I’d never actually met before.

Myself.

Not the stylist. Not the good girlfriend who hands you a hot meal every evening. Not the loyal daughter trying to earn love from a man who’d abandoned her 10x over. Not the strong one with the big mouth, the independent one, the one who didn’t need anything from anyone.

Just. Me.

I fully surrendered.

And then, slowly, quietly, almost embarrassingly gently - people started showing up.

Friends offering their homes. Old and new connections leaving food as they carried on their travels; clothes, bikes, laptop, money. Abundance arriving in the most unassuming forms. Mangoes from the street. A room, a base, a business partner who said don’t worry, you’re safe here.

I’d spent so long in hyper-independence I hadn’t realised it was just hypervigilance with better branding. I’d been cutting myself off from love because I didn’t believe it would stay.

And yet, there it was.

—

Dragonflies started following me. Then butterflies.

I pulled the Strength card and Sekhmet for months, until: the Phoenix arrived.

A creative visualisation gave me a golden pen in a white crystal box and a voice that said: write our story.

Yes, I know how that sounds. And I’m proudly at a point where I don’t care.

Because what I know now — five years after I first sat on that Sri Lanka beach wondering if my life was really mine — is that the descent wasn’t a failure.

It was a map.

A necessary journey.

Every door I walked through in the dark became a pathway I could offer someone else:

Shadow Work & Inner Excavation — came from meeting what I’d buried under twelve years of building the “right” life.

Sacred Rage & Somatic Release — came from my father. From the specific, devastating heartbreak of a parent choosing against you.

Mirror Magic & Perception Rewrite — came from hating the body I was in — cortisol weight, grief weight, the physical proof of self-abandonment — and having to learn, slowly, to put love back in.

Glamour Magic & Frequency Maxxing — came from my years of using styling as a weapon. From understanding that how we dress and adorn ourselves isn’t vanity - it’s how we get to control our life experience.

Sacred Sexuality & Self-Devotion — came from everything I had to unlearn and relearn about desire, shame, prowess, and what it means to be the source of your own pleasure rather than outsourcing it.

I didn’t “design” The Persephone Path.

I lived it.

—

Persephone doesn’t just go to the underworld and survive it.

She comes back and rules.

Queen of two worlds. Spring and darkness. She knows what lives in the depths and she’s not afraid of it anymore because it’s part of her.

It’s her Divine Darkness.

That’s what I’m here to guide you through.

Not past the darkness. Not around it.

Through it, and back up, dripping in the deliciousness of your own power, ready for a life that actually turns you on.

If you recognise yourself anywhere in this story, I see you. The Persephone Path was built for exactly this moment.

I’ve watched a woman walk through every door and come back as someone she’d been trying to find for years. Now a dear friend, she came back to Tulum last year and held me through my own heartbreak. That’s what this work does - changes the entire texture of your life.

[The Persephone Path — $69]

Want the Path plus ongoing live work together? Join The Dark Room for $8/month and grab the Path at member price of $37 via the link in subscriber chat.

[The Dark Room — $37]

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

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Yesterday I recorded our first Dark Room gathering: Incoming: Your Divine Darkness Era.

Thank you to all who joined, I loved exploring this with you. I know timing can be funny with you all being in different parts of the world, so if you missed it but wanted to be there - I got you 😎

In the deep dive, we explored:

✨Why the descent begins with a…

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Less cortisol more eros.

On Wednesdays live, as I spoke about the anatomy of the good girl exorcism, I stated that I believe life is sex.

But what do I mean by that exactly?

If you want to watch the whole conversation - it’s available here {replay}

Well, I had this thought a few months ago when contemplating the fact that we are constantly co-creating our reality; sex is creation energy and everything is creation - ergo - everything is sex, at its most basic form.

And so, armed with that information, what are you doing to make sure your life is the best sex it can be?

Where all of your actions, decisions and moments, are as nourishing and enriching as possible.

How beautiful is it to think that we can make love to life? That we can create such deep and profound pleasure within ourselves as we go about our existence.

So, I ask again - does your life turn you on?

And if not - what will it take for it to do so?

Where are you denying yourself that, even in the most mundane and monotonous tasks.

When you’re cut off from your sacral/root - you’re cut off from your essence. The very thing that can bring safety into your body and your nervous system.

As far as I can see - this is by design.

Shaming women’s sexual desires was a way of cutting us off from our center. Our divine connection.

Getting good with your sexual energy is a major key to unlocking your inner power.

When women are severed from desire, pleasure, creativity, sensuality and aliveness, they become disconnected from their life force.

It is our job to ensure we feel alive.

To honour our cycles and live in a state of Eros - unapologetically.

Desire is our life current and suppression is disconnection. When we’re disconnected, we lose our sense of self.

Now this isn’t some cute - “just make your life hot spiel”.

Internal stress is literally not pretty.

Your body and face tell the story of your inner world. There’s an energy to someone who’s internally joyous, you can’t quite put your finger on it, but you can damn sure feel it.

Your life is directly related to your health and your body.

Once you start enforcing boundaries, learning to take as good a care of yourself as you do others, speaking on what’s true for you, nourishing yourself properly, not second guessing your intuition - your erotic connection to life itself returns. You plug back into what feeds you.

Activating your voice soothes your nervous system. When we keep our rage, truth, grief, joy inside, our body feels the contraction.

Once the demon leaves, the woman returns.

And what returns with her?

Desire.

Pleasure.

Creativity.

Life force.

Eros.

When you begin to structure your life to receiving, practicing and increasing your tolerance with pleasure, your life will unfurl before your very eyes.

When pleasure is used as a nervous system tool rather than a frivolity, life expands.

Figuratively and literally.

The sovereign woman is unashamed to desire.

The self-led woman treats Eros as intelligence and follows what enlivens her.

The self-devoted woman learns to hear herself again and trusts what turns her on.

Because the journey isn’t simply about releasing the old identity in the descent.

It’s about reclaiming the woman that’s always been underneath it all.

Ready to go deeper?

• Join Wednesday’s Dark Room masterclass: Incoming: Your Divine Darkness

• Explore The Persephone Path Ritual Bundle

  Note: Dark Room members receive a discounted ritual bundle rate

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

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I had planned it to be 30 minutes.

Your girl spoke for an hour. 😭

What can I say? I like a chat as much as I like to write.

We explored the very real consequences the Good Girl is having on women’s bodies (yes, I called her a demon 👹), the power of self-devotion, making your life juicy AF, and the 5 doors of The Persephone Path.

If you’ve ever wondered why you abandon yourself in the pursuit of being loved, why rage comes up from seemingly nowhere, and how to live a life that actually feels like yours (shout out to younger you) — this conversation is for you.

Settle in with a coffee, a walk, or your Sunday ritual and join us.

With love and magic,

Sim xxx

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