When I couldn't say No

After writing about the time I stood fully in my “no” during a tantra retreat, it felt important—maybe even more so—to also share a time when I didn’t. Because consent isn’t something you learn once and then master forever. Even with all the work I’ve done around boundaries, even with the awareness I’ve cultivated, the tools I teach and use myself… I still had a moment when I couldn’t honour my own truth.

I had booked a tantric massage for myself—a space to receive, to rest, to be nourished. I chose a woman who sounded perfect for me. I had carefully researched her, read her words, and felt her energy through the screen. She came across as warm, down-to-earth, professional, and embodied—exactly the combination I was longing for. When I arrived at her door, she greeted me with soft eyes and a calm presence. We connected immediately and I felt like I could be myself with her, which is something I don’t take for granted.

After a brief chat, we moved into the session. The massage began beautifully. Her touch was nurturing, fluid, and feminine. I enjoyed the smoothness of her skin on mine, the rhythm of her movements, the feeling of being held in a space where I didn’t need to give anything back. It was tender and gentle and loving—everything I had hoped for. And then something shifted.

At a certain point, she began touching my yoni. Not intrusively, not without care—just softly, with presence, in a way that would normally feel natural in this kind of session. But something in my body shifted. A subtle contraction. A breath that didn’t fully land. That quiet inner knowing that something didn’t feel right.

We had talked about consent. She had told me I could speak up at any moment. I knew she would have listened. And yet—I said nothing. I didn’t speak.

Instead, my mind stepped in. It began negotiating with my body, trying to override the discomfort. Maybe I just need to give it time… maybe it’s me… maybe I’ll settle into it soon. I started wondering if I was overreacting, or being too sensitive, or missing the point of the session. I thought about how it might feel for her to be told “no” after offering something so lovingly. I imagined being in her position, as I am with my own guests, and I didn’t want her to feel rejected or unsure. I told myself to wait, to see if it shifted.

So I waited. I stayed quiet. Hoping that the sensations would change, or that she would intuitively feel that something wasn’t quite aligned. I hoped she might adjust, read my body language, slow down. But that moment never came. And I never said a word.

The session ended and I left. I knew she had offered her touch with kindness and best intentions. But I left with something heavier. A quiet sadness that sat in my chest. I had crossed a line—not one that she had drawn, but one that I had drawn for myself, and then chosen not to honour. I had betrayed my own body, my own truth, by not speaking it.

And this is what hurt the most—not the experience itself, but the feeling of having abandoned myself, even when I knew better. Because I do know better. I create spaces where people feel safe to express their truth, and I always welcome their voice, especially when it means adjusting the session to honour their needs. I tell people all the time that their pleasure and comfort matter more than anything. And yet, in that moment, I couldn’t offer myself the same grace.

The practitioner wasn’t wrong. She didn’t do anything harmful. The issue wasn’t her—it was me not being able to stay true to myself. What would have been more fair—for both of us—was for me to gently express what I was feeling. To say, “this doesn’t feel good for me right now,” or “can we stay in the energy we had earlier?” Not because her touch was bad, but because it simply didn’t align with what I needed in that moment. And she would have understood and appreciated my truth. I believe that.

Afterward, I made a quiet promise to myself: to not do that again. Or at least to try my best not to. To catch myself sooner when that tightening happens. To listen. To speak, even if my voice feels uncertain. Because the truth is, saying yes to something your body doesn’t want—no matter how softly offered—is a kind of self-abandonment. And I don’t want to do that anymore.

Consent is not a checkbox at the start of a session. It’s not a one-time conversation. It’s a living, breathing thing. It shifts moment to moment. What was a yes ten minutes ago can become a no now. What felt fine in theory can feel completely different when you’re in it. And that’s okay. That’s allowed.

This experience reminded me that even as a practitioner, even with all my knowledge and experience, I’m still human. Still learning. Still practising... 

Love,

Rosie x