If you had told teenage me that one day I'd be standing in a swingers club on the Gold Coast, locking eyes with one of the world's top male porn stars and feeling my whole life tilt off its axis, I would have laughed.

I was the quiet girl. The shy one. The girl who got called 'Ugly Betty' in high school because of my glasses, my fringe and my braces. I was the one who blushed if anyone even whispered a rude joke.

I grew up in a tiny village in North Wales. When I say tiny, I mean sheep, cows and maybe three houses.

I spent my childhood riding quad bikes and building tree houses. There were only eight kids in my class. Five girls and three boys. When you grow up that isolated, you do not exactly get much practice with the opposite sex. I didn't. I carried that awkwardness with me for years.

Watch: A swinger club owner's advice for newbies. Post continues below.

I had my first sexual experience at 18. I had no idea what I was doing and neither did he. It was something I did because everyone else was doing it and I wanted to tick the box, not because I had any sense of desire or pleasure. It was uncomfortable and confusing, and it left me feeling more insecure than ever.

Soon after, I moved to the south of France. It was my first time living away from home and I went into full rebellion mode in a way only someone who's never had the chance to explore anything can.

There were parties, older men, situations I didn't know how to navigate, and choices I made because I thought I had to. I had no boundaries and no ability to communicate what I wanted or didn't want. I told myself it was fun, but underneath I was lost.

Around that same time, I had a sexual encounter that was not consensual. I buried it immediately and told no one for ten years. I didn't have the language or the emotional tools to deal with it. I only knew how to shut down. And that's what I did. I disconnected from my body completely. I faked every orgasm. I thought that was normal.

By the time I ended up in Australia in my twenties, something inside me had stayed switched off. I became a kindergarten teacher on the Gold Coast and I loved it. I loved the kids and the routine. I loved having a simple, safe identity. I was at home feeling numb and thinking it was normal.

But everything changed when I met a couple who introduced me to swinging.

One night, completely casually, they opened up a conversation about swinging. They explained they'd been together years, were happy and stable, and that swinging was something they did from time to time to add excitement into their lives.

The way they spoke about it made it sound so normal and functional, not wild or reckless.

I remember being curious and thinking, 'If they can do this and still love each other deeply, maybe it isn't as scary or taboo as I thought.'

They invited me to come along to a private swingers party. I was nervous. Really nervous.

But they were warm and reassuring, and because they were such a solid couple, I felt oddly safe trying something so far outside my comfort zone. And if I'm being honest, a few drinks helped soften the edges of my anxiety.

A surreal night.

The night was surreal and confronting… but it also opened something up in me. I didn't suddenly become liberated, but I felt a tiny spark of curiosity I hadn't felt in years.

A little while later, emboldened by that first experience, I decided to go to a swingers club on my own. I wasn't expecting anything. I wasn't chasing anything. I just wanted to understand this new part of myself.

And that was where I met him.

My future husband.

He was one of the world's top male porn stars and a big name on OnlyFans. I recognised him immediately from social media. Everything in my brain screamed that this was not someone I should be getting involved with. I was a kindergarten teacher who still felt disconnected from her own body. He was a man whose entire career revolved around sexual confidence.

But the minute we spoke, something shifted. We connected instantly. It was like my whole body recognised him before my mind did.

We fell in love fast. I knew by our third date that I was going to marry him. He proposed six weeks later. We were married three months after that. It sounds impulsive, but it was the most real thing I had ever felt.

Suddenly, I was the teacher walking into work on Monday mornings with the other educators arriving early just to hear my stories. Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who were sexually confident in ways I had never witnessed. At first, I judged them because I was intimidated. Then I slowly understood the freedom they felt in their own bodies.

We travelled Australia speaking at adult events. People flew in from around the world to meet us. I did OnlyFans too.

Our marriage wasn't open at the beginning, but over time it naturally shifted. Slowly at first, then more fully, until polyamory simply became part of our life.

Moving to Thailand.

Eventually, another person became part of our dynamic, and the three of us moved to Thailand together. It was the most extreme leap I've ever taken. We lived in a six-bedroom mansion that felt like something from a movie.

People flew in constantly to stay with us, collaborate, party, film content and be part of whatever wild world we were building.

From the outside, it looked glamorous. From the inside, it was organised chaos. It was intoxicating and intense. But it was also becoming too much. Because while we were living this big life, something inside me started to quietly break. I developed feelings for another man through our polyamorous setup. It wasn't forbidden.

But telling my husband that I loved another man cracked something open in me. I suddenly saw how far I'd drifted from myself. I had lost my instincts, my boundaries and my voice.

My body knew before my mind did. One day, during what would become my final content shoot, I simply shut down. Completely. I could not do it anymore.

So I left.

I walked out of the mansion. I walked away from both men. I walked away from the lifestyle entirely. And I disappeared.

I spent a year in the jungle in Thailand, celibate and with no social media accounts and no identity except my own name. I made friends who didn't know my past. I did intense healing work. I sat with the shame I had carried for years. I grieved everything I had performed my way through. And I slowly reconnected with my body in a way I never had before.

At first, I wanted to erase the whole chapter. I felt embarrassed. I felt ashamed. But eventually I realised this wasn't something to hide. It was something other women needed to hear.

Because so many women live exactly how I once did. Numb. Disconnected. Afraid to talk about pleasure. Holding shame about their past. Faking their way through intimacy because they think they have to.

That is why I began the work I do now.

Listen to the full episode of No Filter, here. Post continues below.

Today I run online pleasure workshops for women who want to feel connected again. I support couples navigating affairs, disconnection and shame. I talk about sex in a way I never could have imagined when I was 18.

If I could speak to any woman who has spent her whole life being a good girl but secretly craves more, I would tell her this: You're allowed to feel good. You're allowed to want things. You're allowed to be curious. Pleasure isn't something to earn. It's something we are born with the right to experience.

And if a shy girl from a Welsh village can go from quad bikes to kindergarten classrooms to a mansion in Thailand and back to herself again, then anyone can find their way home to who they really are.

Feature image: Supplied.