~ My Officially Unoffical Bio ~ Part One

Hello, gorgeous Goddess…

My name is Rachelle Renea Richard.

I am a writer, poet, lover of teas, trees, grass, creeks, gentle breezes caressing my skin.

I am a lightworker, intuitive healer, soul guide, Goddess mentor, self love empowerment coach.

I am a starseed, volunteer soul, twin flame traveler, so much more than what can be named.

I am a divine feminine rising into her power along her own self love empowerment journey while guiding other newly awakening Goddesses through the same.

And……

I am a former PROSTITUTE.

Yes, you read that right.

And I have been raped, abused, berated, assaulted, stalked, gaslighted and manipulated....all of which I experienced before I went into "the business". Pimped out, drug addicted and arrested were added to the roster, along with plenty more of the same as before deciding the path that would take me into the dark underbelly of the matrix.

I had, after all, developed deep beliefs that included: ~ men only want one thing from me (this later expanded into three things....from just my body to my body, my skills and/or my resources) ~ men don’t have feelings (in spite of being a daddy’s girl growing up) ~ I deserved horrible things to happen to me because I was a mistake, an accidental cosmic joke taking up oxygen and space that was needed for everybody else ~ I obviously wasn’t good enough to be loved just by being me

I had no idea back then that ALL of this was MY shit. This life, past lives, ancestral wounding, karmic debt.

I also had no idea that It was also 100% in my power to change it.

Like you, I just had to wake up to that realization, see my truth and reveal my own power within myself.

First though, I had to learn what true self loathing and self sabotage looked like. What damage generational curses, core wounds and destructive mental programming FEELS like and what it takes to CHOOSE to rise up from the ashes like a MF Phoenix ~ ~ or rather, for me like a pegasus birthed from the severed head of she whom had been punished for “being violated” and found no longer pure.

I had to know firsthand the journey of healing and awakening to remember who and what I am and the power I truly possess. I had to know with such depth and clarity so I could fulfill my earth mission, my soul purpose for coming back and enduring the sort of excruciating pain and suffering as so much of humanity has been made to experience as well. For some souls so much worse.

I had to know how to reclaim my power and learn how to love myself so I could illuminate the path for others to follow.

I say so often from Abraham Hicks, “Words don’t teach. Only life experience gives understanding.”

From a toxic mother to school bullies, an abusive boyfriend to a drug dealing pimp, depression, self harm and bipolar misdiagnosis to arresting officers, community service and just wanting to be free of the perceived bondage of this world yet actually believing I would even screw up my own suicide and end up fully dependent, thereby fulfilling my fear of being a burden, I have had a journey that my own mind has minimalized to such depth and degree, that it was only in my late 30s that I finally started to heal and reveal my truth of me.

By age 12, both a volatile and defining time, my psychic gifts were beginning to surface. Yet because a Catholic upbringing taught of a wrathful God and such gifts considered curses, I suppressed them out of fear, further fueling the great divide within myself.

This was also the time the tension had been building with my mother as I was believing more and more that I was unwanted, unworthy and that the world would be better off without me in it.

Standing in the kitchen of the old farmhouse we were living in, I was holding a steak knife to my wrist, crying out to my mother in the middle of a highly charged argument, “I’LL DO IT! DON’T MAKE ME!”

Her reply? Five painfully devastating words for an already deeply insecure, bullied, clearly suicidal pre-pubescent teen…. “Do it. I don’t care.”

You could certainly say that she and I have never really had much of a connection. And any attempt at one has just kept us in a vicious cycle of destructive patterns. Patterns I have most certainly been working to eliminate from my own way of being so they cease sabotaging the relationships I DO want for myself.

She even teased me about being flat chested as I was entering puberty at the same time I was being bullied by kids at school. I remember that day as much as the others…..

We were standing in the grade school gymnasium. She turns and asks if I’m wearing a bra. I, of course, answer negatory to which she replies, “Well, you’ve got to do SOMETHING with those fried eggs.”

This was the SAME year I had the steak knife to my wrist…. I remind you, I was 12 years old.

I must interject….it was only recently during a meditation that it was revealed to me that my twin flame was who I would speak to nearly every night staring into the darkness out my bedroom as I’d cry myself to sleep wanting so bad to leave this world. I could hear him say, “Hang in there, baby. I’ll be there before you know it. You ARE strong enough. Keep holding on.”

I never knew who it was back then as I didn’t even know about twin flames let alone believe in them until the past few years. Between him coming to me and my pegasus whisking me away in my most quiet moments, I know I would not be here today were it not for them and other guardian angels along my journey.

I digress…

The day my mother told me point blank that I was a mistake, the reason she had to marry my dad and why she was so unhappy happened when I was barely 15. I so vividly remember that day still…. where exactly along that curvy stretch of highway on the way to Manhattan, Kansas.

As if that wasn’t enough, she read my diary and then used my own words against me shortly after telling me she wouldn’t support my writing aspirations because I could never make a living at it. I had been accepted into a writing school just a year earlier which I was not allowed to pursue.

An even deeper divide within myself as that which I wasn’t allowed more and more became the gauge with which I would measure the depth of my life.

Little did I know growing up how profoundly detrimental my mother’s toxic words would come to be for me.

Even 20 years later, at age 35, she told me I was embarrassing her by bopping along to the Christmas music as I sniffed the "smellies" in Victoria's Secret during a yearly visit back for the holidays.

That was the last time I let her belittle me.....

It was also the same trip wherein her hypocrisy became both undeniable and unbearable wherein she was spewing filth toward black people by using the “N word” at the same time having her “Jesus” music on the radio. I begged her to pull the truck over and let me walk the 20 miles home across the Kansas countryside. I was so sickened being in her presence.

In my life, I had learned to loathe myself and at the same time despise her.

What a conundrum, eh?

No wonder I could so easily hate the woman that was me as I entered adulthood and believe that no one could ever want to be part of my life or love me for me.

I had come to view myself as the mistake she made certain I knew I was. I came to believe it to such a degree that by the time I graduated high school, I truly believed not just that I was a mistake, but that I was, in fact, a cosmic joke. I had come to believe that I was just some fluke that was somehow allowed to survive yet wasn’t worthy of the air I was breathing as it was meant for those who were supposed to be here and I was contributing their lack by taking what wasn’t mine to have.

This grossly destructive view of myself set my point of attraction for some horrendous experiences. Lessons I know now, of course, I have chosen to learn in order to expand my soul and step fully into my power and my purpose.

By the time I graduated high school, I possessed the belief that I was not just a mistake but a cosmic joke as the Universe sought to make an example of me. That through religion learning that God was the ultimate parent and was punishing me for merely being born.

I continued to spiral down into the recesses of not just being unworthy but that what I DID deserve was all the horrible things that had and continued to happen…..

My freshman year of college, I was raped and gang raped. My second year, I was raped again. Looking for love in all the wrong places, I soon discovered myself in a narcissistic abusive relationship with he who I still refer to as my psycho ex.

I remember one instance when he swung to hit me and hit the wall just inches from my face instead. Another time, in my Thunderbird, he came to pick me up from work and the moment we got into the car, he exploded with rage as apparently a purely platonic coworker had looked at my ass on the way out of the office. Apparently, that meant I was “fucking him” he said. As he was on the passenger side, he hit the dash with his fist creating a star shatter as you would see on a windshield from a large rock flying from speeding down the freeway.

Getting out of that relationship took me back to my parents’ house… both of us. It was one of the few times I was truly grateful to be there as I knew my dad and brothers would not stand for his violence against me. It wasn’t long after that he officially snapped and checked himself into a psychiatric hospital. His drug use was creating delusions that he was dying (it was severe indigestion) and asking such questions as, “can I live with just one lung?” He was snorting meth. Grateful that was never a drug I had any interest in.

Once he vacated my life, not without having the last word of course by way of a letter that declared his state of being was all my fault, the tension in my parents’ house became amplified once again. I had to get out and from there I moved into the basement with yet another guy in Kansas City.

Blessed was I that he was not abusive. In fact, a sweet soul was he so much that he had little backbone and catered to his mother’s every request, even to scurry up to Walmart to use his employee discount on a $20 purchase. While at the opposite end of the spectrum, it was still the same chart that mirrored my utter lack of self worth.

By the time I was 22, I was believing I had only one thing men wanted from me…. my body. So when a beloved soul sister moved out to Arizona and shared with me her adventures, I found it intriguing that her friend introduced her to the world of escorting. Not something she had the courage to do herself and merely a share of what she learned, I was ready to get the fuck out of Kansas and away from my mother AT ALL COSTS.

This was my chance. And I dove head first. Literally being told on January 24, 2002 and arriving in the Phoenix Valley just 4 days later. I sold what I could, packed what I could into my little SUV and left what I thought would be safe with those I trusted to care for it. I just knew making the trip to my parents’ house to leave things was not an option as I didn’t want to face the judgment for the decision I was making to start a new chapter in an entirely new state.

With just a printed map and driving directions from the internet, I spent my final hours with the guy I’d been hooking up with and left Kansas City, Kansas at 10:30pm.

I bawled my eyes out at least half of the 1200 miles out to Arizona. I didn’t stop driving until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I pulled off into a well lit truck stop just outside Amarillo, Texas where I slept in my truck until the freezing temperatures woke me just 2 hours later. I got back on the road to arrive in the Phoenix Valley at 10:30pm, exactly 24 hours after I’d left Kansas.

It was easy to get hired at the escort agency. Girls were a dime a dozen. Sex sells. All we have to do is look around at how it is used to sell everything from clothes to food to vacations and more. Yet, put the power in a woman’s hands to sell sex for herself and it’s a crime. Even as a self love empowerment coach, you could not convince me 100% that sex for money is bad. For a woman who enjoys it, it’s a perfect profession.

Needless to say, as much as I seemed to have thought I could run from myself, it was instead to venture deeper into the human experience and my own shadows. Of course, I did not know this in the slightest at the time. I did now know I was about to walk through a valley (or several) in the shadow of death…….

Working at the escort agency was NOT all glitz and glam as the girls are portrayed. My first experience was a reflection of my unworthiness. Yet I rose up from that and kept moving forward, telling myself that this was all men wanted from me, anyway, so I was making the most of the cards I had been dealt.

It was just a few months later that I was connected with “Walter”, he who I called Satan for YEARS after finally getting away from him.

You see, in the escort world, you bring more value when you can provide additional “benefits”, in particular, party favors. He was a drug dealer. It wasn’t long and I was learning the difference between crack and rock cocaine. Trust me, there IS a difference! LOL. They might make the same sound but they do NOT create the same reaction in the body, at least not mine. I learned very quickly to flush what I considered “street crack” and to purchase powder cocaine so I could cook it myself. Yep, I was a drug chef, lol. Geez, the things I learned.

Soon, he was using my addiction to manipulate me and before I knew it, my apartment was homebase for his pimping operations as he brought other girls to that which was at one time my home.

For several years this went on. I have very vivid recollections of out of body experiences…. literally looking down at myself strung out and in a constant petrified state afraid of what might happen next. The sexual favors I deduced myself to doing just for a fix. Being forced to go out and work when I hadn’t slept for days. Always needing to have my ringer on to take calls all hours of the day and night.

The first time I was arrested for solicitation was a night I KNEW there were stings planned yet he needed to be paid. And so I went. Did I tell them about him?? Hell no! I was not willing to face the repercussions so I took the hit all myself. It was my fault for not implementing the proper measures.

Another night I had to go out, I was high and sleep deprived. When I arrived at the call location, my spidey senses were trying so hard to tell me danger was afoot yet I was all jacked up on the receiving end.

The garage door was open yet the light was off. The guy met me in the driveway. Before I knew it, a hand came from the left and across my cheek. As my glasses flew off my face and I hit the ground, I screamed the scream we call a “holler” in the country…. a sound you can hear from a great distance. The same sound that frightened him and made him turn and run away from the scene.

As he did so, I grabbed my glasses up off the concrete driveway and bolted for my car. Just two blocks away was a cop car YET because of the broken system, I knew better than to turn my own self in so instead the REAL criminal was able to remain free as I continued the drive back home, shaken and shattered.

There is so much more I could share yet, I’ve written far more than I’ve intended.

When I finally got away from my drug dealer pimp, it wasn’t without payback. He put gum in my deadbolt lock so I couldn’t use my apartment key. He lit the car on fire which I had sold to two now former friends I had living with me at the time. Grateful she was having pregnancy insomnia and caught my cat freaking out in the window in the middle of the night. She sat up to see the flames. Her boyfriend grabbed the fire extinguisher and we all made our way down the stairs in a flash to get the fire out.

It was morning when we were able to see the “reality” of what had happened…. gasoline soaked paper towels had been placed in the wheel well. Had the fire not been extinguished when it was, it would have easily caught the apartment building on fire as the car was parked under my balcony.

I wasn’t even 30 years old.

Over nearly the next decade, I was in and out of the business as it was what I had known. It was my comfort zone.

I did my best to start and build a creative business but when you don’t believe you have any value to offer this world other than your body, well, that was a roller coaster ride that ended in dissolution.

I’ve had sugar and splenda daddies along the way. (A splenda is a “wannabe” but doesn’t quite meet the mark, lol.)

In my mid 30s, as I was building an organizing business, I hit the meltdown point.

The traumas of my past finally catching up as anxiety became so severe that I couldn’t even leave my house. The belief that I wasn’t worthy of a good life had long become the belief that I actually deserved all the horrible things that had happened to me. I was, after all, the mistake of my mother.

Misdiagnosed bipolar, not knowing of my empathic abilities and the subsequent energetic overdosing on the world around me, I was pumped full of drugs and turned into an unfeeling zombie. As painful as it was to feel the pain and suffering of my own mind, it was even more excruciating to feel NOTHING.

Which only made me suicidal again.

That was the final straw. I HAD to do something different.

(Continued to next post...)