It was the middle of winter, in Chicago. A group of people had assembled in a cavernous room covered entirely in chocolate brown, for four days of intense personal development. The day’s topic was integrity. I got this, I thought to myself. I had basically written the book on it.

I was utterly prepared when the overly perky instructor asked me what integrity meant to me. I glanced over at the very young lady sitting next to me, who had been gazing at me adoringly, in this ‘I want to be just like you when I grow up’, kind of way. I stood to deliver my painstakingly perfect answer, ready to refer liberally to my extensive work on the topic. And my book.

I had been speaking openly about my soon-to-be published spiritual guidebook, a work of inspiration and beauty, which chronicled my adventures around the world and the many lessons from the mystic traditions I had been studying. I could hear angels sing at the mention of this book. Really.

What no one knew was that there was another book, a secret book. This one held the un-sanitized versions of these same adventures as well as a lifetime of rage, resentment and opinionated, judgmental, hateful despair.

Two books – a declaration of righteous living, of wisdom, of love, on which I was so proud to put my name.  And everything else, in a juicy, tawdry tome of a true human experience. But this one had to be published under a pen name, so as not to sully my reputation and my standing in the community. (Ironically, this was the one that was getting the most attention.)

The journey to that moment had begun 10 years earlier, when my life hit a messy and painful patch, and I began writing. My father died, my daughter was born and both my career and my marriage became unbearable. I had become so adept at holding up a facade of perfection, that no one wanted to hear about the reality of the mess. I wrote as a desperate act in an attempt to save my own life. These words were my therapy, my medicine, my salvation, but they were as dark and ugly as one could imagine. And they were my secret.

Five years later, I began to write publicly, for my community, works of inspiration, of light. I had a solution for every problem, clarity for any issue. Kindness, compassion, forgiveness and gratitude were my themes. I had distilled the human experience into only its positive parts.

Still, beneath it all, ran a torrent of disgust, lust and fear so intense to be nearly all-consuming.

So there I was, on that cold day in Chicago, contemplating integrity, when all I could feel was hypocrisy. I felt the stab of my schism as sharply as a tack under my heel. By openly perpetuating the myth of the holier-than-thou teacher and hiding my life as a human – a woman – I was joining the conspiracy.

All I could think was no. NO, NO, NO.

I could not present one more sermon on integrity while knowing the depths of what I was hiding. I could no longer stand there elevating good vs. evil, sacred vs. profane, divinity vs. the flaws of the flesh. I could not be a part of the system that created vegans caught at the drive thru, spiritual leaders with their pants down and politicians. Period.

By standing naked under the spotlight I would make a stand against the fundamentalist hypocrisy that causes immense damage. It would be my ‘Fuck You!’ to the system that punishes women for wanting what they want, that forces people to suppress their truth so that it only comes out in explosion or distortion, that purports we are one-dimensional.

That day 16 months ago, began the long and often excruciating endeavor to integrate the public and private parts of my life. To tell the truth about what it looks like for a real flesh and blood woman to live a deeply spiritually guided life and to declare it, in one piece of work.

That day a Lover, a Mother, a Seeker and a Sage, finally made peace with sharing this one body. Two books became one and a fractured life became whole.

A sneak peek at what was born that day:

I am the lover, the seductress, desire made manifest into fleshly form. I am intoxicating and ripe, the pulse and power of your longing for union with other. I open my heart to you, and invite you in with an enticing look, a curl of a finger and a hot breath.

I am the mother, the soft, round embrace of nurture. I feed, I love, I hold, I support. I am the ground on which you stand and the arms into which you fall. I am the impulse that creates and the energy that sustains.

I am the seeker, the question which needs no answer. I am the evolutionary impulse to know more, experience more, understand more. I stumble and fall, over and over, yet continue to rise, bloody and bruised, to take another step.

I am the sage, the answer without a question. I see and know. I hold the divine spark with complete awareness. I am remembrance of the stardust that created me and the mystery of what keeps breath flowing through me. I know the sacred and the divine to be the stuff of which I am made.

I am the goddess, an alchemical mixture of dark and light, strong and soft, movement and stillness. I am the dance, the dancer and the music, the poison and its remedy. I am the desire in your loins, the vision in your soul and the vessel for your love.