I Returned to a Place Where I Was Not Yet This Woman
On Polish forests, a girl with a diary, a sexuality that matured among nature, and a woman who discovered that her body could be home anywhere in the world
There is an old path through the forest that I always follow when I return to my hometown area. It takes about an hour to walk one way. It usually takes me much longer because I keep stopping. One tree brings back a story, another reminds me of a place where I used to sit. Sometimes I simply look at something I have seen hundreds of times and still cannot bring myself to walk past
At the end, there is a wild lake
There is no city noise, no traffic, no crowds, no traces of civilisation reminding me that another world exists somewhere nearby. There is water, trees, birds and silence. The forest is far enough from roads and people to feel as though it exists slightly outside time
The old trees are still standing. The paths still lead to the same places. New shoots, bushes and young trees appear, but the overall landscape remains almost unchanged
I am the one who has changed
And perhaps that is what makes returning here so extraordinary. I used to see the forest as my own, unchanging world. Now I see it even more clearly as something that has outlasted all the different versions of me. Those same paths are like signposts leading back to the girl I once was. Except I am no longer that girl
And that’s a good thing
The girl who wanted to live in the forest
I was very romantic. Quiet, thoughtful, with a head full of stories of my own. I spent entire days wandering through the forest. I had a diary where I wrote down my thoughts and observations. I pressed the plants I found between its pages, as if I wanted to preserve a little piece of every place I visited
My teenage ideas about the future were rather different from the life I have today. I wanted to live in the forest, gather herbs and wild berries, and spend my days surrounded by nature. I didn’t really need much else to be happy
I remember the morning mist rising above the lake. I would leave very early, sit by the water and watch water birds emerge from the white veil. I listened to birdsong, the rustling of trees and the gentle sound of water. I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t even have to think about anything. Simply being there was enough
I also remember the fields after the harvest, combine harvesters moving from one field to another under the full sun, the smell of the forest, and old wooden cottages with little decorations in their windows and lace curtains. Those were my landscapes. I didn’t need exotic holidays or spectacular attractions. I had my own little world to escape into
In that world, I was also very close to my own body, although I didn’t call it sexuality back then
I swam naked in the lake. I lay naked in a forest clearing, looking up at the clouds and giving them different shapes. I wasn’t doing it to feel sexy. I didn’t think of myself as an object for anyone’s gaze. It felt natural, ordinary and pleasant. There were no people around, so I had no reason to hide my body
Looking back, I see something important in that. My relationship with my body didn’t begin when someone else decided it was attractive. It began with simply being in it. Feeling the water on my skin, the sun, the air, the earth beneath my back. I didn’t need an outside opinion to make any of that meaningful
And then I started growing up
A sexuality that didn’t need permission
My sexuality didn’t suddenly appear on one particular day. There was no magical hour, extraordinary encounter or single event I could point to as its beginning. I simply started feeling it more intensely
I masturbated in the forest, in meadows, in the lake. I discovered my own pleasure in places I had known since childhood. Sometimes I felt shy and blushed, especially at first, but I didn’t see it as something wrong. I didn’t feel that I was doing something I should be ashamed of. It was part of me, just like walking, observing nature or writing in my diary
Over time, pleasure became one of my personal rituals. And it remains one today
Perhaps that doesn’t fit everyone’s idea of a girl raised in a small Polish village, spending her time wandering through forests. But sexuality doesn’t begin only when someone starts having sex with another person. It doesn’t need a partner, an audience or social approval. It can grow through solitude, curiosity and the exploration of one’s own body
I think that’s partly why I later found certain aspects of tantric philosophy so natural to connect with. My closeness to nature, awareness of the body, private rituals and the feeling that something exists beyond the rush of everyday life were already there. Tantra gave me language, knowledge and tools to better understand what I had often simply felt before
That doesn’t mean nature and sexuality are the same thing. A forest can be gentle, almost hypnotic. The rustling of trees, the sound of water, the morning mist — all of it can bring me into a state of deep calm. But sexuality has another face, too. It can be wild, intense, sharp, full of tension. It isn’t always a peaceful breath. Sometimes it is a storm
Still, both experiences can grow from a similar place: being connected to yourself, your body and your own nature
Poland, where it is easier to stay silent about sexuality
I grew up in Poland, in a world where sexuality wasn’t something people discussed with me directly. My parents never really had those conversations with me. I don’t think they knew they were supposed to. Sex was nevertheless present in our home — sometimes I heard my father speaking quite directly to my mother, without dressing the subject up in pretty words. It existed, but it wasn’t something we discussed together
I think this reflects a particular aspect of Polish social culture rather well: sexuality exists, people experience it, desire, fall in love, have sex and fantasies, yet often struggle to talk about it without embarrassment, moralising or judgement
Polish tradition is rather peculiar in this respect. Many of our commemorations carry sadness, memories of defeats, deaths, failed uprisings and mourning. Of course, we also have Christmas, family gatherings, the smell of food cooking, laughter and the warmth of home. But it is hard not to notice how much space collective memories of suffering occupy in the Polish calendar
I have always tried to interpret these occasions in my own way. All Saints’ Day and the Day of the Dead are opportunities for me to remember those who have passed away, reflect and pause for a moment. But they are also an extraordinary landscape: thousands of flickering flames in cemeteries, candlelight reflected in the darkness, the scent of autumn. Christmas, for me, is mostly about family, the kitchen, familiar smells and an atmosphere that is difficult to mistake for anything else
I like tradition. I just don’t want tradition to decide how I should live
Especially when it comes to my body and sexuality
I feel that Poland still carries a strong belief that female sexuality should be controlled, judged and preferably kept within certain boundaries. Religious ideas of sin, shame and fear continue to influence how many people think about sex. I’m not claiming that every religious person sees sexuality this way. But it is difficult to ignore how often public debates about sex education, the body and women’s rights turn into attempts to restrict knowledge and freedom
I’m not surprised that so many young people are turning away from the Church. More and more of them want to understand the world through knowledge, empathy and individual freedom, rather than fear and condemnation
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And it is in this kind of environment that a girl grows up, only to discover later that her body is not a problem that needs fixing. That pleasure is not automatically a sin. That sexuality doesn’t have to be something she hides from herself
I don’t believe I need anyone’s ideological permission to feel comfortable in my own body
A waterfall instead of a raindrop
When I left Poland at eighteen, I had no idea how much I still had to see, experience and understand. I knew a little about sexuality, but it was a raindrop compared with what I encountered later. More a waterfall than a gentle drizzle
Working in a nightclub was one of those experiences that fundamentally changes the way you see the world. Suddenly, I saw how directly people can communicate desire, how they look at a woman’s body and how easily they reduce a person to the role she happens to be performing
I began to look at men differently. Not always positively. When someone so young experiences such intense sexualisation, it is difficult to remain indifferent to what she sees. At a certain point, you also begin to feel that your body is something that earns money. Even when there is no sex involved, even when everything happens within the boundaries of a performance, nudity and sexualisation become part of the job
It wasn’t an easy experience. But I don’t want to pretend it brought only difficult things. I began to understand my own sexuality better. I discovered that I could enjoy being watched, that I could feel attractive and take pleasure in that feeling. At the same time, I learned to protect myself and distinguish my own desires from other people’s expectations
Later came my work in tantric massage, which opened up entirely different areas for me: touch, breathing, presence, energy, emotions and human intimacy. I began to understand sexuality not only as desire or physical arousal, but also as part of a much wider human experience
Not all my experiences were easy. Some were surprising; others made me reconsider my own boundaries. There were things I did and fantasies I fulfilled that I would never have imagined myself doing in the past. But what matters most to me is that I make those choices consciously and in a way that feels right for me
I no longer want to pretend to be less sexual than I really am. Nor do I want to build my life around the need to be with someone. I can be highly sexual, experience pleasure, have fantasies and still have no interest in a relationship. I can long for intimacy while not wanting to share it with any particular person
Living abroad has taught me something else, too: longing can be physical. When you’re far away from your place, your people and the landscapes you know, you may begin to feel a lack of closeness. Sometimes your body craves contact, your thoughts turn towards intimacy, and yet you have no desire to let anyone in. It is a rather peculiar contradiction — your mind and body can have completely different conversations
Over time, as you begin to feel more at home in your new surroundings, that longing may soften. But the awareness remains that intimacy is far more complicated than simply wanting sex
My body is a home I carry with me
Today, when I return to the forest and the lake, I see the same places, but from a completely different perspective
I am no longer the girl who wanted to live in the forest, gather herbs and spend entire days with a diary. Nor am I simply the woman who left Poland, worked in a club and later began practising tantric massage. I am a combination of all those versions of myself
I still love wild-strawberry tea. I still meditate, practise yoga and go for long walks. I still need nature and the space it gives me. But today I also know my body differently. I am more aware of my pleasure, desires, boundaries and needs. I no longer see sexuality as something separate from the rest of my life
Lately, I have been thinking of my body more and more as a home
Not a place that needs other people’s approval. Not something that has to be adjusted to someone else’s expectations. A home where I can live on my own terms. A place I can get to know, care for, explore, and sometimes surprise myself with what it still has to offer
I don’t feel that London is my home in quite the same way as the Polish forests and lakes are. The city gives me different opportunities, greater openness and a sense of freedom that I sometimes miss in Poland. But my roots are here. In the earth, the water, the old paths and the landscapes I remember from childhood
And at the same time, I know that my home doesn’t need to have a single address
It can bloom wherever I am able to be myself
Girl, don’t be afraid
If I could meet the girl I was before leaving Poland, I wouldn’t tell her exactly what was waiting for her. I wouldn’t want to take away the joy of discovering things for herself. I wouldn’t warn her about every difficult experience or try to plan her life on her behalf
I would simply say:
Don’t be afraid, little one. You’re on the right path. There is so much joy and pleasure waiting for you
And perhaps that’s why I love returning to that lake so much. Not to find my former self and try to become that girl again. Not to prove to myself that nothing has changed
Quite the opposite
I return to see how far I’ve travelled. To feel that the same trees may remember my old walks, even though they know nothing about everything that happened afterwards. To sit by the water and, for a moment, be both the romantic girl with a diary and the woman who now knows the taste of desire, pleasure, loneliness, intimacy and freedom
Perhaps my sexuality didn’t begin in a nightclub. Perhaps it wasn’t born during my first massage or any of the experiences that came later. It was already there when I lay in a forest clearing and watched the clouds. When I swam naked in the lake without thinking about how I looked through someone else’s eyes. When I first began discovering my own pleasure
I didn’t need to name it then. I didn’t need to understand it. It was simply there
Today it is more conscious, more courageous, more mature. Sometimes as gentle as the morning mist above the lake. At other times as wild as a storm that suddenly interrupts a quiet summer day
And I don’t think I would want to choose just one of those sides
I returned to a place where I was not yet this woman. But perhaps it was right there, among the trees, water and silence, that the story of the woman I am today began
What about you? Do you have a place you return to where, every time, you notice not only how little it has changed, but how much you have changed yourself?
