Tantra 101: How An Intro Class Became a “Play Party”
Tantra as Heart-Centred Intimacy
In my early twenties, I stumbled across a simple “Tantra 101: Tantric Sex for Beginners” guide and I remember being so excited to try it with my boyfriend. I convinced him to drag our mattress into the living room and proceeded to decorate the space with candles, cushions and rose petals in an attempt to “create a magical space by turning your bedroom into a temple of love”.
I deeply resonated with the writer’s belief that, “tantra is a set of techniques used all over the world to deepen intimacy, increase passion, and communicate in a more open and authentic way.” That’s exactly what I wanted to experience with my boyfriend and fortunately, at the time, he was open to trying it.
We followed each step starting with a soothing bubble bath, then re sensitising and releasing tension in our bodies through dancing and shaking (this part was funny), then we meditated together for a couple of minutes in silence, followed by telling each other what we loved about one other (so sweet and moving) and then three minutes of eye gazing, followed by the Yab Yum pose which felt so beautifully intimate and connected. All of this was leading up to the tantric massage. To this day, I can still remember the pleasure, arousal and desire I was feeling both in the giving and receiving of the tantric massage. It was an ECSTATIC experience for me. I’ve never quite felt the same level of erotic energy as that first time we practiced this beautiful and gentle tantric sex.
And for the last 10 years, that has been my only understanding and experience of “Tantra”.
My Husband and I attended a Tantra Workshop
Towards the end of last year, I booked us in for an Intro to Tantra one day workshop. I thought it could help us gently find our way back to ourselves, and to each other, after a period of disconnection.
As I’ve written about elsewhere in my work on partnered intimacy
👉 Why I Have Chosen a Season of Celibacy with My Husband
my husband and I chose a season of celibacy after losing our dog and moving through the cumulative stress of the last five years - the grief, emotional exhaustion, and the burnout of it all.
What we needed most was heart centred connection, softness, containment, and safety.
Because of that, I was extra careful.
I read the workshop description closely.
I reached out to the facilitator directly.
I explained our situation.
I named our desire for reconnection and slowness.
I was reassured that this was a gentle, beginner-friendly introduction, fully clothed, self-contained, and focused on breath, boundaries, and connection with yourself and you partner.
It sounded aligned.
When a Tantra Workshop Became Unsafe (For Me)
At the start of the workshop, participants were told not to leave the space once the container was open, as doing so would disrupt the group’s energy. At the time, this was framed as a way of maintaining presence, but in retrospect, it subtly undermined the idea that people could freely opt out if something no longer felt safe or right for them.
There were moments throughout the morning that I appreciated and by lunchtime, my husband and I reflected on that parts of the day that had been really helpful.
But when the group reconvened after lunch, the tone of the space shifted in a way that had not been disclosed or prepared for. Without going into specifics, the environment became more charged, more directive, and far less self-contained than anything that had been described beforehand.
What mattered most wasn’t the form the experience took, but the absence of transparency, pacing, and explicit choice.
My body registered the shift immediately.
The sounds, the energy in the room, and the way participants were being encouraged to push further created a level of sensory and nervous system activation that felt overwhelming rather than pleasurable or connective. What had been framed as an introduction suddenly required a capacity I did not have and had not consented to.
My nervous system went into alarm.
Not because sexuality is unsafe, but because sudden escalation without informed consent is especially in group environments, especially for people arriving tender, grieving, or depleted like me.
I was able to orient to myself, communicate my needs, and leave, but the experience itself made something very clear: when sexual or energetic intensity is introduced without full disclosure, it can become unsafe very quickly.
Why Undisclosed Sexual Environments Aren’t Safe Places
At no point was a sexually charged or interactive environment named as part of the workshop.
At no point were participants told such a shift was coming.
At no point was there an explicit invitation to opt in (or a clear affirmation that opting out was welcome).
In spaces working with sexuality and energy, disclosure should be at the foundation of consent.
I was fortunate to have support.
I had my husband beside me.
I had years of training to draw on.
I had enough internal capacity to orient to my body, ground myself, get dressed, and leave.
But I want to be very clear about this:
Being able to re-regulate and exit does not make an environment trauma-informed.
It does not make the process ethical.
And it does not make it safe.
Safety is not measured by whether someone survives an experience. It is measured by whether their autonomy was honoured before they had to protect themselves.
Tantra Isn’t One Thing And That’s What Makes it Tricky
Afterwards, shaken and confused, I reached out to my teacher, someone with years of experience in sexuality, somatics, and trauma-informed practice, because I needed help contextualising what had happened.
What she reflected back to me was both grounding and clarifying.
That Tantra is many things. It has been stretched, appropriated, distorted, and used to describe everything from a meditative spiritual practice to sex work to play parties to deeply unethical spaces.
And that sexual energy amplifies everything including poor facilitation.
Unlike yoga, where it’s unlikely you’ll turn up for a class and suddenly be invited into a sexual environment, sexuality-based spaces carry far more responsibility when consent, pacing, and transparency are not handled with care.
Unfortunately, there are many facilitators working with sexual energy that simply do not have the training to understand nervous system overwhelm, sensory sensitivity, or trauma responses, especially in large group settings.
Sensitivity, Discernment, and Erotic Maturity
This experience also helped me name something important about myself.
I am sensitive - energetically, sensorily, emotionally and that is not a flaw.
I’m deeply affected by sound, smell, visual stimulation, and the emotional states of others, and while some people find group erotic environments empowering or expansive, my body experiences them as unsafe and overwhelming.
That doesn’t make me closed.
It doesn’t make me less evolved.
It doesn’t make me anti-sex.
It’s just me.
One of the most damaging myths in modern sexuality spaces is that more intensity equals more liberation, when in reality, erotic maturity often looks like knowing exactly where your yes ends and honouring it without apology.
What Trauma-Informed Intimacy Looks Like in My Work
This experience didn’t turn me away from intimacy, erotic exploration, or the spiritual dimensions of sexuality.
What it did was clarify my values.
I believe intimacy unfolds best when the nervous system feels safe.
I believe consent is an ongoing, living process (not a box you tick once and then override with group pressure).
I believe eroticism does not require overwhelm, spectacle, or excess (and that it looks different for everyone).
I believe heart-centred connection cannot be forced.
This is why, in my work as an integrative sex coach
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I am meticulous about setting expectations.
It’s why I centre safety, pacing, and embodied consent.
It’s why I don’t rush people into intensity.
It’s why I don’t conflate sexual openness with sexual availability.
And it’s why, if you come into one of my spaces, whether through coaching or circle
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you will always know what you are opting into, and what you are not.
Erotic maturity is not about how much you can handle.
It’s about how deeply you can listen to your body and trust it.
And that, more than anything, is what this experience taught me.
For the Woman Ready to Come Home to Her Body, Reclaim Her Eros & Befriend Her Soul
If you feel the pull to reconnect with your body, soften into your femininity, and experience the kind of healing that comes from being deeply witnessed, I invite you to join The Wonderfully Wilde Women’s Circle, a monthly online gathering opening in 2026.
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If you’d like to explore deeper one-on-one support, you can learn more about Online Sex Coaching for Women here.
And if you want more sensory embodiment practices, rituals, meditations, and stories of feminine reclamation, you can explore the full Sabina Wilde Blog here.
With wilde tenderness,
Sabina Wilde xx
