I don’t know when most people first become aware of their bodies. For me, it came at eleven, through a diagnosis. I was told I had imperforate hymen—a rare congenital condition. My body had no opening for my period to pass through. Surgery followed. One after another.

Each surgery left me shaken—the sharp, unfamiliar pain, the way my body trembled and resisted every touch, the hollow quiet of the hospital room broken only by the low murmur of my parents’ voices. Unfortunately, this was the first time I ever had to meet my own body—alone, unprotected, and without a sense of safety. I was only a child.

And as if that weren’t enough, in my late 20s, the next step in my recovery brought another challenge: I was told I would need to use a dildo as a medical dilator every day for a month. No matter how intimidating it looked, how frightening it felt, or how much it hurt, I had to keep it inside my body, day and night, to prevent the wound from closing again.

So yes, my attempt at getting to know more about my own body came through a sex toy—and it was nothing like the beautiful, uninhibited, pleasure-filled experience I thought it would have been. I hated it. Its intimidating shape, harsh high-gloss colour, and cold, mechanical presence made me recoil. It reminded me of the medical bag it came in—and of all the years my body had felt like a problem to be fixed rather than a space to explore.

Healing took time—not just physically but emotionally. Slowly, through patience, self-reflection, and small moments of curiosity, I began reclaiming my sense of wholeness. I emerged from years of self-doubt into a confident, complete woman, gradually learning to touch my own body, discover what felt good, and embrace desire on my own terms.

As I explored my own pleasure, I noticed something important: there was nothing on the market that I truly desired to own. Every product I came across felt either too clinical, too intimidating, or simply uninviting—nothing that could offset years of fear, shame, and trauma, or make me feel excited to explore my own pleasure. The marketplace was filled with objects that seemed designed to be hidden, not celebrated; functional, but never beautiful, warm, or welcoming.

That’s when I realised something vital: women’s relationships with sex toys don’t have to begin like this—whether for intimate pleasure or medical support. What if the first objects that entered a woman’s body were beautiful, soft, warm, and inviting—designed entirely for her experience, her pleasure, her feelings? What if they could be used like a ritual, like a celebration, never something to hide?

I understood then that my story was not just mine. Many women encounter sex toys through confusion, fear, or shame, never feeling that these objects were created simply, and solely, for their happiness.

That was when I found my calling.

I sought out people who shared my questions, my curiosity, and my refusal to accept the status quo. Then I met my team.

Together, we built La Casa 18: a brand that listens to the female body, embraces intimacy with care and dignity, and places female pleasure at the centre—because it should never begin with fear, and should always invite delight.

Co-Founder, L.