Women's work and secrecy

Women's work has always been done in secret, and it's no different now we have the internet. I don't share client stories, mostly because it's too intimate but also some things are almost too wild to be believed!

The incredible synchronicities, the mirroring with nature, sometimes bleeding as soon as you walk through my door, the way the womb has her own way of enacting justice.

Masculine business practices demand we show results and evidence but what evidence can there be? Where there are wombs there will be pain, and life, and loss - if all I do is make the woman in front of me feel loved, if I can support her to find beauty and meaning in her journey then it is a job well done.

Womb healing doesn't mean we skip off into the sunset with no symptoms finally enjoying the freedom of a man. Sometimes things get more painful before they are ready to release. Sometimes you meet me after the descent into the Underworld. Often during. Sometimes right before.

I've become reluctant to share healing spaces online even with permission because the longer I do this work the more strict my energetic hygiene is. It has to be strict or I know I won't last in this line of work.

Healing work, for me, means a kind of isolation. When a lot of my clients are space holders themselves it's a relief for them to come to me because they won't see me in their usual spaces.

It is oddly a blessing that these restrictions have really helped my creativity to flourish. For all the downsides of social media, when you can't share what you do and have to share who you are, it's an endless journey of self-expression.

With love x

the language of blood

every full moon, I dream of blood.

eight months postpartum and still in limbo state, I dream my red moon dreams where I am once again part of that sisterhood of shedding.

it's visceral and heavy as my womb contracts and weeps.

for the last ten years I've always been with the full moon - until that final miscarriage before conceiving my son, the delay and the duration of bleeding that finally shifted me over to the cycle of creation.

for women, blood is a language. the colour red bringing so many different meanings

something is ending

something is beginning

someone is coming

someone is leaving

something is right

something is wrong

duality first existed in the womb and in the language of the blood.

the cycle after ending a relationship where you can feel them leaving your womb.

the relief of a fresh start.

the first show of labour

the scant bleed as an embryo burrows into the womb

for my most recent pregnancy, praying not to see it every day for twenty weeks. my great great grandmother came to me in a vision between waking and sleep and held my baby in my womb firmly with hands that knew what it was to lose a child.

for my most recent birth, the blood was a warning sign. my body telling me in a language she knew I would understand, that I was being asked to make a sacrifice bigger than I understood to bring this life through.

we used to have a word for the menstruation before conception. it meant "the flowers". the bleed a woman had the cycle she conceived her baby was considered the flowers before the fruit. womb consciousness asks us to reorient ourselves to see the bleed as the beginning, not as the end.

for women who have been aching to conceive for a long time, who see blood as a failure, this reinterpretation can change things. flowers are a beginning. how we care for the flowers impacts the later fruit.

my baby's flowers came two days after supporting a hypnotic and otherworldly unassisted birth, my womb taking her cue from the mother just in time for my daughter's seventh birthday party. I made the cake and the food with a pounding head and my husband took over the festivities while I rested in my chair in the corner, eyes closed. I had made a promise long ago I would never miss her birthday for a birth, I was here, but not here.

there is a message I always have within myself, when I get to the root of what is causing an emotional outburst,

"nobody is coming to help you"

it's what has spurred most of my spiritual explorations since becoming a mother. when you are desperate for help you develop a heavy trust in the unseen.

but my husband was here, I could see him, and he was helping. two weeks later we were under an ancient yew as my baby's spirit fluttered down to us, finally coaxed down by our mutual vibration, the ceremony we were witnessing and the love emanating from the group.

likewise, with the blood, you must learn to trust it's unique language. it is not always what you want to see. it can be heartbreaking, devastating, frightening, painful. but it is a wisdom older than we can imagine, a language without words, one that we can learn, if we start to listen.

postpartum in winter

postpartum in winter

body echoing the land.

my womb sleeps

for now

she is like the virgin earth

belonging only to herself

she is barely stirring

the big exhale

this is crone state

this is

the old woman in the mountain.

she knows 

this is the time for the heart.

kindled in the breast

milk flows

like a solstice sunrise

pouring hues of love

flowing over the sky

over the land

as I hold my babe, tired eyes stinging

but if I had been asleep

I would have missed it.