Womb Stories
Womb stories…
I listen to her.
She tells me she needs room to breathe
I give her soft fabrics, no hard waistbands.
She tells me all the years of being held back
She loves to be free.
She tells me - no more hard silicone in my holy places
Let the river take its natural course
Don’t dam it up, my love.
She tells me she’s so proud, the healing that goes back
Through the motherline
From just one woman taking the time
To listen.
Show your womb some love…
❤️ My online course "Awaken Your Wild Feminine" contains womb meditations, blood mystery practices, cyclical living guidance, yoni steaming instructions, womb yoga, and so much more
❤️ I offer womb reiki and feminine energy healing sessions. This can get the energy flowing between the heart and womb and clear energetic stagnation, supporting you to connect to your intuition, awaken to your innate wisdom and hear the whispers of the womb.
❤️ I offer one-to-ones discussing all the things that I cover in my course with regards to sacred womb practices and healing modalities but tailored to you and your womb story.
Blessings,
Jenny xxx
Chamomile (The Wise Woman's Folk Herbal Series)
Chamomile was the first herb I fell in love with aged 14. I just need to open the jar and smell it to be a maiden again, to be engulfed in earthy sweetness in an increasingly sanitised and artificial world. “Matricaria chamomilla”, what a name! Meaning Mother - what more powerful name could you give anything, I wonder? What higher compliment?
In those days it was about saving our pocket money to spend in the hippy shop, buying ear studs in the shape of pentacles, memorising the Witches’ Rune. Bags of chamomile like honey and innocence and the magical world of the Divine Mother. Like a fairy song beckoning these wild daughters down a winding path covered in wildflowers… promising that there is a way through rebellion into belonging, there is a way back through this madness into something sweeter, something more real and true.
We sipped our tea and talked about the wise and free women we’d someday be. Like the woman behind the counter who sold us the herbs and jewellery. Oh the injustice, to be “in the broom closet”! To hide my Wicca books and spell books, from my family or from God, I don’t think even I knew. Maybe the delight was in having something just for myself, something about myself that only I knew. On warm days we poured rinses of the flowers through our hair and dried it in the sun to make it shine brighter. We would hold hands and dance and take portraits of each other, a budding sisterhood that ended like so many do in betrayal… but I kept the herbs and the poems.
How do I see her now?
Chamomile to soothe the skin, calm the belly, bring up the mucus. To usher the sweet dreams, relax the nerves, caress the delicate yoni. Like a true mother she has many hands with which to heal. Like a doula, she is for women and babies. And as my doula, she has been by my side through it all.
She is a gateway
She is a portal
She is an ancient flower garden whose scent leads us back home
Ahava
Jenny xxx
Look What They've Done
It began with eroding trust in community midwifery, an ancient lineage of women supporting women supporting women, chosen by the village for their skilled hands and divine guidance. Unsafe, unclean, ignorant they said, scared of anywhere women could be and men could not…
Then you could only be a midwife if you went to their training schools, studied under their rules, wore their badge, swore allegiance to them. Insurance only granted for one path of medicine, one way… monotheism and monomedicine. Doctor as God. Diligently erasing the sacred, the autonomy, the precious bond between women like a natural forest is razed to the ground.
It’s progress. It’s safer this way. Trust us.
My own grandmother in the sixties after three home births, told by them she must go into hospital for number four as at 29 she was considered geriatric.
My mother, two abusive hospital births and one home birth only achieved by ignoring everybody else in the room.
I think the world is waking up to the fact that we’ve been sold a damn lie, with the induction wards rammed with everybody there for their “safety”, isolated from family like animals in a testing facility, left to languish in a climate of fear and misinformation and I’ve been saying for years now -
Women are in an abusive relationship with the NHS.
Like a domineering partner who cuts off all your other relationships so you only rely on them, then has you reduced to gratitude for the scraps of support they throw your way.
I’ve been holding space for stories of abuse for years now and the words that fall from my lips are now “shocked but not surprised”. How else to contain the outrage and simultaneously the deep knowing that this is happening everywhere to women? That these stories are not unusual but they are also horrific?
This morning I feel heartbroken that the only option right now for women in Cardiff is a high risk consultant ward or birthing alone. The smoke and mirrors game “they” are playing with women. And undoubtedly somebody will read this and make a comment about staffing and being grateful, to which all I can say is… trauma bonding is real.
All empires must eventually fall.
Ahava
Jenny x