Womb Reflections – Reconnections

Personal Journey Log –

My moon cycle began on the first of February—February, the month of purification and cleansing—and though I bleed every month, this one was different. The energy leading up to this cycle, the intensity of what moved through me as my body surrendered to its first day of release… I knew something profound was shifting.

The week before my bleed came, my belly swelled as though I was six months pregnant with something unseen. But I know my body. I know when she does this, accumulating, gathering, and expanding, she is preparing for a purge. Energy accumulating, pooling in my body, waiting for release. Sometimes it escapes through sweat, through tears, through deep emotional unraveling, or energy work. This time, it aligned with my moon. A divine orchestration of renewal.

This first day of bleed was intense. It was heavy. Bright red and full of emotions.

And then, my womb spoke to me.

Just typing this brings tears to my eyes, returning to the moment I finally heard her voice—or, more truthfully, the moment I was finally ready to hear her.

I’ve seen women in the spiritual space speak intimately about their wombs, but I never felt that connection. I knew my womb was a portal, I knew she held my power and wisdom, but there is a difference between knowing and embodying. There is a difference between understanding something intellectually and living it as truth in the body. I had never felt my womb as a presence, as something sentient.

Until she spoke.

She was hurt by me.

She whispered of the ways I had mistreated her, the ways I had denied her voice, the ways I had abandoned her.

She showed me my early twenties, when I was a rebellious punk activist, raging against the world, furious that no doctor would remove her from my body. How I tried to sever myself from her, how I wanted her gone.

She showed me my years in the adult industry, where I freely gave her energy away, allowing countless energies to pour into her, to imprint upon her, without regard for what she absorbed.

She showed me the abortion in my mid-twenties, how I never held her, never nurtured her, never tended to her after such a loss. I had treated her as a burden, as something to silence, as something to numb and ignore.

I hated her. I dishonored her. I abandoned her.

And yet, she remained, waiting for me.

Through every wound, every betrayal, every moment I abandoned her, she stayed. She held my pain, stored my grief, and carried the weight of all I refused to feel. And though I had spent years turning away from her, she never turned away from me.

She showed me a time—one I hadn’t even realized was her doing—when she had cleansed me in ways I wasn’t yet aware of.

It was 2018 when I made my escape from Texas. After years of entanglement in an abusive partnership and a lifestyle that drained my spirit, I finally chose myself. I found my way to the Oregon coast, a place untouched by the chaos I had left behind. I spent my days hiking along rugged cliffs, letting the salty wind sting my face, exploring tide pools. I found solace on this coast.

Day three of being there, my moon cycle began.

It was my first bleed since freeing myself from that life. Within the first hour, I had bled through three heavy-flow pads, my favorite jeans, and a flannel I tied around my waist to conceal the stains. I was frustrated, scared, uncomfortable, unaware that this was not just any bleed—this was a purge. My womb, ever wise, ever knowing, was releasing all that I had carried. The residue of pain, the echoes of control, the energetic imprints left on my body from years of survival. I didn’t realize it then, but she was cleansing me.

Even when I wasn’t listening, she was still working for me, still clearing what I was not yet strong enough to release on my own. This is what she was showing me.

Now, I am listening and I hear her so clearly.

I realized this reconnection did not begin in this moment when I heard her speak—it had already started, slowly, through the unraveling of 2024. Through my return to my feminine energy. Through my deep healing of the mother wound. Through my reconnection to my body.

In October, I lay on the table of a dear friend, a powerful healer. He placed his hands over my womb, and the energy that released from me… it was not my own. Beliefs, dense energies, programs, foreign signatures that had seeped into me through years of allowing access to my womb. I had taken them on as mine, but they were never mine.

By December, I found myself on his table again. This time, the clearing was deeper.

Fears of birthing—not just birthing a child, but birthing ideas, birthing creations, birthing the divine expressions that wanted to flow through me.

The energy resisted. It clung to me. It felt like strings tied around my fallopian tubes, pulled tighter and tighter as my friend worked to clear them. Until, finally, as I breathed into that space, as I willed myself to surrender… release.

Still, I did not fully understand what was happening was my womb space undergoing a deep cleansing. Not until my womb spoke.

Looking back now, I see it all. The bloating, the stagnation, the discomfort—it was never just physical. It was years – lifetimes – of energy gathering, waiting to be purged. My disconnection from my womb had been a disconnection from my feminine energy, my sisterhood, my connection to other women, my connection to myself.

I see it so clearly now. The mother wound, the sisterhood wounds, the resentment I held toward my own feminine essence. The eye rolls, the dismissal of women who spoke of womb wisdom, of cycle syncing, of menstrual magic.

Now, I understand. Now, I see. Now, I feel.

And when my womb finally spoke to me, I wept.

How could I have been so cruel to her? How could I have ignored her cries? She has carried me through lifetimes. She has been the seat of my power, the holder of my deepest wisdom, and I treated her as an inconvenience.

I apologized. I poured love into her.

I vowed to honor her, to respect her, to listen. To honor my energy as the sacred essence it is.

And with that vow came something else—a vision. A knowing. A feeling of what is to come.

I see and feel my next evolution forming, a deep transformation that will shape me into something I have never been before. Or perhaps, something I have always been, but am only now remembering.

A healer, yes, but different. A mix of the primal and the celestial, a bridge between the earthly and the angelic, of the Christos Sophia frequencies.

It is exhilarating. It is terrifying.

The kind of fear that comes when you know you are stepping into something enormous, something life-altering, something that will crack you open and make you anew. Total transformation.

And I surrender this fear as I step into this new, with a deeper connection to my womb portal—Divine Mother, the keeper of life, the ancient well of wisdom that has always been within me. She who births, who destroys, who renews. She who speaks in blood, in breath, in the silent knowing woven through my very being. I open myself fully to Her, to the mysteries She holds, to the path She is guiding me toward.

Our womb is a sacred portal.
Our womb is a reflection of the Divine Mother.
Our womb holds every code we will ever need.
Our womb carries ancient wisdom of our divine blueprint.
She is the keeper of life, of creation, of death and rebirth.

I truly understand this now.
This is only the beginning. & I Am diving in.
My Pussy is My Power.