Your Body Isn’t Blocked — It’s Wise
Returning to Self-Trust, Sisterhood, and the Slow Path Home
I’m deep in the writing of my book right now, and whenever I enter work that asks for this level of honesty, it brings my own old stories to the surface.
Writing doesn’t live in my head.
It lives in my body.
Old wounds rise.
Old protections make themselves known.
Old rhythms ask to be met with more care.
So this week, alongside the words, I’ve been tending myself gently — slowing my mornings, moving with less urgency, letting emotion pass through without explaining it away. And from this place, something has become impossible to ignore.
The way we talk about healing has become fast.
Neat.
Labelled.
And our bodies are asking us to slow down.
When language replaces listening
Lately, I hear the same phrases everywhere:
“My throat chakra is blocked.”
“I need to unblock my heart.”
“My nervous system is dysregulated.”
There’s nothing wrong with this language. It exists for a reason.
But language can become a shortcut — a way to name something instead of staying with it.
Naming is not the same as listening.
When we call something “blocked,” we often imply that something is wrong, broken, or failing. But what if the body isn’t failing at all? What if it’s responding intelligently to everything it has lived through?
What if what we are trying to fix… is actually wisdom?
Protection is not pathology
Take the throat, for example.
So many women believe their voice is blocked. And yet they speak all day long — to colleagues, strangers, systems, children. What they struggle with isn’t speech.
It’s truth.
It’s saying the thing that might disappoint.
The thing that could create tension.
The thing that once came with consequences.
For many women, silence was learned early.
Not because they were weak — but because it was safer.
The body remembers what kept us belonging.
What kept us loved.
What kept us protected.
And that protection doesn’t disappear just because we’ve learned new spiritual language.
The body isn’t behind.
It’s loyal.
The sisterhood wound we rarely name
One of the deepest wounds women carry is the sisterhood wound — though many have never heard it named.
Women have been conditioned to fear, compete with, and mistrust one another. This wasn’t always so.
For thousands of years, women learned how to live by being together. We learned how to breastfeed, birth, grieve, rest, and mark transitions by watching one another. There were rituals, rites of passage, shared wisdom.
And then women were separated from their tribes.
A slow, deliberate message was seeded: other women are not safe.
When a woman is cut off from her community, she becomes isolated. She questions herself. She loses mirrors that reflect her truth back to her. That message is passed down — from grandmother to mother to daughter — until mistrust feels normal.
And beneath it all lives something even deeper.
When self-trust is eroded
Women have been gaslit out of trusting themselves.
Taught to doubt their feelings.
To soften their knowing.
To wonder if they are “too much.”
When you cannot trust yourself, it makes sense that trusting other women feels impossible.
And so the healing of the sisterhood wound doesn’t begin with forcing connection or trying to trust others harder.
It begins with self-trust.
When you trust yourself — deeply — you stop trying to control how others show up. You no longer need guarantees that you won’t be hurt. You know that whatever happens, you will be able to meet it without abandoning yourself.
From that place, sisterhood becomes possible again.
Imbolc and the wisdom of slow becoming
Imbolc is not the start of spring.
It is the stirring beneath the soil.
The snowdrop doesn’t force its way through frozen ground. It listens. It waits. And then, when the time is right, it rises.
As we stand at this threshold — and as old skins shed — the body begins to speak more clearly. Not loudly. Persistently.
This season doesn’t ask us to fix ourselves.
It asks us to listen.
The real question isn’t what’s wrong with me?
It’s:
Who am I becoming, if I stop trying to fix myself and start trusting what I feel?
Reflection — sit with one or two, not all
Take these slowly. Let the body answer before the mind.
Where in my body have I been using labels instead of listening?
What protection strategy has served me well in the past — even if it feels limiting now?
How do I know when I am abandoning myself in order to keep the peace?
What would self-trust look like for me — not in theory, but in daily life?
What kind of sisterhood would feel safe for my nervous system, not just inspiring to my mind?
Healing doesn’t happen in isolation.
It happens in relationship — with ourselves, with the body, and with one another.
This is the work of remembering how to live connected again.
Slowly.
Intentionally.
Together.
Imbolc doesn’t rush the snowdrop.
And neither should we.
And if this moves you sister, check out this weeks podcast:
