Closing the Bones: Fascia & the Return of the Wild Feminine

Shrink yourself. Change yourself. That’s the script we’ve been sold.

The story that’s been force-fed to women for generations, passed down like an heirloom we never asked for.

Be smaller.
Quieter.
Younger.
Prettier.
More this.
Less that.

Always adjusting.
Always just too much, or not enough.

But here’s the thing:

It’s not a personal insecurity.
It’s programming.

We live in a world that thrives off our self-doubt.
It’s mass hypnosis.
And it’s been working for generations.

Not thin enough.
Not young enough.
Not glowy enough.

So if you’ve ever scanned a photo and shrunk inwards, dimmed your presence to be palatable, picked yourself apart under bathroom lights, just know this:

There are billion-dollar industries whose only job is to keep you in that loop. Industries that are built on your disconnection.
Their survival depends on your silence.
Your shame.
Your forgetting.

And that is why this work matters.

Closing the Bones is not another form of self-improvement. It’s not about toning, sculpting or cleansing.

It’s about coming home. I know that sounds really airy-fairy, but it’s true.

Home to the body that has held every storm, every heartbreak, every birth — literal or metaphorical.
To the hips that house your sorrow.
To the bones that have been holding your stories all along.

This practice is not new — it’s ancient. Rooted in postpartum care from Ecuador and Mexico, but its medicine reaches far beyond birth.
And this ceremony isn’t just for mothers.
Because every woman has known the ache of carrying too much.
We’ve all laboured in silence.
Held what wasn’t ours.
Split open, and sealed ourselves back up — alone.

Bones are not just structure.
They are memory.

And while the ritual is physical, it works in ways far deeper than what can be seen.

It touches the fascia, the connective tissue that weaves through your entire body.
The same fascia that stores memory, trauma, emotion.

As they say: “The issues are in the tissues.”

Grief lives there.
Old stories live there.
But so does power.
So does the wild, whole version of you that the world asked you to forget.

Bone by bone, layer by layer, we call the pieces home.

I’ve been in the wellness world since my early 20s. Tried it all.

And I say this with full conviction: There is nothing like Closing the Bones.

It doesn’t try to change you.
Doesn’t promise an “up-leveled” version of you. It brings you back.

It’s not a trend.
Not luxury self-care wrapped in branding.

It’s a reclamation.
Of self.
Of story.
Of sovereignty.
Of the body you were taught to disconnect from.

We’ve spent enough time shrinking.
Enough time second-guessing, apologising, editing ourselves to fit in.
Enough time living disconnected.

But when a woman is truly met — fully seen, fully held — in a Closing the Bones ceremony, something ancient stirs.

She doesn’t need to be told she’s powerful.
She feels it in her marrow.

She remembers.
And in that remembering, she returns to herself.

And that return changes everything.

Beltane, Bleeding and the Body's Wisdom

We’ve just crossed into Beltane, and this year it came just after the New Moon in Taurus—a moon of embodiment, of slowness, of rooting. And I bled with it.

Not long ago, I used to bleed with the Full Moon. But my cycle has shifted. Now I bleed in the dark, and ovulate with the moon in her full brilliance.

There’s a name for this transition: the shift from the Red Moon cycle to the White Moon cycle. In cyclical wisdom, these rhythms carry ancient meaning. When we bleed with the Full Moon, we walk the Red Moon path—often linked with the archetypes of the healer, the witch, the mystic. Fertility in this rhythm is spiritual, creative, transformational. It’s the path of the inward pull.

But when we bleed with the New Moon and ovulate with the Full Moon, we enter the White Moon cycle—the rhythm most aligned with conception, with outer fertility, with creation made flesh. It’s the path of the mother, the nurturer, the one preparing to bring life into form.

This shift isn’t random. It’s a conversation between body and cosmos. The body speaking in a language older than words, syncing with the moon. And now, at Beltane—the festival of becoming—the Earth is ripe, and I feel that alignment deep in my bones. The possibility of a second baby is rising in me. Not a decision yet, but a hum, a readiness.

To bleed at Beltane, in this season of blooming, is a kind of paradox. While the world bursts open in colour and scent, I am shedding. Releasing. Making space. But this is exactly what fertility requires—not just ripeness, but the willingness to let go. The trust to clear the ground. Creation begins in the void, after all.

The moon teaches us this. She disappears completely before she grows again. The body, too, has its dark phase—its inner winter—before it flowers. To bleed is to listen. To empty. To align with the deeper rhythm that moves beneath the surface of all things.

So this Beltane, I am honouring the fire outside and the quiet release within. I am honouring my body’s wisdom—this shift from Red to White Moon—as a message. A preparation. A deep yes.

Whether you are bleeding, blooming, longing, or resting, this season meets you exactly where you are. Beltane is not just about fertility in the physical sense—it’s about the sacredness of being fully alive.

I’m lighting a candle this weekend for the mystery.
For my body, which knows how to change course.
For the moon, who teaches me that shifting is sacred.
For all of us who are somewhere between letting go and blooming.

Liminal Spaces: Women’s Work and the Work of Being a Doula

There is always a sacred pause between what was and what will be—a breath between worlds. A liminal space where time slows down, the veil thins, and life begins to shift form.

That is where women’s work begins.
That is where doulas do their work.
That is where I do mine.

Across cultures and throughout time, there have always been women who hold space at life’s edges—to midwife not just babies into the world, but also dreams, transformations, and rebirths. Birth doulas. Death doulas. Creatrixes. Medicine women.
Sisters of the great mystery.
Keepers of the in-between.

This work is not new. It is ancient.

Whether supporting a woman in her pregnancy, sitting in circle, closing an old chapter, or opening a new one, the essence is the same: to walk beside her through life’s most profound transformations.
Not to rescue. Not to lead.
But to anchor the space when everything is shifting.
To remind her that her body already knows the way.

What is a Birth Doula?

Birth doulas can offer practical, emotional, energetic, and spiritual support across the full arc of pregnancy, birth, and postpartum.
This is whole-woman care—a weaving of information, presence, and deep listening.
Support that meets you wherever you are, and empowers you to move through your experience with greater trust, clarity, and confidence.

In pregnancy, a doula tends to the ground you are growing from—holding space for birth planning, education, breathwork, ritual, and the quiet unraveling of hopes, fears, and questions.

In birth, a doula holds the steady thread—offering comfort measures, intuitive presence, and, if needed, advocacy. Not to direct the experience, but to help your nervous system feel grounded, so your body can do what it was designed to do.

In postpartum, a doula tends the slowing down—the resting, the nourishment, the tears, the tea, the stillness. The sacred work of integration. The return to your body and into this new chapter of life.

And for those not yet pregnant—or not planning to be—this work is no less vital. I personally offer spaces for women at every threshold: in women’s circles and rites of passage.
Because becoming a mother to a child—and becoming a mother to yourself—both ask for the same care, the same tending, the same deep remembering.

The Spiral Path

The work of women has always been to tend the thresholds.
Every true becoming asks us to leave something behind, to surrender to a spiral that will shape us into something new.

We move through many thresholds across a lifetime—each one an initiation, a rite of passage, a return to deeper knowing.

But we live in a culture that glorifies straight lines.
That demands speed over slowness, logic over intuition, achievement over embodiment.
We are taught to sprint, when the feminine is made to spiral.

Women are not linear beings.
We are nature embodied—wild, rhythmic, cyclical.
We open not by forcing, but by softening.
We expand by trusting the wisdom that already lives in our bodies.

A doula, a space holder, a sister—she does not walk ahead of you.
She moves beside you as you spiral:
from maiden to mother,
from loss to renewal,
from contraction to expansion,
from the known into the mystery.

This is women’s work.
This is the sacred spiral of becoming.

This Work is a Prayer

This is not a job. It is a devotion.

It is spiritual, emotional, and deeply embodied work—rooted in intuition, ritual, reverence.

It is sacred remembering.

It is choosing to sit within the mystery.

This path found me long before I ever realised. In women’s circles, in silent moments with spirit, in the stories told to me. It began with the questions I didn’t have words for, only a knowing in my bones.

This is why I do this work:
to tend the liminal spaces.
to honour birth, rebirth, creativity, and becoming as ceremony.
to empower women not just to birth life—but to birth themselves.

Every doula is different. Every woman’s path is different. I work with the invisible threads—with mystery, with energy, with spirit.
With a deep belief in the wisdom already alive inside you.

If You Feel The Call

If you are preparing for a birth, for a transition, for a becoming, or simply feeling called to sit deeper within yourself—I’d love to hear from you.

You don’t need to know exactly what you’re looking for.

If there’s even the smallest stirring in your body… follow that.

I'm here for the questions, the conversations, and the connections.

You can reach out, here.

A Note on: Manure, Motherhood, and Magic in the Mundane

This past Sunday was Mothering Sunday in the UK, and to mark the day, I went on a walk with my mother and two of my sisters. The sky was vast, the wind gentle, and in a field close to our family home, the ground was thick with manure. How fitting—that on Mother’s Day, we found ourselves wading through fertile ground.

Motherhood, too, is fertile ground. It is where life unfolds—where growth comes through mess, where transformation happens unseen. It is a paradox—both raw and miraculous. It stretches us, breaks us open, and rebuilds us in ways we never could have imagined. It is not a linear path but a spiralling journey of trust, surrender, and resilience. It is both ordinary and sacred, rich and messy, wild and unseen. It demands faith in the unknown, in the process, in the slow unfolding of something greater than ourselves. The path is never clear, but the unknown has its purpose.

And yet, the mundane can feel like a loop—a perpetual cycle of nappy changes, counter-wiping, floor-sweeping, repeat. It is the unseen labour of love, the work that builds a life. It is so easy to believe that life is waiting somewhere else. I remember hearing these words last year: The life you long for is hidden in the life you have. And they have stuck with me ever since.

Because this is it. These are the days. The hard days and the long days, but the best days. And I know these days will slip away. I know the tiny hands reaching for me now will one day reach for something beyond me. The rhythm of my days will shift. The house will be quieter, the floors will stay clean for longer, and my arms will ache for the weight they once held. And I will long for the mess, the giggles tumbling through the halls, the sacred simplicity of our everyday togetherness.

So tonight, tomorrow, and in every moment ahead, I will soak it in. The chaos, the exhaustion, the joy. Because this work is moulding me into something greater than I could have ever planned for myself. This love is stretching me, refining me, making me new. It is humbling; it is holy.

Motherhood is the great alchemy—turning the everyday into the eternal. It is the sacred act of weaving a life, a home, a love that will last beyond my own years. And what a beautiful blessing it is to be given this life, to walk this path, manure and all.

A Woman’s Aura: The Golden Shield

In the yogic tradition, they say the journey of raising a child starts long before birth—it begins in the womb, where a mother’s energetic bodies, her aura being just one of them, is already shaping the child. I love this idea, not just because it’s poetic, but because it makes so much sense. In Kundalini yoga, the aura is called the “golden shield,” an electromagnetic field that surrounds us, protects us, and influences how we move through the world. And when a woman becomes pregnant, her aura expands—glowing, stretching, and holding space for two. This energy is so tangible that it doesn’t just affect the mother and baby, but everything around her.

I’ll never forget a walk I took while pregnant with Florence. A horse was walking toward me, but jolted and stopped. I could feel it sensing something beyond just me—my aura, Florence’s presence, the sheer expansion of energy that happens when life is growing inside you. Animals just know. With their innate sensitivity, they perceive subtle energetic shifts, responding to the unseen yet palpable changes in vibrational presence.

Pregnancy does something wild to a woman’s aura. Normally, if your aura is strong, our energy field extends about nine feet in all directions, but when you’re pregnant, it expands even more, becoming this radiant, magnetic force. Maybe that’s why strangers always want to touch your belly, why people suddenly smile at you on the street, why babies stare at you in awe. Your presence shifts. You are literally carrying new life, and everything around you can feel it.

And here’s the thing—the aura, this energy, doesn’t just disappear after birth. For the first three years of life, a child is still nestled inside their mother’s arcline (another energetic body) and auric field. That’s why newborns instantly settle when they’re placed on their mother’s chest. It’s why separation feels so big in those early years—it’s not just emotional, it’s energetic. The child’s aura is still forming, still learning to hold itself, and until then, they’re held within ours.

The first three years of a child’s life are crucial for brain development, but they’re just as crucial spiritually. They’re absorbing everything—not just words and actions, but energy.

Understanding this changed the way I move through the world as a mother. It made me realise just how powerful my presence is—not just for myself, but for my child. Whether you’re pregnant, breastfeeding, or simply walking through life in your feminine energy, your aura is everything. It’s your protection, your magnetism, your radiance. And the beautiful part? We can strengthen it. Kundalini yoga teaches that. It’s like a spiritual gym for the aura—exercises that keep it strong, bright, and clear.

One of my favourite practices is the “MA” meditation—chanting ‘MA’ to call on the Divine Mother. It’s simple, but incredibly powerful, especially during pregnancy. I had this version on repeat for weeks.

So if you’re in this phase of life, whether you’re growing a baby or simply growing into your own radiance, know this: your aura is everything. It’s more than just energy; it’s your presence, your protection, your power. Protect it fiercely, nurture it daily, and watch how the world around you shifts in response. When you take care of it, you take care of everyone you hold within it.

Ostara & The Path to Creation

As the wheel of the year turns, Ostara—the Spring Equinox—ushers in a season of renewal, fertility, and creation.

This is the turning point. The space between what was and what will be. This is a time when nature itself is fertile, bursting forth with new life, and we, too, can align with these energies. A time to trust, to open, to soften, to plant the seeds of what we wish to bring into being.

The past week has been deeply powerful. Holding 1:1 sessions in the lead-up to the Equinox, I’ve felt the energy shift—not just in the air around us, but in the bodies of the women I’ve been working with. There’s something about this time of year, when the earth softens, the days lengthen, and the unseen begins to stir beneath the surface, that calls us to do the same.

Aligning with the Energy of Ostara

In the Celtic tradition, this was a time of blessing the land, honouring the fertility of the earth, and calling in abundance. Eggs, symbols of creation, were placed on altars. Seeds were pressed into the soil, carrying whispered prayers for new beginnings. Women bathed in wild waters, offering their intentions to the currents. Fires were lit to welcome the return of warmth, and homes were adorned with fresh blossoms, inviting in vitality and growth.

Just as the land awakens, we too can align with this cycle of creation

What if we moved like this, too?

What if we allowed ourselves to soften instead of striving?
What if we trusted that creation happens in its own time?
What if we prepared our bodies not by doing more, but by aligning with the energy that already surrounds us?

This is the season of fertility—not just in the land around us, but within us, too. A time of conception in all its forms. Ideas, intentions, new beginnings. The ancient ones knew this. They honoured this time with rituals to bless the fields, to call in abundance, to weave their prayers into the turning of the earth.

Ostara is a doorway into new life. The seeds we plant now—physically, spiritually, emotionally—will take root in the months ahead. Whether you are beginning your journey to conception or deepening your connection to creativity, Ostara invites you to trust, surrender, and align with the natural rhythms of creation.

A 40-Day Practice: Tending the Soil

In the week leading up to the Equinox, I held 1:1 sessions with women all around the world preparing their bodies, minds, and spirits for conception.

Now, we step into a 40-day practice—a sacred container to continue this work. To plant the seeds, to nourish the soil, to hold space for new life.

In Kundalini Yoga, 40 days is a sacred cycle of transformation. It is the time it takes to shift old patterns, to create new neural pathways, to clear, strengthen, and rewire both the physical and energetic bodies. When we commit to a daily practice, we signal to the universe—and to our own subconscious—that we are ready to receive.

This is not about forcing an outcome. It is about clearing the way—physically, emotionally, spiritually—so that what is meant to come through you can, indeed, come through you..

The Celts knew that creation is not forced—it is invited, nourished, given space to emerge in its own time.

This practice is the same. A way of preparing the soil. A way of holding space for what is to come.

Whether you are calling in new life or deepening your connection to your own wisdom and creativity, Ostara reminds us that something is already moving.

Let this be your season of quiet trust.

Let it be simple.

Let it be steady.

Let it unfold.

Be the Ovum: Whole, Radiant and Magnetic

We’ve been taught a story about conception that mirrors much of the conditioning we’ve absorbed as women: that the fastest, strongest sperm wins the race and fertilises the egg. This story echoes the societal belief that success comes through struggle, that we must compete and fight to be chosen. But biology tells a different story—one that speaks to the innate wisdom of the feminine. The ovum is not passively waiting for a victor—it is an active participant in fertilisation, calling in and selecting the sperm that aligns with its energy and chemistry.

The Egg Chooses the Sperm

For years, we were led to believe that conception was a race—millions of sperm competing toward a passive egg, with only the strongest winning. But the reality is a very different picture; the egg is not merely a destination but a discerning force in the process. Even when multiple sperm reach the egg, the final choice is made by the ovum itself—ensuring that fertilisation is not about speed or competition, but about alignment and resonance.

The idea that the egg plays such a decisive role in conception shifts the entire paradigm: fertility is not about competition, but alignment. The egg doesn’t chase—it attracts. It doesn’t settle—it chooses. This is the true nature of feminine energy: to be discerning, magnetic, and receptive, calling in only what is in harmony with it.

The Wisdom of the Womb: Fertility Beyond Age

The narrative that fertility is dictated solely by age is another myth deeply embedded in our society. We have been conditioned to believe that our power to create life has an expiration date, that we are working against a ticking clock. But the truth is, the richness of the womb and the vitality of the eggs depend far more on hormonal balance, diet, and energetic alignment than a simple number.

Many women conceive well beyond the so-called ‘prime years’ because they have cultivated a fertile internal environment. Fertility is a reflection of overall well-being, not just biology. The womb is a sacred space, and when it is nourished—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—it remains open to creation.

The womb is a field of creation, and like any fertile soil, it flourishes with nourishment and hormonal harmony to create an open and abundant space for new life to emerge. Fertility is not just about conception. It is about being in the fullness of your embodied power, receptive to the magic that life has to offer.

This is why preconception work is essential—not just physically, but energetically. Clearing emotional blockages, balancing hormones, strengthening the nervous system, and aligning with the creative force are all ways to cultivate fertility.

The Feminine Power of Attraction

When we reclaim our role as the ovum—selective, sovereign, magnetic—we step into a different way of being. We don’t force, we don’t chase, we don’t exhaust ourselves in pursuit. Instead, we become the gravitational force that calls in what is truly meant for us.

This extends beyond conception. It is a way of living. When we recognise our intrinsic worth, we stop grasping for love, success, or validation. We stop proving, pushing, and depleting ourselves. Instead, we cultivate our internal world—our vitality, our pleasure, our wholeness—and from that place, we radiate.

In relationships, in business, in creativity, in fertility—our power is in our ability to receive. To allow. To trust. To choose.

This is the deepest form of feminine embodiment: knowing that we are already whole, already worthy, already in connection with everything we desire.

And so, we breathe, we move, we align. We nourish our bodies, our minds, and our spirits. And we let life come to us, knowing that we, like the ovum, have always had the power to choose.

Women are the portal of creation. Women are the fertile ground of possibility. Women are the ovum—whole, radiant, and magnetic.

How Kundalini Yoga Prepared Me for Birth & The Ring of Fire

Birth is not just an experience; it’s a complete unraveling—a dismantling of the body, the mind, and the nervous system.

The moment a baby crowns, known as the Ring of Fire, is often described in purely physical terms—the sensation of stretching, the burning, the body opening beyond what feels possible. But it is more than that. It is a threshold. It is raw. It is intense. It strips away resistance and requires a deep capacity to stay with what is unfolding, no matter how uncomfortable.

This is why I practiced Kundalini Yoga before pregnancy, during pregnancy, and, when I could, into postpartum. Because birth is not something you get through. It is something you step into.

Kundalini Yoga: Expanding Your Capacity

Kundalini Yoga is sometimes called the yoga of awareness, but in many ways, it is also the yoga of endurance. It strengthens the nervous system so that when intensity arises, you know how to stay with it. So much of the practice is about training yourself to hold pressure, to meet challenge, to soften into discomfort instead of resisting it.

It is about building wattage—increasing your ability to hold more. This is how we expand.

• Holding postures long after your body wants to give up.

• Expanding your breath when everything in you wants to contract.

• Developing a strong, steady mind when pressure is rising.

Getting Comfortable With Discomfort

We speak so much about birth as beautiful, sacred, and powerful—which it is. But it is also a test of endurance. It is discomfort. It is pressure. It is the moment where everything in you wants to stop, yet you must go on. It’s like running a marathon without ever training for it.

Kundalini Yoga prepared me for this, not by making it easier, but by teaching me how to stay with the experience. The practice teaches you to move through what feels impossible

• Breathwork gave me stamina for the waves of contractions.

• Kriyas taught me how to stay with sensation rather than resist it.

• Meditation rewired my nervous system to remain steady inside intensity.

Everything I had practiced led me here. And when I reached the moment where I thought I couldn’t do it anymore—the moment every woman reaches—I knew how to lean into the fire instead of fighting it.

The Wisdom of Preparation

My mother gave birth to five children. When I asked her if she had any advice for labour, her response was, "Nothing can prepare you for it." And while I found some of that to be true, I was also deeply grateful for having prepared in every way I could—with Kundalini Yoga.

I know it had the most profound impact on me and Florence—on my nervous system, my ability to withstand intensity, and my capacity to surrender. So much so that they called me a silent labourer. I certainly wasn’t silent towards the end, but that’s another story for another time.

Trusting the Body’s Intelligence

If you can get out of your head, your body knows what to do. The mind craves control, but birth cannot be controlled. It does not happen in the mind. It happens in the body, in the breath, in the spaces beyond thinking.

This is why Kundalini Yoga is so powerful—it teaches you how to stay open, even when every part of you wants to close. It builds the capacity to hold more—more love, more patience, more surrender.

And when you rise from it—reborn, remade, more powerful than you ever knew—you will understand that you were never burning.

You were the fire. You were the transformation, the threshold every mother must cross.

If you are preparing for this journey—whether preconception, pregnancy, or postpartum—Kundalini is an incredible tool to have by your side.

Want to explore if Kundalini Yoga is the right fit for you? Let’s connect—you can reach out for a 20 minute call here.

The Portal of Birth: A Journey Between Worlds

There is a moment in birth when the world stops. The veil thins. The past, present, and future fold into each other, and we step into something timeless.

This is the portal of birth.

In every culture, for thousands of years, women have known this. They have gathered in circles, whispered prayers, sung songs to guide new souls into the world. They have honoured birth as the threshold it is—not a medical event, but a rite of passage.

But so much of this has been forgotten. Birth has been taken from the hands of women, stripped of its sacredness. And yet, the power remains. It lives in our bodies, in our breath, in the stories of those who came before us.

I know this, not just because I have studied it, but because I have lived it.

More on my birth story another time, but when I gave birth to Florence, I was alone for nearly all of it. My body moved from 5cm to 10cm in less than an hour. My partner only just made it in time for Florence coming earthside. I didn’t have a doula. I didn’t have anyone around me that I knew.

It was just me, Florence, and the rhythm of the universe moving through me.

They say a woman leaves her body to collect her baby from the other side. But what is less spoken of is how she must first enter the underworld. She must shed, release, surrender—fears, resistance, layers of self that can no longer stay. The death of the maiden, the birth of the mother.

I had remembered the teachings of my mentors—the way the subconscious rises as the body transitions, how birth unearths the deepest layers of our psyche. And it did.

And yet, even as I dissolved into that vast, endless space, a part of me remained—watching, witnessing, tethered between worlds.

Since then, I have understood why birth has been called a ceremony, an initiation, a portal. It is all of these things. It is the place where we meet our edge and cross it. It is the moment we let go and become something new.

This is why I do the work I do.

At Florence and the Moon, some of my offerings are about preparing birth—not just as an event, but as a journey between worlds. Because birth is not just about bringing life earthside—it is about stepping into the deepest truth of who we are.

If you feel called to prepare for the portal—or if you’re postpartum and wish to close it with deep intention—you can explore my offerings here.