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.