Where Power Lives: Remembering the Ancient Arts of Women’s Healing
And guess what?... It's in between our thighs.
I’ve been in a 6 week online facilitator training for breast, belly and pelvic work for women, The Evolving Art of Touch taught by Qiddist Ashé, Naema Pierce, and Prairie Wolfe. This past week, we gathered for the in-person immersion in Portland, Oregon. Normally, I love being in person, but leading up to the trip, I felt immense resistance. So much so that I literally got food poisoning the morning of my flight. Part of me was ready to cancel the whole thing, but I knew that my resistance was fear and not a boundary. I knew somewhere deep down, I was about to cross a threshold that needed crossing. One that would require my vulva to be seen and touched.
I’m sharing this not because it’s easy or comfortable, but because I believe we are in a collective remembering. Of our bodies. Our power. Our pleasure. Our wholeness. And if my experience touches even one woman and helps her come home to herself, then this threshold-crossing was worth every moment.
When I arrived I felt embodied. I was in Her and felt good, confident, present and alive. The first day, I even said to myself, “Wow, I feel so IN myself and that feels fucking good.” And yet… I could still feel a quiet fear. I knew this work would crack something open in me.
And it did.
This week was powerful. We moved through sister wounds. We learned how to touch and listen to organs and how to feel their emotional imprints held in the body. We explored lymph massage, located the uterus and bladder, practiced vulva mapping, and did internal vaginal work. We learned to connect with the womb from the inside and work on the quantum level, where the body shifts in real time, and you can feel it happen.
The day we did vulva and intravaginal work, I was so nervous. And I’m struck by the paradox of it all, “Yes, I’ve healed so much. I feel strong, powerful, whole… and also, whoa, here’s my next edge.” My body was holding fear and shame about being seen and touched in that most intimate place. Religious trauma surfaced. Cultural conditioning crept in, “Will it smell okay? Will it look “normal”? Will I be judged?” And surprisingly, one of the biggest fears was, “What if my power is seen?” That part of us, our sacred center, is so powerful, so mysterious, so holy. Of course we’ve been taught to hide it. What the actual fuck…
I was in a group of amazing women and had no preference of who would see and touch my vulva for the first time (bc honestly, I didn’t want anyone to). And of course, in divine orchestration, I was paired with a close friend I had done the training with. She held me so beautifully. As she placed her hands on the bones beneath the skin of my vulva, a wave of grief surged through my right labia. The realization of just how sacred this part of me is and all of the betrayal and self betrayal I once experienced. I realized I wasn’t just feeling my grief, I was feeling the silence of generations of women who were never given permission to know themselves, let alone touch themselves with reverence. Tears welled up in my eyes, I cried, released and landed in anger. Ohhh sacred anger. I felt the Lioness in me wake up and say Never. Again.
I felt fierce, holy protection rise up in me. My friend looked at me and said, “You have so much Virgen de Guadalupe energy here. You are a holy church, and this is the entrance.”
Fuck. Yes. I am.
And so is every woman. Holy. Worthy of reverence, honor and deep respect.
When she began the intravaginal portion, I noticed something surprising. I couldn’t feel much. It was like this part of me wasn’t even fully here. And with gentle, present touch, I began to feel again. I could feel the outline of my sacred parts, tangible, real, alive.
There’s something that awakens when we make contact with these parts of ourselves. It’s not just pain that lives there. It’s life. It’s joy. It’s radiance. It’s erotic innocence that has been waiting to return home.
This work is magic. It’s ancient, cellular-level witchcraft. In myself and others, I witnessed how:
Reconnecting to these parts of our bodies allows us to release childhood, ancestral, and collective trauma, and with that release, we reclaim our power.
With simple, intentional touch and presence, the body knows how to heal. Organs shift. Tissue softens. Energy clears. Alignment returns.
I felt organs soften and shift. I witnessed cervixes (mine included) move back into alignment without force or manipulation. I felt hardened tissue melt into softness. I felt miracles.
The body is incredible. The body is quantum.
On the final day, I woke up with an old wound, “Do I belong? Do they see me? Do I fit in?” It was tender. Then a sister and I did a practice trade of intuitive massage and when it was my turn to receive, I asked her to focus on my kidneys. She massaged my chest and heart, and when she touched my kidneys, I melted. Every cell in my body became water. All the ickiness and self-doubt washed away. Then she moved internally. When her finger touched my cervix, I asked her to stay there. My cervix wanted to be met. And as she stayed, I could feel my essence, my belonging, my power, my Self return. I clicked back into Truth. It was pure magic.
To the women reading this:
This work is sacred. It’s ancient. And it is being remembered.
It is a return to our bodies. To ourselves. To sisterhood.
When I held my hand over another woman’s vulva, one truth rang loud and clear:
Pussy. is. God.