Come home to her

The miracle of a woman's body

A woman’s body never ceases to fascinate me. My body never ceases to fascinate me.

Last week I got my period. It had been two and a half years since I’d felt the way my bleed roots me in the body. Since I’d felt the heaviness of a shedding womb. Since I’d felt the descent of energy, a flow focusing almost exclusively in the pelvis.

Spotting a little blood on my pants reminded me of the time 11 years ago when I got my period back after it had gone missing during my Chronic Fatigue years. I’d been in a pub — of all places — the only toilet I could find at 11am on a Friday morning. I’d gotten such a surprise that I actually thought I’d been haemorrhaging. It was so unexpected, yet it also wasn’t.

My body had given me many signals over the preceding days. The familiar cramping. The vivid dreams. The downwards, inwards focus. The stirring of things to release.

The same had occurred this time.

But I was in menopause. Could this be so?

I stared at the blood for quite some time. Really? Is this you?

It was like welcoming an old friend who I never anticipated seeing again, but who I also valued and missed so very much.

I’d traversed five years of peri-menopause and all the challenges of this portal. I felt wiser, fuller, because of it. The insights gained. A better understanding of my constitution, my needs, my nervous system, the ways to care for myself.

And, I’d settled in to menopause. I was getting used to the smoother monthly ride, less bumps, ups and downs, highs and lows. And the fact I’d once more synced in directly with mother nature. Her cycles now mine completely. I resonated more with her than ever, because we were now always in sync. No longer did my cycle detour from hers.

However there was something, there is something, about the way we bleed as women that we can never take for granted. It is such a miracle — to have a bleed in the body that doesn’t need emergency attention. A river of blood that doesn’t never to be halted. My dad has been in hospital twice in the last month with an internal bleed, both nearly costing him his life. But periods actually do the opposite, they create life, they start life.

I pondered why I got a surprise return of this blessing.

Was it my longing coming to life?

Was it a reminder that nothing ever leaves us, it just changes form?

Was it a last chance to say goodbye?

I sense a little bit of it all. I believe that the lessons and experiences we have in life are those that we are meant to share with others. And this is my work. I am an advocate for a woman’s body. This is my activism.

I’ve not had all the experiences of a woman’s body. Primarily I’ve not given birth in biological form. But I’ve learnt that to not have is also to have. Our individual unique journeys round out those of the other women around us, together we make whole.

Each and every step of my journey in a woman’s body has taken me to the place where I feel that a woman’s body is getting lost in the modern world. The miracle of it. The magic of it. The pain and pleasure of it.

Last week as my face and lips turned a paler shade, as my mind became less alert, my body ached to be heard, experienced, known.

I was reminded how my bleed’s presence stops my thoughts, a niggling cramp bringing me back down to my sacral sacred spot.

An ache I just needed one last glimpse of to remind me of this power.

The gift of life, of heavenly waters, felt like a message from her to me. That the experience is always in the body. The knowing is always within.

The continuation of humanity lies here in our body, not in our head. It is for us as women to never forget.

Come home to her and our home will be changed 🩸 ❤️