For years, I moved through life carrying something I didn’t yet have the words for.

​

In high school, I started noticing imbalances in my body. When I ran, I would black out, yet still remain conscious. I had constant headaches. And the most confusing part? I was lactating, even though I wasn’t pregnant.

​

I hid this for a long time, assuming it would just go away. Maybe it was just a growth spurt. Maybe it was nothing.

​

But when I finally got it checked, I was diagnosed with a pituitary cyst.

​

I was told this would affect me for the rest of my life. That I was too young for surgery if I ever wanted children.

​

Children? It felt too soon to even consider that part of my future. So I did what many of us do when something feels overwhelming, I pushed it to the back of my mind. Tucked it away.

​

And so, life continued.

​

Like many young women, I was put on birth control as a teenager—not for pregnancy prevention, but for acne. It was just what you did. No questions asked.

​

For years, my cycles were predictable on medication. It was “managed.” I didn’t have to think about it. Until one day, I had an IUD placed, and my period disappeared altogether.

​

I told myself it was easier that way.

​

But deep down, there was a disconnect—a numbness I couldn’t explain. A part of me that felt lost, fragmented. My womb, silenced.

​

And beneath it all was a deep, unshakable fear—the fear of having children.

​

When I finally looked inward, I discovered it wasn’t just my fear.

​

It stemmed from my past lives. One deeply rooted memory surfaced while I was in Egypt—a lifetime where I had lost a child. The grief was unbearable, too heavy to hold, so I buried it deep within my womb. I numbed myself completely, unable to feel, unable to grieve. That pain didn’t disappear—it wove itself through time, carried from lifetime to lifetime, until it reached me here, in this body, in this life.

And it wasn’t just this one experience.

​

I saw threads of past lives woven with miscarriages, traumatic births, sexual trauma, loss, and grief. A lineage of pain carried in my womb.

​

I began to unravel it all.

​

I started to see how my relationships held the same push and pull, a sensation of either giving everything or retreating completely. Feeling like I had to do things the right way, for the other person. Hiding parts of myself out of fear they couldn’t be accepted.

​

I had learned to hold shame around pleasure.

​

I grew up Christian—not in an overly strict household, but still, the church had its ways. The teachings of sin. The unspoken rules about what was right and wrong when it came to our bodies, our voices, our desires. You could repent, be “cleansed,” but it never touched the deeper layers. The root.

​

Something in me always knew there was more to the story.

​

I started witnessing myself. My pain. My patterns. My lineage. My past lives.

Piece by piece, I began reclaiming the parts of me that had been lost, stolen, buried.

​

Getting rid of my IUD, tuning into the pain, the emotions.

​

My womb was not just a place of pain—it was a portal. A sacred keeper of stories, waiting to be heard.

​

This was my rebuilding.
My reclamation.
One thread at a time.

​

And now, this is the invitation I offer to you.

​

To listen. To feel. To heal.
To call back the pieces of yourself you are ready to reclaim.

​

This is Womb Reclamation.

​

Are you ready?