i didn’t plan to give birth again.
but today, in a quiet room filled with bowls and breath and brave men and women, i did.
—
i signed up for the reset because i knew i needed one.
i came alone this time, because i finally could.
this is the second event i’ve attended with these women, and when i bought my ticket, i set a soft, quiet intention:
to connect with my higher self.
to ask her the questions i hadn’t yet voiced.
to feel her guidance.
—
what happened… wasn’t that.
at least, not directly.
instead, she brought me somewhere deeper.
somewhere older.
somewhere that still held pain.
—
a few days before this event, i did a shower release ritual.
i wrote it with intention—and then spoke it out loud to myself in a voice memo.
i let the water carry away everything i thought i had to hold onto: the night i found out he cheated, the night i froze, the night i stayed.
but this time, i imagined my higher self doing what i couldn’t.
she chose me. she made him leave. she didn’t wait to be saved—she walked away.
and that shift planted a seed in me.
—
during today’s breath-work—an hour of nothing but breath, sound, surrender—
that seed cracked open.
my body was transported back to one of the most vulnerable moments of my life: giving birth to my daughter.
i had a c-section when she was born, but in this vision, it was different.
i was still on the table. still draped.
but this time i was alone.
i saw my daughter being pulled out of me—but her dad wasn’t there.
i was moaning, crying, toning—laboring.
and i realized… i wasn’t reliving the birth itself.
i was releasing the trapped energy that had been stored in my womb ever since.
—
back then, everything felt unsafe.
my marriage wasn’t safe.
covid made the world feel terrifying.
my family couldn’t be in the room.
i was off all my medications, spiraling in ways no one fully understood—or cared to try to.
i didn’t have the language. i didn’t have the support.
so i carried it.
all of it.
—
until today.
as the vision overtook me, i started tapping.
my womb. my chest. my body.
trying to move the energy that had been stuck for years.
i groaned. i cried.
i breathed through it like labor.
—
and for a second, i thought i was panicking.
because my body remembered how panic feels.
but this time, i stayed.
this time, i breathed.
this time, i didn’t have to run from it.
i let the sound rise up through my throat.
i let the sobs come.
this wasn’t a panic attack.
this was purging.
this was birth in its most spiritual form.
—
at some point, one of the guides came to me.
she placed a tuning fork near my body and matched my voice, encouraging me to release even more through sound.
that vibration…
that support…
it was like being midwifed into a new version of myself.
—
i can’t fully explain it.
it was weird.
it was beautiful.
it was holy.
—
this is only my second time at one of these events, and the last one was seven months ago in january.
back then, i didn’t know what to expect.
but even then, i had a powerful journey.
and standing here now, in july, i can see how much has shifted since then.
how much i’ve grown.
how many layers i’ve shed.
—
so i’m curious to see where i’ll be in december.
maybe this is a six-month rhythm for me.
maybe i’ll need it more often.
maybe i’m just learning how to move with the tides of my healing.
—
either way—
today, i was reborn.
not just as a mother.
but as a woman who chose herself.
as a woman who no longer lets the past live in her womb.
as a woman who meets her higher self in breath, sound, and sacred remembering.
—
for a long time, i thought my daughter saved me.
and in some ways, she did.
but now i know—
it was my womb.
it was my body.
even when i couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t speak clearly, couldn’t stand up for myself—
my body kept her alive. my womb still nurtured her.
i saved me.
and God?
God gave me the womb.
so God saved me, too.
—
i don’t know where this path leads.
but i know i’m walking it now,
with my breath,
with my body,
with my full, steady heart.
—
i am not the same.
