Echoes Of Her: Rewriting The Divine Feminine
IWD Siren Songs, In Honor of the Goddess
“What is your chord of coherence, your dissonance of disruption, your pitch of purpose?”
I am a gale of wind and a tide of water, an Aquarian born of starlight, yet rooted in the deep soil of my femininity. For years, I’ve heard the hum beneath the noise, a chord of coherence threading through a world that demands women to shrink, fight, or fade. As an empath, I’ve felt the tremors of change pulsing in my bones, a call to unearth the shadows and heal what is broken. I answer that call this International Women’s Day for my mother, daughters, sisters, and the women walking this path alongside me.
I have wrestled with whether to share this. I don’t want to pass this energy onto anyone or cause anyone pain. Nor am I trying to gain sympathy. However, it’s taboo in our society to discuss our struggles. How can we ever heal if we ignore the things that happen in the shadows? We need to talk about what hurts us. We must acknowledge that the current systems are letting us down. I am after reflecting and having a heartfelt conversation with a dear friend. This piece is raw, authentic, and from deep within my shadows.
A Quiet Knowing
A melody has guided me, even when I didn’t know its name. It sang through the ego death that stripped me bare, through the nights I unraveled who I was conditioned to be. I’ve carried the weight of unspoken stories, my mother’s silenced cries, my grandmother’s clenched fists, the countless women whose voices time swallowed whole. My chord of coherence is this: we heal when we listen and feel the past not as a burden but as a map. When we dare to rewrite what is dormant, the steady note whispers that the divine feminine isn’t lost; it’s waiting to rise.
Breaking the Silence
But oh, the dissonance. It’s a jagged edge, a scream in the dark. My matriarchal lineage is a tapestry of tumultuous threads of resilience tangled with horrors that no one should endure. Growing up, I couldn’t understand why my mother’s love came cloaked in harshness, forming a cold wall between me and the care every child craves. Her words cut, her demands loomed, and her boundaries caged me in ways that left scars and trauma I carried without comprehension. Rarely did I feel her softness; instead, I bore the weight of her unspoken wounds projected onto my siblings and me.
Later in life, she broke her silence, revealing the horrors she had endured, pains no one should bear. She explained why she erected those walls: to shield and fortify me against a world that had shattered her. But it didn’t spare me my wounds and trauma as a child. Deep in her subconscious, I believe she carried that guilt until the end, feeling she’d failed me, her wounds festering until her last breath.
My hope was a fragile flame. I dreamed of the day we would sit together, her hand in mine, her love finally liberated from the past. I longed to hear her say she was proud and to feel her embrace without the weight of her shadows. The week I learned of her passing, I asked the Universe to mend what was broken so I could receive the love I desired so deeply. It never happened. And yet, I still sense her, a shadow at my shoulder, her presence a reminder of what we both lost.
That dissonance clawed at me, disrupting my peace, until I understood: I am her voice. Her story and mine echo in every woman forced to fight for a place, to prove her worth under society’s unrelenting weight. We must face this tension, this rupture, to heal.
She appeared to me in a dream months later and said, “I am okay, daughter. I feel no more pain.” She was so beautiful, and I could sense her essence, vibrant as a pearl.
A Light for All
Now, I sound my pitch, a clear, unshakable note. I speak for my mother, whose horrors deserve to be heard and whose spirit urges me onward. I carve a path for my daughters, so they inherit not pain but power. And I reach for every woman who has felt the shadows pressing too closely. My purpose is this: to turn silence into song, shadow into light.
My hope looks different now; it’s no longer a quiet wish for what could have been but a fierce vow to rewrite what is. I hope for a world where children do not carry their mothers’ wounds, love flows freely, and we shine not as a plea for permission but as a birthright. I feel her with me, a whisper in the wind, and I know this is bigger than I am. It’s about rewriting the feminine story, reclaiming the divine that lives within us all.
i don’t need you
to write my story.
i write it
e v e r y d a y
& you couldn’t
even translate
the fucking
punctuation.
-she. amanda lovelace
A Call to Humanity
On this International Women’s Day, I honor my mother by breaking her silence. I honor my daughters by healing the lineage. I also honor every soul carrying shadows, every heart yearning to shine, by calling to humanity. These wounds are not confined by form; they resonate in the silenced voices of mothers and fathers and the burdens passed to sons and daughters alike. This work should unite us, not divide us. It starts within each of us: a single thread of courage, a willingness to confront the dark and weave it into light. Together, we can co-create a world where no one fights and every spirit rises unshackled. Let’s begin the shadow work. Let’s rewrite the narrative. Let’s shine so brightly that the world transforms with us.
What is your chord of coherence, your dissonance of disruption, your pitch of purpose?
Such depth in your writing here, I can feel the power in your transmission and I agree with you that we need to be able to tell our stories even when they are stories of struggle or pain. Thank you for sharing xxx
I love your acknowledgement that it’s taboo to speak about the wounds and trauma. I do believe that it’s through sharing them with love that we heal ourselves and each other. Thank you for sharing this today. 🔥💜