I was today years old when I learnt that the part of the body we affectionately refer to as a pouch has a proper scientific name.
Ladies and gentleman, introducing the panniculus, “an apron of skin and fat that sags below the navel, particularly after pregnancy or weight loss”.
While I won’t be adding panniculus to my baby names list, I do think we should show it a little more love. Because despite what you might see on social media, having a pouch, or a panniculus on a Sunday, is entirely natural and normal. And to prove it, I refer you to the drawing attached.
This piece of art was created in 23,000 BCE, on the walls of a cave in what we now call France. Opinions vary as to whether it represents a woman in childbirth, or an appreciative ode to the female form, but either way her pouch is clearly visible, and she was important enough and interesting enough and beautiful enough to commit to rock for eternity.
It can be hard to feel good about our bodies after pregnancy and birth, and there’s no denying that we have been forever changed by the experience inside and out, but it’s even harder when we try to live up to unattainable and constantly shifting beauty standards.
That’s why this piece of art brings me such joy, the figure is undeniably and unashamedly female, lumps and bumps and all. And if a woman 25,000 years ago, whose life was undoubtedly much harder than mine, can handle this jelly, then so can I.
We are calling the Grandmothers, Mothers, Sisters, Aunts, Daughters The Wild Women The Crones The seers & midwives The mountain & desert women The soul summoners The water carriers The tenders & feelers of Earth The ocean women who are rising the tide The fire women who are ready to roar The girls who already breathe consciously with the trees and the elders who choose to sing the song that ends the desecration of our world.
We are calling you to to RISE together now.
You are invited to unite & awaken to who, what you really are, on behalf of the forests, on behalf of the trees, on behalf of Life.
Women were forbidden to study medicine for several years until someone broke the law. Born in 300 BCE, Agnodice cut her hair and entered Alexandria medical school dressed as a man.
While walking the streets of Athens after completing her medical education, she heard the cries of a woman in labour. However, the woman did not want Agnodice to touch her although she was in severe pain, because she thought Agnodice was a man. Agnodice proved that she was a woman by removing her clothes without anyone seeing and helped the woman deliver her baby.
The story would soon spread among the women and all the women who were sick began to go to Agnodice. The male doctors grew envious and accused Agnodice, whom they thought was male, of seducing female patients. At her trial, Agnodice, stood before the court and proved that she was a woman but this time, she was sentenced to death for studying medicine and practicing medicine as a woman.
Women revolted at the sentence, especially the wives of the judges who had given the death penalty. Some said that if Agnodice was killed, they would go to their deaths with her. Unable to withstand the pressures of their wives and other women, the judges lifted Agnodice’s sentence, and from then on, women were allowed to practice medicine, provided they only looked after women. Thus, Agnodice made her mark in history as the first Greek female doctor, physician and gynecologist.
This plaque depicting Agnodice at work was excavated at Ostia, Italy and is now on display at the British Museum.
Women in the Cherokee society were equal to men. They could earn the title of War Women and sit in councils as equals. This privilege led an Irishman named Adair who traded with the Cherokee from 1736-1743 to accuse the Cherokee of having a “petticoat government”.
Clan kinship followed the mother’s side of the family. The children grew up in the mother’s house, and it was the duty of an uncle on the mother’s side to teach the boys how to hunt, fish, and perform certain tribal duties.
The women owned the houses and their furnishings. Marriages were carefully negotiated, but if a woman decided to divorce her spouse, she simply placed his belongings outside the house.
Cherokee women also worked hard. They cared for the children, cooked, tended the house, tanned skins, wove baskets, and cultivated the fields. Men helped with some household chores like sewing, but they spent most of their time hunting.
Cherokee girls learned by example how to be warriors and healers. They learned to weave baskets, tell stories, trade, and dance. They became mothers and wives, and learned their heritage.
The Cherokee learned to adapt, and the women were the core of the Cherokee.
Photo : ~ Cherokee mixed Native American actress, Faye Warren.
My skin is black My arms are long My hair is woolly My back is strong Strong enough to take the pain Inflicted again and again What do they call me? My name is Aunt Sarah My name is Aunt Sarah, Aunt Sarah
My skin is yellow My hair is long Between two worlds I do belong My father was rich and white He forced my mother late one night What do they call me? My name is Saffronia My name is Saffronia
My skin is tan My hair is fine My hips invite you My mouth like wine Whose little girl am I? Anyone who has money to buy What do they call me? My name is Sweet Thing My name is Sweet Thing
My skin is brown My manner is tough I’ll kill the first mother I see My life has been rough I’m awfully bitter these days ‘Cause my parents were slaves What do they call me? My name is Peaches
“When sleeping women wake, mountains will move.” ~ Chinese Proverb
Last night while I lay sleeping, I had a dream. (written 2017)
The world was in a state of total chaos and all that we had ever known was ending. Everything was volatile, violence raged openly and the people were suffering greatly. There was sadness around every corner and destruction flooded the air thick and unrelenting.
It was a time of darkness the likes of which none had ever beheld, a power taking over our world and squeezing the very light and love from its once lively core.
Yet even in this bleak time, hope was shining like a beacon on the horizon.
I saw women gathering in a house together, sisters from all walks of life and of all ages. Into the shattered air that stung of gloom they sung a song of universal love.
There in that place they created sacred space, a sanctuary against the coming storm. They wrote symbols of ancient wisdom on the walls, chanting incantations of protection and love for all the children of the Earth while their fingers clasped candles burning bright.
Drawing power from the natural world and summoning the mystery that flowed in their veins, they sat in circle drumming with the beat of their hearts petitioning for the madness to end. Their voices cried out for freedom, for joy and for all beings on this planet to live as one.
And then the dark night swallowed the vision, and it was gone.
Dawn broke through the silence and the world drew a great inhale.
The birds sang with the rising Sun and the green Earth stirred roots below and branches above. Animals took to the open with curiosity. The house of sisterhood I thought was swallowed by the darkness stood still, standing tall in spite of the raging dark storm that threatened to engulf it.
I could see the place where the women had gathered, the remnants of their workings for the world left behind, drums and feathers marking their sacred rite. The words “blessed be” were etched upon the walls, surrounded by sacred symbols of a time long passed. Peace had returned to the world and the air felt fresh and new.
The double-edged sword of the feminine had been held aloft, wielding fiery protection and nurturing love in great measure, and had withstood the tempest and rose from the ashes victorious.
The once buried power of the Goddess had returned during the time of the world’s greatest darkness. She had always slumbered within our spirits, a burning ember awaiting in the shadows, and now she had risen once more.
The wild and wise women of the world had awoken. By reclaiming the ancient mystery that flowed in their veins, the sisterhood of the feminine had broken the chains of bondage that once held the world prisoner and opened the gate for the return of the Goddess.
The time had come for the medicine of the fierce feminine to flow freely throughout the land.
Somewhere on the distant horizon, I saw a gathering of sisters, a circle of wise women from all walks of life.
And they smiled.
My Sisters, the time has come to rise and awaken the priestess thread within. As we arise and reclaim our truths and our voices, so we awaken and transform our whole world.
The Priestess is the element of alchemy that dwells within our soul. She is the powerful thread within that taps us into the energy to transform our world and bring out truth into being. If you hear the Call of the Priestess, join me here for my online Priestess Program: Inner Priestess Awakening Online Journey
We miss you. Deeply. When women gather together in circles.. we tell stories of how much we long for you. Crave you. Pray for you to rise and meet us here. We mourn your missing presence. In our childhoods. In the homes we’ve built without you. In our beds. We hold hands and beg God to set you free from whatever keeps you from standing at our sides. Right here. Here In intimacy. In integrity. In wholeness. In freedom. The places where you are caught in dishonesty.. shame.. fear.. addiction.. we grieve and rage over. We see your pain and we see your power. We miss you. We love you. We can’t wait for you to come home For the men who have.. thank you so much. Please call your brothers.. start men’s circles.. show them the manuals. Tell them of what you gave up. Of your brokenness and acceptance. Of what it truly means to take up the mantle of protector. Please. There aren’t enough fathers.. resources and leaders for men to sit at the feet of. The women have tried. We can’t do it. The restoration must come from within the Masculine. The Feminine cannot mother grown men into wholeness. We cannot strap men to our backs and walk. We tried. We bow out. Not gracefully. But in mournful acceptance nonetheless. And we will wait for you to burst free from the shackles patriarchy has placed on you. We pray. We pray. We pray. For the Great Remembrance.~
Women in the Cherokee society were equal to men. They could earn the title of War Women and sit in councils as equals. This privilege led an Irishman named Adair who traded with the Cherokee from 1736-1743 to accuse the Cherokee of having a “petticoat government”.
Clan kinship followed the mother’s side of the family. The children grew up in the mother’s house, and it was the duty of an uncle on the mother’s side to teach the boys how to hunt, fish, and perform certain tribal duties.
The women owned the houses and their furnishings. Marriages were carefully negotiated, but if a woman decided to divorce her spouse, she simply placed his belongings outside the house.
Cherokee women also worked hard. They cared for the children, cooked, tended the house, tanned skins, wove baskets, and cultivated the fields.
Men helped with some household chores like sewing, but they spent most of their time hunting.
Cherokee girls learned by example how to be warriors and healers. They learned to weave baskets, tell stories, trade, and dance. They became mothers and wives, and learned their heritage.
The Cherokee learned to adapt, and the women were the core of the Cherokee.
Photo : ~ Cherokee mixed Native American actress, Faye Warren.
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