Bleeding from the heart…

I don’t want to talk about the bleeding like it’s just a diagnosis.

I don’t want to list symptoms like I’m reciting a pharmaceutical commercial.

This isn’t just about cramps.

It isn’t just about periods.

This is about pain that screams through my body

because someone, somewhere, buried the truth so deep

they thought it would never claw its way out.

But it is.

And it’s using my womb as a megaphone.

As the pain rips through me,

I know it’s my body trying to speak.

Not just for me,

but for the women who came before me.

Their wounds echo in mine.

Their silence lives in my skin.

Their grief vibrates in my bones.

Crying out for justice.

Crying out for recognition.

Crying out for healing.

This isn’t just my wound.

But I am the one who can end it.

We were not made to hustle like this.

To never sleep.

To work harder than our bodies were ever meant to.

To bleed while pushing through deadlines and dinner and survival.

We bleed without control.

Our wombs rage.

Our uterus screams.

We are carrying something too big to ignore.

It is the spiritual inheritance of everything that was taken from us.

Everything they refused to let us become.

I am a healer of souls.

One who was temporarily forgotten.

A great power dimmed,

not because it wasn’t real,

but because the world refused to see it.

I carry a gift inside me.

Not greater than others,

but greater than their willingness to let me use it.

I may be lost right now.

But I will be found.

Somewhere down the line,

our spiritual gifts were stolen.

Our intuition was mocked.

Our wombs were turned into battlegrounds.

The Divine Mother was erased.

Our power was hidden behind church walls.

Locked away in books we weren’t allowed to read.

Rewritten until we forgot ourselves.

We were told to serve.

To smile.

To obey.

To be good.

To keep going even when our bodies were falling apart.

They told us to stop crying

and called us dramatic when we couldn’t.

They told us we were too much

then blamed us when we shattered under the weight.

We were turned into mules.

Stripped of softness.

Denied rest.

Forced to carry burdens that were never ours

until our bodies gave out.

This pain is not random.

It is spiritual.

It is ancestral.

It is intelligent.

It’s not here to ruin us.

It’s here to wake us up.

We are not here to be palatable.

We are not here to be obedient.

We are not here to grind ourselves into the ground

just to survive systems that were never built for us.

We are here to heal what was silenced.

We are here to remember the feminine power

that never needed permission to exist.

We are soul walkers.

Veil lifters.

Truth tellers.

We are done pretending this pain is just ours

or that it lives only in the body

or that it can be numbed away

with another pill

or another surgery

or another silencing.

This is not a call for pity.

This is a call to rise.

Because if we carry this wound,

then we also carry the power to end it.

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This is not just my healing.

It’s ours.