Notes from Stillness

There’s a truth rising in the collective. A truth that’s been trying to reach you through dreams, synchronicities, and the quietest signals of your body: Your fertility journey is not paused. You’re being prepared. You’re not stuck. You’re being initiated. You’re not being punished. You’re being recalibrated. Something deeper is happening beneath the timelines, the tracking apps, the treatments, and the monthly heartbreaks. Something your mind cannot fully comprehend but your womb feels unmistakably: A new identity is forming. Not the identity of who you were before the struggle. Not the identity the world expected of you. But the identity required for the soul that is trying to reach you. Because conception (true conception) is not biological first. It is energetic . And energy requires alignment. Most women don’t struggle to get pregnant because something is “wrong” with their body. They struggle because a deeper part of them hasn’t yet become the woman who can hold t...

 There’s a saying you may have heard before: “How you do one thing is how you do everything.” For most women on the fertility journey, this phrase can feel confronting at first. You’re already carrying so much. The hopes, the disappointments, the cycle tracking, the grief that no one sees. The last thing you need is another suggestion that you’re doing something “wrong.” But when we look at this phrase through a softer, more compassionate lens, something different emerges. It becomes not a criticism but a mirror. A gentle truth-telling. An invitation into deeper self-understanding. And for many women over 35 trying to conceive, this shift in perspective becomes its own kind of healing. Fertility as a Mirror, not as a Measurement Trying to conceive asks you to face parts of yourself that everyday life might let you avoid. It reveals old wounds, unmet needs, forgotten beliefs, and the subtle ways you have been relating to yourself for years, maybe even decades. Not because y...

 When a woman sets out to conceive, she rarely imagines that the path might be long, uncertain, or painfully circular. Our culture frames fertility as something to plan, to manage, to achieve. When that plan falters, the experience can feel like exile. Exile from our bodies, from other women, from the life we thought we were supposed to have. And yet, through another lens, infertility can be seen not as exile but as initiation . Across history, cultures have marked the great transitions of life with rites of passage: separation from the old, descent into the unknown, and eventual return transformed. Infertility carries the same structure, though no one hands us the ritual map. We stumble into it, unprepared, and only later realise that something profound was being reshaped within us. 1. Separation The journey often begins with loss. Loss of certainty, of innocence, of belonging. Each cycle that passes can widen the distance between you and the world that seems to move easily ...

 We live in a paradigm that teaches us: you experience trauma → you are wounded → you must work very hard to heal. This narrative has been repeated so often that it feels like truth. Many women on the fertility path live inside it daily believing that if they could just try harder, think more positively, eat the perfect diet, do all the right protocols, then their bodies would finally cooperate. But what if there is another way? Think about a small cut on your skin. You don’t need to pray over it, eat the perfect food, or strive to control the process in order for it to close. Healing happens naturally. The body knows. The wound contains within it the blueprint for repair. Emotional wounds are no different. When you’ve been trying to conceive and each month ends with disappointment, it’s not just your body that feels heavy. It’s your heart, your nervous system, your sense of trust in life. The grief is real. The pain is real. But here’s the paradox: the more we fight against ...

  When you’ve been trying to conceive for months or years, the arrival of your period can feel like a wound that never fully heals. Each cycle brings not just physical bleeding but also emotional bleeding, a grief that can’t always be spoken. For women over 35, this grief can feel especially sharp, laced with urgency, self-doubt, and a relentless inner question: Why is this happening to me? I know this wound intimately. I’ve walked through miscarriage, irregular cycles, and years of trying to trust a body that felt unpredictable, even untrustworthy. At times I believed that my pain was proof that something was broken in me. But over time, I’ve come to see a deeper truth: the wound is not proof of brokenness. It is the very place where life keeps asking me to soften, to listen, and to be remade. In mythic traditions, this is called the sacred wound,  the holy affliction that carries within it not only our deepest pain, but also our medicine. The place where we are most tend...

  Dreams have a beautiful way of bringing our deepest truths into the light. Sometimes, they speak directly to our wounds, other times they offer us insights into places we may not yet be ready to face. Recently, I had a dream that felt like a message from my soul, one that I feel deeply called to share with you today. In the dream, I was with my mother, driving together on a journey. Suddenly, we were blinded by an overwhelming light — so intense that it became almost impossible for her to continue driving. The light wasn’t the usual sunlight; it felt different, disruptive. It was the light of awakening, something that forces us to look at life and ourselves differently, and in that moment, my mother struggled to navigate. In the dream, I told her, “It’s the Uranus-Moon conjunction .” I understood it immediately: Uranus , the planet of disruption and awakening, was meeting Moon , symbolising the emotional, cyclical, and maternal energy. As the dream unfolded, I realised something...