The Holy Wound: Finding Wholeness in the Fertility Journey

 

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 tender is also the place through which healing, wholeness, and even awakening can emerge.

For those of us longing for children, it can feel cruel to suggest that our struggles are in any way holy. But if we pause, we may notice how the fertility journey is reshaping us. Month after month, we are being invited into patience, surrender, compassion for ourselves, and deeper trust in life. This doesn’t erase the pain but it makes the pain meaningful.

The wound, when faced, becomes a womb. A space of gestation, not only of potential new life, but of a new self.

What I offer women is not another protocol, another checklist, or another attempt to “fix” what is not broken. Instead, I hold a safe space for you to come as you are. With your grief, your longing, and your exhaustion. Together, we turn toward the wound you carry, not to erase it but to let it reveal its hidden medicine.

Through gentle, embodied work (hypnotherapy, breath practices, deep listening, and the quiet art of allowing) you begin to find something more stable than hope: you begin to find yourself. Whole, tender, and worthy, with or without a baby.

And paradoxically, it’s from this place of wholeness that your body, heart, and womb can feel safe enough to receive again.

So if you’re reading this with tears in your eyes, wondering if you matter, if your dream matters, let this be the message that reaches you: You are not broken. Your wound is not the end of the story. It is the sacred doorway through which your healing, your becoming, and perhaps even your motherhood may arrive.

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Invitation: If you’re over 35 and feeling worn down by the long road of trying to conceive, I’d love to walk alongside you. Together we’ll soften the burden, uncover the medicine hidden within your wound, and help you return to trust in yourself, in your body, and in life.