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  • Amanda Rose

The masculine wound is ready to be healed.

Amidst the cries, the anger, the reeling sense of loss, the blaming, and hatred I have seen splashed across social media the past few days, what has stood out to me beneath the stormy waters is this:


the deep masculine wound that women carry is ready to be healed.

Beneath the opposing stereotypes of "angry feminist" or "Stepford wife" lies a wound beating beneath the chest of every woman. A wound that she carries if not for herself, then for the generations of women who came before her.


The systems that seek to pit us against each other were not built by women for women. These systems were built on the beliefs that womens voices did not matter, and did not hold as much weight as a mans.


Women have had to fight to be allowed to participate in the societies (and religions) that men built for themselves. And although today women in the USA have incredible privilege and rights available to them, there is a wound that has not fully been recognized or healed. And it is surfacing this week, demanding we acknowledge it.

If we do not, it will continue to fester beneath the surface.


Woman, I see your pain.


The pain of the father who did not truly see you and value you. The father who didn't know how to show you love in the way you needed to receive it.


The pain of the man who took your body and used it for his own gratification, who discarded you and treated you as if you were worthless, and objectified you.


The pain of the religion that made you its jezebel scapegoat while silencing your voice, and exploiting your gifts.


The pain of the betrayal at the hands of the man you trusted with your life, your body, your raw heart, and your dreams.


The pain of your society telling you that if you wanted to succeed, you needed to deny all of your woman -- your emotions, your blood, your wild.


The pain of being constantly exploited and prostituted by the media for your beauty, and being pitted against other women for the sake of survival, safety, security, or love.


The pain of an empty womb.

The pain of a full womb.


Woman, I see your pain.


It's time to acknowledge the pain, and to lay it bare so that it can be alchemized and healed. It's time to anoint ourselves and rise. This is the collective rite of passage we are being invited into. Will we stay in the pain as wounded maidens, or will we rise as mature maidens and mothers?


We don't wait to be saved. We don't blame, or point fingers. We don't deny or suppress the pain, and the wound.


We take the oil and we anoint ourselves.


We take the torches meant to light our pyres and we use it to illuminate the way for generations to come.


This is the true revolution we have been waiting for.


And it begins with your touch, your presence, and your breath.

On and within your wombspace.


If you're ready to experience this rite of passage, and claim responsibility for your healing and alchemy, join me for the next upcoming WombTerrain immersive experience.

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