I’ve traveled all over the world, but nothing—nothing—has ever touched me like the journey to Mary Magdalene’s cave in the South of France. It was the most sacred and profound experience of my life. In that cave, I met myself at a soul-deep level, and I was rebirthed.
This sacred pilgrimage had been on my bucket list since I read Mary Magdalene Revealed by Meggan Watterson. That book stirred something in me and reminded me of truths I had always felt but never had words for. It speaks of Mary not as a prostitute or sinner, but as a powerful spiritual teacher and the embodiment of the Divine Feminine. The moment I finished it, I knew: One day I will walk the forest of La Sainte-Baume. One day I will find her cave.
This past week, that calling came true.
A group of women, led by my dear friend Chrissy, journeyed together to the sacred forest of St. Baume, where the legendary Cave of Eggs is hidden. Legend holds that after Jesus’s death, Mary Magdalene fled to this region of France and lived the remainder of her life in contemplation and devotion in this very cave. She is said to have preached, healed, and taught from these lands – a spiritual leader and ascended master in her own right. And dare I say…Jesus’s equal?
Legend has it that the area surrounding the cave was inhabited by Celtic Druids who protected and cared for Mary. I had always imagined her grieving in solitude after the crucifixion, but in reality, she continued her work while being supported by others who honored the sacred. She lived in community. She was held. Learning this on the trip hit something deep in me.
Because I, too, have known the ache of loss.
I’ve lost so much in the past six years: a marriage and a life partner, a whole other family, close friendships, a career I once poured myself into… and the deaths of both of my parents. It’s been wave after wave of loss and grief. And while I trust—on a soul level—that these losses were to make room for something more aligned, the human in me still aches. I’ve felt lonely. Untethered. Like I’ve been wandering in the wilderness… not too dissimilar from my trek to the cave.
And yet—like Mary—I am learning what it means to begin again.
To rebuild from the ashes and root my faith in the divine.
That was one of the deepest lessons the cave offered me:
You can be reborn after utter devastation.
The moment I entered the forest, I felt my whole body light up. It was like being plugged into something ancient and electric. My skin tingled, my heart pounded. I could feel her presence. It was as if Mary herself was gracing me with her codes, whispering: “You are ready.”
The first stop on our pilgrimage was the Grotte de la Sainte-Baume, a small chapel built over a grotto on the side of the mountain. It has been a sacred space of worship since the 5th century. There is a section downstairs especially dedicated to women who have experienced grief and loss around motherhood – infertility, miscarriage, or the death of a child. As I descended into that space, I heard her voice clearly in my heart:
“You are so good, and you don’t even see it. Your heart is so big.”
Tears came instantly.
In that instant, I saw a part of myself I had always turned away from…the part of me that always wanted to adopt. I had dreamed of adoption since I was young, long before I knew my fertility story wouldn’t follow the traditional path. When biological children didn’t come to fruition, I was more than ready to adopt. In fact, I longed to adopt a child from another culture – preferably Black or Brown, but that dream didn’t come to pass either. And yet in that moment, Mary whispered something that changed everything:
“The outcome doesn’t matter. Only that you see how big your heart is.”
I realized my longing wasn’t just to mother. It was to love. To love the marginalized, the forgotten, the overlooked. My heart has always beat for those society casts aside. That was the deeper call underneath my desire to adopt. I wanted to love a child who wasn’t born of my body but was born into my heart. I wanted to create a family rooted in unconditional love, inclusion, and compassion.
Jesus and Mary Magdalene both modeled this kind of love. They didn’t just preach it. They lived it. They sat with those who were cast out. They touched the untouchable. They embraced the forgotten, the poor, the sick. Their love wasn’t based on bloodlines, status, or belonging to the “right” group. Their love was radical. Expansive. Inclusive.
That same love lives in me.
Mary showed me that day that my desire was holy. That the outcome didn’t define me.
The heart behind it did.
From there, we began the hike to the Cave of Eggs, a hidden cave deeper in the forest. The journey wasn’t easy. The path was steep and rocky, and I didn’t have the right shoes. We got lost and had to turn back and try again. My vision isn’t perfect, and chemotherapy has left my balance and stability forever changed. But I took my time. I walked carefully. And the women supported one another with gentle hands and words of guidance. That’s the feminine way: we don’t go alone, we go together.
There came a moment when I began to feel fatigued. I knew we were near, but my patience and anticipation were waning. We ran into a group of mostly males hikers who told us we “can’t do it. It’s too steep and dangerous.” Well if that wasn’t the patriarchy being mirrored back to us. I thought to myself, “watch us!” I said a prayer to Mary Magdalene to lead the way and 10 minutes later, we found the cave.
Stepping into the cave, I was overcome with emotion. It was like entering a living portal…a space untouched by time. The feminine was alive there. I could feel the truth of who we are:
We are magic.
We are sacred vessels.
We are the bringers of life, the keepers of intuition, the holders of wisdom.
There was a moment inside the cave when I became completely overcome. I saw a vision of Mother Mary holding me, her arms wrapped around me like light. I heard her say:
“You are so held.”
I felt my mother and grandmothers watching over me. I was not alone. I never had been. I was wrapped in the lineage of women who came before me, and they were holding me through this rebirth.
Then came another moment I will never forget: my beautiful new friend, Mijanne, anointed each of us with sacred oil. As she touched my forehead, I felt something ancient stir again. I thought:
“This feels more right than any baptism in a church because it’s being done by a woman.”
There was something powerfully symbolic about that moment. Mijanne’s name is a blend of her mother’s and father’s – a perfect balance of feminine and masculine. And here she was, enacting the most sacred Christian ritual -not as a priest, not with permission from a pulpit, but as a woman embodying divine grace.
As Meggan Watterson reminds us in Mary Magdalene Revealed, anointing is the most sacred ritual in Christianity – and it was carried out by Mary Magdalene, anointing Jesus’s feet as he was dying. It was an extravagant act of love that Jesus defended to his disciples. It’s a symbol of ego death, or a passage from human to divine. We had just lost the part of the story where it was a woman who made it sacred.
But in that cave, we unknowingly carried out that ancient ritual.
Our beautiful guide, Chrissy, took photos of us, and I found the courage to be photographed topless, baring my scars.
They are now my favorite photos I’ve ever taken.
Because I love my body…scars and all.
This body has walked through fire.
It has regenerated.
It has carried my soul, my stories, and the stories of my ancestors.
Gosh, I love being a woman.
But the journey wasn’t quite over.
As we exited the cave, there was one final passage…a narrow crevice in the rocks that we had to pass through. It looked and felt just like moving through a birth canal. The symbolism was undeniable. We were being reborn.
And just like in birth, there was a moment where I got stuck.
Literally stuck. My leg wouldn’t budge. And in that brief second of panic, a familiar voice rose in me:
“I’m stuck. I can’t do it.”
You see, there’s a core wound I carry – the wound of being unseen and unheard. It’s a wound I wrestle with even now, as I step more fully into my soul’s calling as a spiritual teacher and feminine guide. The fear that I’ll be ignored. That my voice won’t matter….and fear often keeps me stuck.
And then Yana, one of my companions, gently asked:
“Do you want me to give you a little push?”
Yes. Just that. A soft nudge.
And I was through.
She had midwifed me out of the birth canal.
You see, we are meant to heal in community.
We are meant to ask for help.
To receive it.
What I love so much about this journey is how every act, moment, detail was so divinely orchestrated. Truth and magic and ritual woven into every instance.
This wasn’t just a trip.
It was a return.
A return to the sacred feminine.
A return to my truth.
A return to the power of being a woman.
And like Mary Magdalene –
I, too, am beginning again.
With a faith rooted in the Divine.