I’m crossing a threshold.
Sitting in the Amsterdam airport, waiting to board a flight for a sacred feminine retreat in France, I can feel it: this is a pilgrimage. A soul-led journey into something ancient and holy.
It began when I read Mary Magdalene Revealed by Meggan Watterson – a book that cracked something open in me. This is there my reconnection to the sacred feminine began. Every word stirred something deep within me. A call back to remembering the importance and power of women, even if history had tried to bury that truth. That book didn’t just inspire me. It called to me.
To remember.
To reclaim.
To rise.
And now, I’m answering that call by traveling to the cave where Mary Magdalene is said to have lived, taught, and prayed in the years following Jesus’s death. This isn’t just a site. It’s a portal. A living echo of the feminine wisdom they tried to bury. A sacred threshold.
To sit with other women, for the sole purpose of reconnecting to feminine wisdom and sisterhood, is healing. To walk into the cave where Mary lived after Jesus’s death is to reclaim a part of myself that has been buried under centuries of silence.
In a time when history is being rewritten, diluted, and erased, this journey feels like defiance. Like a thumbing of the nose to the patriarchy and a whisper from the Divine Feminine herself, asking to be remembered, reawakened, reclaimed.
To be a woman in this time feels like everything all at once. It feels like the choking weight of a boot on the neck, and it feels like the wild breath of liberation. Some days, I feel like I’m living through the prelude to The Handmaid’s Tale. Other days, I feel the embers of revolution crackling beneath my feet. And then there are moments like this – on the edge of something sacred – where I feel the sheer, uncontainable excitement of reclaiming what was lost. Of forging a new way forward.
Of remembering that I was never meant to fit inside their systems.
I have tears in my eyes as I write this. Not just for myself – but for my mother, my grandmothers and all the women who never made it to this threshold. For the ones who were burned, buried, belittled, and broken. For the ones still finding their way home to themselves.
To all the women who have felt oppressed, choked, or silenced – may you know that your voice is still alive beneath the rubble. That your body is holy. That your power is not lost.
We are not just remembering. We are rising.
With reverence and rebellion,
Micaela