Veil & Vessel

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I used to think self love would look polished.
Put together.
Easy to understand.

But this…
this is what it actually became.
This is my unbecoming.

Choosing myself in the small, unseen moments.
Letting my body exist without editing it into something more acceptable.
Holding the parts of me that were once hidden away and letting them breathe in the light.

There is something different about a woman who has come home to herself.

She moves differently.
She listens differently.
She no longer shapes herself to be palatable.
She honors the softness.
She honors the sharpness.
She honors the wild, the tender, the undone.

Every part gets a seat at the table.

This is my rebellion.
This is my devotion.
This is me, fully lived in.

Last week I felt enraged.

It was sharp, clear, alive in my body, and I stand by it. I want women to feel that kind of truth without shutting it down.

And this softer place lives in me too.

The anger isn’t gone. It just has direction now. It humbles me. It shifts the people around me.

Then this quieter part opens.

More space in my body. Breath comes easier. Something starts coming back online, even if I can’t name it yet.

It feels like the weather here lately. Warm, everything opening… then snow again. And still something underneath keeps moving forward.

That’s what this part of my cycle feels like.

This week looked like us creating a playroom and family space we’ve never had before. A free pink and blue striped couch, the rug from my old bedroom when Christopher and I first met, paintings in the hallway next to Emerson’s work, blank canvases waiting.

She keeps going back to look at what she made, proud of it.

And I feel proud that she feels that.

It reminds me how natural it is to be in awe of what we create before we learn to doubt it.

With each cycle we shed, rebuild, create, and tend.

I’m devoted to that.

Now I stay here.

This is where things take root.

If you’re in that place too, you don’t need to push it.

You can be supported here✨️ veilvessel.com

Just somethin about when you know it❤️‍🔥 Christopher Seright

Credit: Lisa Halliday

I shared my bleed because this is my body. My choice. My relationship. And I’m not interested in softening that to make it more comfortable for others.

If it brings up discomfort, be willing to sit with that. Because there’s something deeper here that matters.

We live in a world where there are entire platforms teaching men how to violate women. Tens of millions of views. This isn’t abstract. This is happening in real time, at scale, shaping how bodies are seen, used, and disconnected from.
So when I see comments deflecting into “not all men” or turning toward women’s fantasies as a way to redirect the conversation, I’m going to be clear.

This is not the same.

From where I sit, when women explore CNC, I see two core threads. Women protecting themselves by getting ahead of what could happen to them… or women who have experienced rape and are reclaiming their birthright to agency after having that taken. Reminder: fawn is a survival response.

That is what I see.

And none of that justifies harm.
None of that blurs consent.
None of that belongs in the same conversation as spaces that actively teach violation.
I’m not here to debate that.

What I am here for is reclamation.
Being in relationship with my body. With what it creates. With what it releases. With what has been taught to be hidden, cleaned away, or made acceptable.

If that challenges something in you, I trust there’s something worth looking at there.

This isn’t about performance.
This isn’t about shock.
This is about truth.
And truth doesn’t always feel comfortable.

📷: My video posted 5 years ago, when I began my own decent and exploration around fertility, hormone health, conscious living, and what true femininity feels like for me. Enjoy🩸

Couture. Demure.
This is what relationship with my body looks like.

I touch my blood. It isn’t delicate or perfectly ritualized. It is me, here, in my body, in my life. I feel the part of me that learned to turn away, to clean it up, to make it disappear… and I stay.

This is mine. My body, my blood, my rhythm. I choose to be in relationship with all of it.

Since postpartum, my bleed lands with the new moon each time. Dark sky, quiet world, everything drawing inward. My body asks for slowness. Honesty. Contact.
I am sitting in my bathroom, the house quiet, the candle burning low. I pause. My blood is in my hands, warm, present, undeniably mine. I stay with it.

As women, this part of us has been shaped into something to hide. Our bodies, our hair, our rawness guided toward something more acceptable, more contained. I feel that conditioning… and I turn toward myself instead.

So I bring it to my skin.
This is life force. This is my body speaking.

Being in relationship with all of me means everything. The shadow. The versions of me I have outgrown. The identities that once held me.

I have spent years descending into myself. Through grief. Through devotion. And now I feel something shifting. Ground beneath me. The ascent building. This shedding feels like the last of it.

This is my return.

P.s. 💅by the amazing @kvn_khaos

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