Words from
Our Sisters

"Reconciling with my Inner Goddess wasn't something I expected from a course. I came looking for something — I didn't have the words for it yet. What I found was a version of me I'd been dimly aware was waiting."

I built a small altar first. Coloured candles, crystals and stones I'd collected, feathers, an acorn, some soil, sage. Nothing elaborate — but coming home to something I'd made deliberately changed the energy of everything around it. My sacred space kept evolving, and so did I.

I danced, I sweated, I pushed myself. I began choosing my food more intentionally, moving away from cheap thrills toward things that actually nourished me. And the shift was quiet but completely real. More radiant. More peaceful. Genuinely happier in a way I could feel in my body, not just my head.

I started releasing old anger and grief — grudges I hadn't even known I was still carrying. Past experiences that used to land on me like stones don't have the same weight anymore. People began telling me I glow differently. I notice it too. The inner work wasn't dramatic or sudden — it was slow and steady, like something being returned to me piece by piece.

The biggest thing was recognising myself in the women around me. That sense of vibrating on the same frequency — of being seen without performance. I hadn't realised how long I'd been hungry for that.

"Your Inner Goddess is more important than anything else on this planet. Stay in touch with her. Daily."

"The reason I wanted to do this course was about going deeper — deeper into my cycles, deeper into my intuition, deeper into what I already sensed was inside me but hadn't yet fully trusted."

My sacred space has been a journey in itself. I created a small altar and loved it immediately — and then I began to notice how much energy it collects. It needs regular clearing and shifting, which in itself became a practice. That awareness was an early lesson I didn't expect but couldn't have done without.

I move daily and intentionally — boxing, dancing, yoga, flowing, breathing, even household tasks. I supported my body with more protein, a gut cleanse, consistent sleep rhythms. But the real discovery was something I'd been bracing myself against for years. I found the power in my luteal phase.

I'd always found that time the hardest — heavy, difficult, something to endure. This journey helped me understand it from the inside. For the first time I felt a sense of peace in it rather than just pushing through. The knowledge changed the experience entirely. I'm charting my cycle now. I'm honouring my body's natural rhythms instead of managing around them.

The biggest shift is trust. I trust what's inside me in a way I simply didn't before. Breathing through heavy emotions instead of running from them. Finding ease where I used to find friction.

"Trust what's inside. Surrender is part of strength. Your inner knowing is already there — this journey just helps you hear it."

"The reason I started this course was boundaries. I needed to learn how to say no — to others, yes, but mostly to the relentless self-criticism I'd been carrying for a very long time."

My sacred space feels like safety now. I set it up by my bed so it's there for my morning and evening rituals — meditation, breathing, quiet time. It keeps evolving with each new practice I add. It's become a living, growing thing that mirrors the journey itself.

This experience held something deeply personal for me: I only recently started my period, and learning about cycles — the moon, the body, the rhythms — through this group has been genuinely life-changing. I started tracking how I feel, logging energy and emotions, connecting with moon phases. It's beautiful and it's mine now. I'm so grateful I found this space at this exact time in my life.

My biggest breakthrough was boundary setting. Learning to be kinder and wiser to myself. Saying no. Resting without guilt. And noticing what happens when you actually honour those limits — people respect you more. That was a surprise and a gift. The anxiety that used to live in my chest has reduced. That alone has made everything worth it.

What I'd want to say to another woman thinking about joining: be open to expressing yourself. Let yourself share the things you may once have felt shy or ashamed to say out loud. The knowledge of how we speak to ourselves — and the permission to finally take care of ourselves properly — that's what lives in this space.

"The knowledge of how we speak to ourselves, and the permission to finally take care of ourselves properly — that's what lives here."

"The reason I wanted to do this course was simple — and yet it took me a while to say it out loud: I wanted to honour myself. Not in a theoretical way. In a real, daily, consistent way."

I'm a professional dancer. Movement has been my emotional language since I was a child. As an adult, my connection to it deepened — I can body scan, check in with myself, notice and sometimes actually heal when I move. What changed wasn't the movement. It was the intention behind it. I moved when I felt called to. And I moved for myself — not to prevent burnout before a show, not to maintain performance-readiness, not to look a certain way. For me. That distinction felt enormous.

My biggest focus has been accepting my inconsistency without babying it. Saying: "Okay, I know you're here — but that's all the power I'm going to give you, because I'm here to work." That relationship with myself — that honesty without cruelty — has been the most important thing I've grown.

Cycle tracking with Stardust and the moon. I have always had an irregular period, and the lack of information around it scared me for years. Tracking brought a sense of ease I didn't know I was allowed to have. Just knowing my rhythm is normal has been transformative.

I'm significantly more energised. Even waking up in the morning — and I have never, ever been a morning person — I feel more often than not like I can take on the day. Some mornings are still hard, and that's okay. The shift is real and it's mine.

"Try to move away from judging yourself. The space after that apologetic space is so freeing and welcoming and warm and yellow. 🌙 Thank you for a yellow space for female bodies to witness the power we all have."

— with gratitude, Simone

"I came in having lost my spark. That's the realest way I can say it. For a long time I'd been going through the motions — surviving, not living. I wasn't sure there was any strength or resilience left inside me."

I started building a sacred space slowly, without overthinking it. The love and support from the sisters allowed me to trust the process. I didn't have to have it perfect. I just had to begin. And I look forward to improving it as I improve in this journey.

Movement has been a challenge. My body and emotions have felt extremely heavy at times. But I put myself in a position where I could motivate myself — and most days were better than most. That's not nothing. For where I started, it's everything.

With food, I did something that felt radical but right: I stopped eating because a schedule told me to. I eat when my body wants to. That simple shift — eating from intuition rather than obligation — made me feel lighter and more energetic in a way I hadn't felt in months.

Cycle awareness has been one of the most healing discoveries of this entire experience. I've always had irregular periods and the lack of information around it genuinely scared me. Tracking now, and learning about my rhythms, has given me ease I didn't know I could have. My rhythm is actually normal. That knowledge alone has been transformative.

My biggest insight is that it's all about the next choice you make. Not the last one. Not the overwhelming big picture. Just the next one. I'm feeling a sense of purpose again. My spark. I deserve to feel the sun kiss my skin. I'm worth more than just surviving.

"There is no greater love than the love you receive from women who are willing to heal, unlearn bad habits, and show up — both for themselves and for you. If my sisters can, so can I."

— Thank you, Nobbi

"I came into this journey thinking I already knew my body. I'm a dance teacher — movement is my language. What I discovered is there's a difference between knowing your body and actually inhabiting it."

The first phase of the journey slowed me down in the most necessary way. I started building a practice around intentional stillness: a small altar in my studio, five minutes of silence before every class. I noticed my nutrition — grabbing food between classes without tasting it. My sleep — consistently shortchanged. My cycle — something I'd been managing around rather than actually honouring. By the end I felt like I'd landed somewhere.

Then came the invitation to stop performing strength and start actually living it. I know what powerful looks like on stage. But holding yourself powerfully in your own life? That's a completely different practice. I started kickboxing. Twice a week, after the studio closes. The first session I cried in the car — not because it was hard, but because I realised how long I'd been moving my body for other people's pleasure. Moving for myself felt almost rebellious.

I had a conversation I'd been avoiding for two years. Said what I needed to say, clearly, without softening it to the point where it disappeared. She heard me. That was new. I'm more energised, more direct, and surprisingly — softer. Like strength and softness are finally allowed to exist in the same body at the same time.

"Stop waiting until you feel ready to be powerful. You are already powerful. This journey just helps you remember."

"I found this journey at a very low point. I'm a graphic designer — I build beautiful things for other people all day — but I had completely stopped building anything for myself. Running on empty."

The sacred space practice was the first thing that genuinely helped. A small corner in my flat, just a shelf and a candle. Coming home to something I'd made deliberately changed the whole energy of the space. I started eating when my body asked instead of on schedule. Small rebellions. A little more colour in my days.

When I came to the boundary work, it felt directly relevant. I had a client I'd been over-servicing for two years — saying yes to scope creep, absorbing costs I should have charged. I'd been saying yes to almost everything and quietly resenting it. Learning to hold boundaries clearly changed the quality of nearly every relationship. And I always thought boundary-setting was about pushing people away. It showed me it's actually about creating space for the right things to arrive. When I stopped saying yes to everything, I had room to breathe again — and in that space, I started to feel like myself.

"You don't have to roar to be a warrior. Sometimes the bravest thing is the quiet, steady no that protects your peace."

"Three months in and I feel like I'm meeting myself for the first time. Not a new version — the real one. The one who's been waiting under all the people-pleasing and the performing."

I'm young and I only recently started my period — learning about cycles at this exact stage in my life has felt like receiving a gift I didn't know I needed. I started tracking my energy and emotions and the patterns genuinely surprised me. Small changes — cutting sugar, drinking more water, a morning ritual. Sustainable rather than dramatic.

Learning to find my voice has been central. I'm a recovering quiet person — always more concerned with avoiding friction than being honest. I practised being direct. Said what I needed clearly, twice, in situations where I would previously have swallowed it. My anxiety around conflict reduced noticeably. Being clear isn't the same as being unkind. That felt revolutionary.

And then the creative fire came in. I started writing — honest, ugly, surprising pages that no one will ever read. Somewhere in those pages I found a voice I didn't know I still had. I made a playlist for the first time in years. I danced to it alone in my kitchen at midnight. One of the best things I've done in a long time.

"What this course burns away is everything that wasn't really you to begin with. What's left is so much more worth keeping."

"I'm a therapist. I know exactly how healing works. Which made it all the more confronting to realise how much I had been avoiding my own."

There's something quietly ironic about knowing exactly how healing works, and still avoiding it in your own life. I know what consistent sleep does to the nervous system. I know the science of nourishment, of movement, of mindfulness. But actually doing these things consistently for myself — not as professional self-maintenance but as genuine devotion — was different. This asked me to mean it.

The boundary work gave me tools for truly putting down other people's material at the end of the working day — energetic boundaries, grounding practices, the ritual of truly finishing a working day before I let myself rest. The shadow work also surfaced things I needed to face about patterns in my own closest relationships. Uncomfortable. Necessary.

Then the creative fire cracked things open. Shadow work — specifically sitting with what you've been protecting yourself from feeling. My mother died six years ago and I handled it efficiently. I organised everything, I kept working, I was very capable about it. This work suggested that efficient grief is still unfinished grief. She was right. I cried during the full moon ceremony. The kind of crying that reorganises something. I've been writing poetry for the first time in fifteen years. I don't know if it's any good. The point is it came from a place that had been quiet for too long.

"Healing doesn't wait until you have time for it. Let the fire in — not when it's convenient, but when it's calling."

"I teach primary school. I spend my entire working life drawing out other people's voices. It didn't occur to me until this journey that I had completely stopped doing any of that for myself."

I did the self-led path during commutes and Sunday mornings before anyone else woke up. That hour became the most protected thing in my week. Gaia was about learning that my body had opinions I'd been ignoring — running on coffee and willpower, treating rest as something to earn. Something softened. I started sleeping better. Eating meals sitting down.

Durga broke me open. I have a very even temperament — colleagues call me unflappable, which I've always taken as a compliment. What I discovered is that unflappable can mean disconnected. I had a lot of compressed anger about invisible labour I was carrying in every area of my life. I was given language for it and permission to feel it instead of smoothing it over.

Brigid brought the creativity back in. Breath practices changed something in my chest — a kind of opening. I started writing personal essays, nothing polished. But mine. And then the voice activation exercise — humming a sustained tone at 6am in my kitchen — I burst into tears. Not sad tears. I'd stopped singing somewhere in my thirties and told myself I didn't miss it. I rejoined a community choir. First rehearsal I was terrified. By the second one I couldn't stop smiling.

"You cannot keep pouring from a dry cup. Find the thing that fills you back up and protect it like it's your job. Because it is."

"I've been in marketing for eleven years. I'm good at it. What I hadn't admitted to anyone — including myself — was that I'd become completely empty doing it."

I joined the supported circle because I knew if I did this alone I'd intellectualise everything and not actually feel it. I needed witnesses. The journey asked me to slow down and I resisted — but I came to understand why it's built the way it is. You can't do the deeper work without a stable floor. The grounding work built that floor.

The boundary work was confrontational in the best way. I'd been saying yes to almost everything and quietly resenting most of it. Learning to hold limits clearly changed the quality of nearly every relationship I had. Brigid opened me creatively in ways I hadn't expected. I started seeing differently. Noticing more.

And then Saraswati. There was a circle call where one of the sisters read something she'd written aloud and her voice shook. The whole call went quiet. Then it was my turn. I read a piece about why I became a creative person and what it cost me to put that down in exchange for a career. The sisters held it. No fixing, no silver lining. Just witness. I drove home afterwards and sat in the car for twenty minutes before I could go inside. I handed in my notice the following month. I'm freelancing now. It's terrifying and more alive than I've felt in a decade.

"The circle didn't tell me what to do. They helped me hear what I already knew. That's the rarest thing — people who witness you without steering you."

"I signed up because a friend insisted. I thought I'd give it a month and see. I have been stubbornly, completely wrong about what this would be."

I run on data and strategy and the word 'goddess' is not part of my natural vocabulary. What I found: the practices work regardless of your relationship to the framework. I didn't have to believe in anything except showing up. This journey dismantled the story I'd been telling about rest. I had not taken a proper holiday in three years. There was always more to do first. This asked a quiet question I couldn't shake: what would your body choose if you let it? It would choose sleep, sunlight, and meals that lasted longer than ten minutes.

The boundary work came into my business context — I had a client I'd been over-servicing for two years. That one honest conversation increased my income and self-respect simultaneously. The creative work unlocked a personal project with no deadline, no brief. It makes me happier than almost anything work-related in years.

The worthiness work was the month I stopped waiting for permission. The abundance inventory — listing all the love already present in my life — I looked at my list and realised I'd written only achievements and possessions. I booked a week off. Left my laptop at home. Sat in the sun reading novels. On the third day I started crying and couldn't say why. Relief. That's what this journey taught me abundance actually feels like.

"Abundance isn't something you arrive at when you've worked hard enough. It's something you practise feeling in what's already here."

"I want to be honest about what this journey cost me — not in money, though twenty-five euros a month for what I received is almost embarrassing in its affordability — but in comfort. In the story I'd been telling about who I was."

I'm French, have lived in Amsterdam for twelve years, I'm forty-one. A good life by most measures and a quiet grief underneath it that I had become very skilled at not acknowledging. I started thinking I might find some practices to feel a bit better. I found something that asked me to actually be well, which turned out to be a considerably harder request.

Each goddess layer built on the last — grounding my body, reckoning with my anger (which I'd been softening into sadness for most of my adult life), rekindling the creative fire I'd let go out, finding the voice I'd been shaping for audiences instead of speaking from my actual interior, learning to close the gap between being present and being fully there.

The final integration ceremony — five candles lit, five objects arranged in front of me. I spoke each goddess's name and said what she'd given me and I meant every word. I'm not a fixed person at the end of this. But I'm a truer one. The difference between performing your life and actually inhabiting it — I have language for that now, and a practice for when I drift.

"This was the most necessary thing I have done for myself. Don't wait until everything is calm. Start now, exactly as you are. The conditions you're waiting for will not arrive."

"I am fifty-three, I have a PhD in biology, I have never burned a candle for spiritual purposes in my life, and I was deeply sceptical about essentially everything involved in this course."

I joined because my closest friend had done the program and something in her had visibly shifted — just calmer, more present, more herself. I joined the supported sisterhood because without accountability I would have treated it as an intellectual exercise and not actually felt anything. That turned out to be a very wise decision about myself.

Initially I cross-referenced everything with what I know about cortisol regulation and vagal tone, which isn't wrong but wasn't the point. I came to understand that my running commentary was a defence mechanism, not the insight I was treating it as. That was uncomfortable to see. Later, shadow work cracked things open. My mother died six years ago and I handled it efficiently. This work suggested that efficient grief is still unfinished grief. She was right. I did not enjoy being shown that, and I needed it completely.

What the circle gave me was something I genuinely hadn't expected — women holding space for something real without trying to fix it neatly. I had spent my professional life in environments where emotion was a variable to manage. The circle modelled something genuinely different. I found it affecting in a way I couldn't dismiss. I now have a small altar in my study. I am not embarrassed about it at all. I told a colleague I was doing a goddess awakening course. She laughed. I laughed. Then I said: but it genuinely changed me. And I didn't feel the need to qualify it at all.

"If you're a sceptic, good. Come anyway. You might find that reality is larger than your framework for it. That's not a threat. It's the best news there is."