The Healing Power of Feminine Energy

“Ladies first, there’s no time to rehearse
I’m divine and my mind expands throughout the universe” -Queen Latifah

Much of my life I’ve been surrounded by masculine energy. I guess it’s because I only have brothers and mostly male cousins. There were a lot of boys in our apartment complex growing up too. At least that’s how I remember it. Lots of boys. Not men, though. Adult masculine energy departed our neighborhood during my childhood.

My mother always had a group of close women friends. My aunties. Shared genetics are so unnecessary. My mom’s “sister friends” are our ride or dies to this day. I love them so much. And I love who my mom is when she’s around them. She’s happy. She’s fun. She’s relaxed. I always admired her friendships. Sometimes from afar. Sometimes from a little closer when I wanted to eavesdrop on grown folks’ business. My mom and aunties brought balance.

I used to wish for friendships that mirrored my mother’s. However, they didn’t materialize. For one, friendships don’t just materialize. Especially in adulthood. They’re sought after and nurtured in the awkward early stages and repeatedly fed with time, attention, and understanding. All of which ranges from the uncomfortable to the downright frightening. I’m much more of an introvert than my mom is.

Secondly, depression and anxiety. That damn combination has impacted my ability to sustain friendships since I was 12 years old. With depression and anxiety, my behavior is unpredictable. Well, to anyone who isn’t a psychotherapist. Therapists see right through me. I’m so clinical, I’m textbook. But, for those who were unaware that I was struggling, I’d seem like a jerk. Not picking up the phone. Not making it to events. Straight ghosting people. That is no way to maintain a circle of friends.

Finally, I became that girl who is always hanging around guys. At sports bars. Strip clubs. Weed spots. Wherever. I felt more comfortable around men. An ex told me I think about relationships like a man (no Steve Harvey). I’m not sure it was a compliment. In fact, it couldn’t have been. Another ex was extremely jealous. He probably didn’t even want me watching football players on TV; let alone, hanging out in sports bars.

Most of my men friends were my homeboys. A few, over the years, came with benefits. But mostly, we just hung out to shoot the shit. We spoke the same language of football and hip hop. And unfortunately, I was also fluent in misogyny. Internalized oppression is a hell of a thing. I turned my affinity for the masculine into antagonism for the feminine. And I knew better. I’m a Spelman woman. Plus, my mom showed me early on the healing power of feminine energy.

Six years ago, I got to experience it firsthand. I had been living in the Pacific Northwest for about nine months. I was unemployed, isolated, not a big fan of my then-husband, suicidal, and in pain. Physical pain. I experienced frequent migraines. I also had a large cyst on one of my ovaries that would require surgical removal.

I had an energy reading done by a woman I met at a Meetup event. It was a pretty powerful experience but one statement stood out. “You have a lot of masculine energy around you,” she said. She proceeded to tell me that I was out of balance. Too much masculine. Not enough feminine. Too much sun. Not enough moon. It wasn’t a good energetic look.

During the month following the reading, I resumed a meditation and prayer practice. I listened to podcasts about integrating the rhythms of the feminine. I read articles about balancing chakras. I watched videos on healing.

I was in a weird place. I still felt suicidal but I wasn’t ready to go just yet. I needed to make sure my kids would be alright. So, I wanted to feel better and be healed. You know, for a little while. Until I could die the right way at the right time. In the meantime, I kept looking for employment and looking for any outlet that would relieve my isolation.

One December afternoon, I found both. I received a call informing me that I had been hired for a family support position. It was one of the few jobs that I applied for that I really wanted. A couple of hours later, I went to another Meetup. This one would save my life.

I believe I’ve mentioned my women’s group before. We meet monthly and read a lot of grueling self-help books. But we’re so much more than a book club. These women, who I met six years ago, have become my version of my mom’s circle of friends. We have supported each other through engagements, divorces, childbirth, and child-rearing. We have comforted each other through breakups and breakdowns, career changes, and health challenges. And we laugh. Oh, how we laugh. Our laughter melts away my insecurities. I feel happy. I feel fun. I feel relaxed. I feel balanced.

My squad looks different than my mom’s. I’m still an introvert. I don’t entertain guests all the time. OK, ever. I don’t entertain guests ever. I’m still working on managing depression and anxiety. Sometimes, I go AWOL. But I’m always welcomed back into the sisterhood.

One member of the group offered me and my son a spot on her sofa when she sensed we may have been unsafe at home. And another member is the most solid ally/accomplice I have ever known. My anxious Black ass feels safe around her. Now, that’s saying something. One has taught me enormously about the strength of being vulnerable enough to face your past. They all have encouraged my writing. They all have encountered my flaws without judgment. They all have been open to receiving support and encouragement from each other. And one even had her daughter on my birthday. OK, that wasn’t on purpose, but it’s still kind of cool.

I don’t know if the group knows just how instrumental they have been to my healing and growth. My children gave me the will to live. The job gave me the means. The women’s group gave me the tools. And at least once a month, they renew my energy to sustain this living thing.

Oh, and about that cyst I mentioned earlier…I had surgery the day after I attended that first women’s group meeting. It was a success. Miraculously, the cyst was smaller than the surgeon expected. The incision was smaller and the recovery time shortened. I was able to start my job sooner. Now, I’m not saying that the group’s feminine energy was responsible for all of that. But I’m not saying it wasn’t.

Categories: : Wellness