“I have things to do!”
That’s what every girl said when I invited them to a women’s circle at their high school.
“Whatever you need to do, you’ll do better if you come sit with us first”, I said.
“Well… okay.”
What happened next was so touching.
We sat in a circle of 15-16.
I placed a candle, my menstrual art and a uterus model in the center.
I asked: “Do you ever sit in circle with other girls like this?” Everyone: “No.” “So, how does it feel so far?”
They looked at each other. Giggled and nodded.
“Yes, it feels good!”
These girls are growing up in a world that teaches them their bodies are problems to solve. That periods are inconveniences. That rest is laziness. That their worth is measured in productivity and societal standards.
So we did something pretty radical during their learning hours:
We breathed into our wombs.
We talked about the phases of our cycles as seasons.. we spoke about how the quality of living is proportionate to how deep we listen to our inner world. We reclaimed the word “witch” as someone who knows her knowledge of her body as sacred.
And then they started sharing like pop-corn:
“When winter comes, I don’t want to come to school. I so want to nest.”
“I’m on my period right now and I just want to cozy up and drop everything.” (This from one of the girls who had “so many things to do.”)
“I woke up this morning and had anxiety until coming here. I feel so peaceful now.”
“I want to hold circles like this when I grow up. How do I start?”
By the end, every single girl was feeling tired and sleepy.
Their nervous systems had finally exhaled. They’d released pressure they didn’t even know they were carrying.
So here’s what your teenage daughter needs you to tell her:
Your body isn’t a machine. Your cycle isn’t an inconvenience. Rest isn’t optional. Your intuition matters. You don’t have to earn the right to take up space. Your bleed time is sacred and is worthy of your presence.
The boys were lining up outside. Peeking in every now and then.
They asked when it’s their turn. One of them said “We need this too.”
Our youth are starving for embodiment.
They’re drowning in screens and expectations and hormones they don’t understand. They’re performing productivity while their souls are begging for permission to just… be.
What if we gave them that permission?
What if we showed them their bodies are sacred before the world teaches them they’re not?
I’m watching these young people, knowing my own children will soon be them, and I’m asking myself:
What kind of elders do we want to be?
The kind who rush past their longing? Or the kind who light up a candle and say:
“Come and sit child. You are safe here. Let’s remember together”.
The youth are ready.
The question is… are we?