From Wounded Daughters to Sovereign Creators: Stepping Beyond Victimhood in Women’s Spirituality
In too many women’s circles today, I see the same pattern play out.
We gather in sacred space, we light the candles, we pass the talking piece — and the stories come forth. Stories of harm, of loss, of silencing. Stories of what the patriarchy has taken, of how our foremothers suffered.
These stories matter. They are a way of honoring the truth, of naming what has been hidden. They have been medicine for generations whose pain was never allowed to breathe.
But somewhere along the way, the medicine has become the meal. The circles meant to set us free are keeping us tethered to the very narratives we came to heal. We name the thief so often that we forget to name the dream. We polish our pain until it gleams, and mistake that for power.
This is not the path of the Sovereign Creatrix.
My calling is to guide women out of the endless orbit of blame and into the wide horizon of creation. To walk with you as we set down the mantle of the “forever wronged” and take up the tools of the world-builder, the visionary, the queen.
Soul Inquiry:
If the story of your life no longer began with the words “I was hurt,” how would it begin?
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The Trap of the Victim Identity
Victimhood is not always loud and obvious — often, it is subtle, a cloak we do not realize we are wearing. It can feel like belonging, even purpose. But when it becomes the core of who we are, it narrows the path before us.
When we define ourselves primarily by what has been done to us, we bind our identity to the past. Pain and anger can be valid signals that something is out of balance, but they are not meant to be the ground we build our lives upon. They are messengers, not destinations.
How many of us know older women who still live inside old wounds as if they happened yesterday? I think of one woman in my life — now in her late seventies — who still blames her unhappiness on the fact that her parents divorced when she was a child. This one chapter in her early years has become the centerpiece of her life story, her reason for every sharp word and every hurtful choice.
The truth is, her adult life has been what many would call beautiful — a loving and devoted husband, an education, a fulfilling career, successful children. Yet she clings to that single moment in childhood as proof of being wronged, using it to shield herself from accountability. If she causes harm, she falls back on it like a well-worn script, trying to guilt others into silence. And when she meets someone who has endured far greater trauma, she dismisses them entirely, as if only her wound deserves to be honored.
What makes this even more revealing is that she has immersed herself in the world of spirituality for decades — taking countless courses, attending retreats, reading shelves of popular new age books. She speaks the language of positivity, affirmation, and “being in tune,” yet somehow, all of this has not led her to transformation. Instead, it has become another layer of armor. She filters every teaching through the lens of her wound, keeping only what affirms her self-image as the spiritually aware victim — the one whose pain is real, valid, and endlessly excused. Some communities even encourage her to “honor her truth” without ever inviting her to expand beyond it.
I recall one conversation with her that revealed this perfectly. Somehow, high school prom came up, and she said, “You will not believe what my mother did to me on the day of my prom — she made me clean the floors before I could get ready.” I chuckled, because to me, that hardly seemed like a wound worth carrying for decades. I told her, “I didn’t even get to go to prom.” In my school, prom was held the week after graduation. I had to start a full-time job immediately because graduation meant I was no longer on my father’s health insurance, and with medical issues, I needed coverage. While my classmates danced under twinkle lights, I was stepping into adulthood, not because I wanted to, but because our family needed it. There was no summer break before college — in fact, there would be no college.
Do I wish my son had experienced the same? Absolutely not. I’m deeply grateful that I was able to provide for him so that he never had to shoulder adult responsibilities at that age. That’s one of the things I’m most proud of as a mother — that I could give him a different start than I had. But that gratitude doesn’t come from resentment toward my own parents. They did what was needed at the time, and I honor that.
The difference between us is not the severity of the event, but the story we chose to tell about it. She built a monument to a perceived slight; I chose to carry forward the resilience it gave me.
This is the quiet danger of living as the eternal victim — we stop seeing clearly, we stop growing, and we close the door on true connection. Spirituality itself becomes distorted, no longer a path of transformation, but a set of tools to justify why we cannot change.
The purpose of acknowledging a wound is not to pitch a tent there, but to gather what wisdom it offers and then walk forward into new territory — lighter, clearer, and more fully ourselves.
Soul Inquiry:
Where in your life have you mistaken the doorway for the destination?
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Beyond the Myth of a Perfect Past
There is a tendency in some circles to romanticize a mythical matriarchy — a time when women ruled and the world knew only harmony. But this is a mirage. No age has ever been free of its own shadows. No hierarchy, whether led by men or women, can bring the wholeness our souls truly seek.
The work before us is not restoration, but creation. Not a return to “how it used to be,” but the birthing of something the earth has never seen before.
When we cling to nostalgia for a golden age, we risk missing the power of the present moment — the place from which the new world can actually be woven.
Soul Inquiry:
What vision lives in your bones that no age before you has ever seen?
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The Sovereign Creatrix
The Sovereign Creatrix is not defined by the battles she has fought, but by the worlds she is building. She honors the wound but does not bow to it. She carries the thread of grief in one hand and the tools of creation in the other.
Her power does not come from opposition to an enemy, but from devotion to a vision. She is a bridge between what has been and what could be — weaving futures that no history book can yet contain.
When we rise into this archetype, we stop asking only, “Who hurt me?” and begin asking, “Who am I here to become?”
Soul Inquiry:
If you were to create from your deepest joy rather than your deepest wound, what would you bring into the world?
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Circles of Creation
Imagine women’s circles where the stories of harm are honored, but they are not the final word. Where the fire in the center is fed as much by vision as by grief.
We could gather to design the future, to plant the seeds of the next thousand years, to speak aloud the prayers and inventions and communities that have never existed before. Ritual would not only soothe our pain but awaken our power.
In these circles, the past is acknowledged, then gently placed on the altar, freeing our hands to shape the clay of what comes next.
Soul Inquiry:
If your descendants could sit in your circle a hundred years from now, what would you want them to thank you for creating?
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The Turning We Must Choose
The time for blame alone is over. The time for creation has come.
This turning will not happen by accident. It is a choice — one we must make over and over, especially when the familiar pull of old narratives tempts us back.
We are not here to endlessly tend the ruins. We are here to design the temples, gardens, and gatherings that will rise in their place. This is the true revolution — not fueled by rage alone, but by imagination, devotion, and joy.
Sisters, take up the tools of the temple and the workshop — the pen, the drum, the seed, the song. Let your visions be vast and your joy unshakable. Let your hands remember both the darkness you have walked through and the light you are called to embody.
We are not only the daughters of the broken story.
We are the authors of the one yet to be written.
Final Soul Inquiry:
What will you write in the first chapter of the new story?
Brightest Blessings,
