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The yOni women's cyber circle

In sharing our story much healing is possible

This is a
circle for women
to share their stories.
Happy or sad, simple or
profound. Words from
the heart reach out to
touch the hearts
of others.

The first few sentences of each woman's story are shown below.
To read on click on the sentences shown.

If you would like to share your story with the circle please
send it to us via e-mail.

The smell of that lethargic stand of great trees, rich and black, filled me with an unfamiliar sense of safety and belonging. Old growth on a lake in northern Michigan was a once-a-year sanctuary for me when I was a little girl.

It takes 33 years for some lessons to reach the soul...Superfluous pain wracks the body, while the soul tries to accomplish its aim: to figure out what to aim AT. A mind, brilliant - not as in a steady brilliance that can be seen by all, but as in bursts of blinding light - cannot maintain a focus for long enough to reach a dream.

A recent experience I've had between two friends who are a couple and have come in between me and a new guy I started dating. My new man is a friend of theirs and I have seen him in the group on quite a few occasions.

I recently have had a major awakening that I would like to share. I am in a new relationship with a man after being on my own after my separation for four years.

A painted white stick has been my inspiration in life recently. It hangs in my bedroom where I can see it when I wake. A friend of mine sent it to me by request...

Four thirty am in the middle of a hot summer. A white plastic crate of books lay next to my small twin sized bed, books full of trashy romances and trite mysteries left for me by my sister as she went to camp. I devoured them, knowing that as soon as she returned she would no longer allow me to share in these words, but instead horde them for herself, guarding whatever secrets of love and rites of passage they held.

This story is of a past life recall that has answered many questions in my battle with endometreosis. I have fought this disease since I was very young, (around 14) and finally, with the remergence of a tribal past life I understand...

In keeping with the theme of 'healing the inner child', each of us I believe has an inner daughter, the kid in us who was neglected, hurt, loved, spontaneous, scared, angry, etc. but above all, maybe,misunderstood by even well-meaning parents. To nurture this inner daughter within me, here are some of the things I'd say or do to heal the child within me...

At the ripe old age of 15 , I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. His father and I chose to bring this life into the world and to get married as well. So there I was trying to raise my child yet I was but a child myself.

We were having one of those bathroom chats. You know, where one sits on the throne and the other sits on the vanity or the edge of the tub; where conversations often turn to the most private of feelings, and hearts are won with honesty.
She said "I want to thank you for always telling me that when I was younger, even though you thought sometimes I didn't listen." .....

This is a story about my experience with my daughter, Dove, who was born with a terminal, genetic illness. We lived with her process of dying for eight years. Although this is a story about our surrender to this challenge, it is my belief that this story has relevance for all parents. For all of us, love and grief are commingled in the process of parenting, because we can't escape from pain and hard times in relationships with our children, nor can we protect them from it.....

In late 1992 when my second child was three days old I discovered that my four year old daughter had been sexually abused by the husband of a friend of mine. He was a man we knew well.....

One am of a Tuesday in April. Home from a beach fire with a hundred or so friends, where we threw the ashes of a man we all knew and loved into the sea, and danced and sang and drummed to celebrate his passing. I have seen my first dead body.....

It's raining raining raining. The creek is up, rushing fast over the rocky valley bottom. The tanks are filling fast, the potbelly is going, very snug. Radio, tarot cards, homemade bread and pawpaw chutney, green vegetables and salad growing in the vegetable garden....

I had come to the point, where I knew that nothing was left for me. Nothing was moving. Nothing was changing. I was tired of the endless cycle of bingeing and laxative that bulimic women face every day. I didn't know any more what to do with my life.......



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