Crossing the Bridge

Each year I return to ROOTS, to remember who I am. This year, I arrived differently.

Straight from the journal...

There is a remembering that begins the moment she crosses the bridge - a threshold binding the version who holds firm in her reality, and the other, softer, unbound self.

She drops her shoulders, lets out an exhale.

The sound of cicadas takes over the drone of the engine, and with that, she feels a wave of peace. It slowly surrounds her. A shroud holding her cocooned.

Home - a familiar pull. A welcoming.

No expectations, no judgement. Safety to exist as she is, all facets, even the ones usually out of reach.

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Just like that, another year of Roots comes to a close. For 3 years, this women’s only embodiment festival has been my most intentional gift to myself. A ritual every time my birthday rolls around. I buy a ticket 6 months in advance, knowing that for me, my new year only begins when I cross that rickety wooden bridge and step onto the healing Dharug land where we meet.

For 4 days, the phone has zero signal. The car sits unlocked with the keys left in the ignition, and the layers of what drapes across my body begin to feel unnecessary. During the day, I use the abundance of workshops that line the schedule as an oracle, trusting what feels most aligned in the moment. Perhaps it is the voice activation happening by the river, or the circle connecting you back to your ancestral roots. It might be the panel talk on grief, the sacred rage practice, or the shame-free space to talk pleasure.

It might be none of the 80+ workshops that call, instead, ordering a freshly brewed chai, hiding out in the cozy couch-filled spaces to write, maybe receive a ritual tattoo, or a grounding massage with the elements anchored firmly around you. I love that I can be as alone, or as held in company, as I please.

What you can absolutely guarantee is the heat of the Australian February sun, so to be able to strip bare and dive into the river, without a judging eye to slow you down, is something I have only experienced in this space. 600+ women in varied seasons of life, maiden, mother, enchantress, and crone, what a rarity.

At night, the energy shifts, a playfulness arises, fire-filled permonances, powerful, embodied dance. With bare feet, we stomp under the stars, we chant and sing, and celebrate the strength, the capability, and the underestimated potency of womenhood. It feels so lush and yet raw at the same time. It is hard to explain.

One of my favourite parts of Roots is meeting the Mothers who are expecting, watching them adorn their bellies, checking in to see how we can support, and then fast-forwarding a year, witnessing them return, this time, with their baby in their arms. That always gets me. The celebration and support for mothers here is prioritised highly - as it should be. It is very special watching the little ones dance and play and experience women in their most unfiltered expression, core memories being made there.

Now that I try, I realise it is simply not something that can be explained, not really. I know even now I am not doing it justice. And I don’t need to. If you are called, you can experience it for yourself; it is the only way.

Each year, I spend time to sit and integrate the wisdom and the lessons, all of which reveal somethign about myself. A remembering of my soul’s intent.

Year One for me was pivotal, an overwhelming wave of safety in sisterhood - that became my theme. It shattered years of sisterwounding, healing parts of me long forgotten and showing another way, an unconditional support from community. The village reformed. I remember barely doing any workshops at all that year, and the ones I did choose were gentle, grounding, because I was overwhelmed by what I was witnessing; it was the first time I truly felt safe as a woman, no need to armour up or mask in order to protect myself.

From memory, it was in the middle of the night when I had first had that realisation. I had to pee, and so quickly jumped out of the back of my car (where I had squished in a car mattress) and walked through the grounds in darkness, without a phone or my keys wedged up between my fingers - there was no need. It was the first time I stopped to think about how my self-protection was deeply ingrained, automatic.

Year Two was edgier, stretchier. I knew what to expect, so I immersed myself more in the workshops. I connected with my deep-seated rage. Felt the shadowed anger that had been scraping its claws within my womb, and I let myself scream. I let myself cry. I let myself be held. It was heavy, and yet I felt reborn. A communion of self-appreciation in the river, its waters draping my nakedness like a pebbled cloak. That year had me leaving with a newfound connection to the creative portal that spirals within. An overwhelming acceptance for me, closing the chapter on motherhood (which I would later write about in my chapter in Anthologia) and recognising my womb as a portal for ALL creation.

Year Three, 2026 - it was different again, of course it would be. This time, I walked in differently. I felt a connection, a confidence that I hadn’t held in previous years. I had grown, and I recognised it instantly. I believe embodiment is a forever journey, a forever practice, but I was definitely more embodied, more integrated. So many stories rewritten, and old beliefs squashed.

One that stood out most was the story I had held since a little girl, that I am shy, that it is hard to make friends, that I would rather observe from a distance than share my voice out of fear of making a mistake. That story, even though I carried it through to adulthood, was just that, a story. A barrier I created to hold me back from taking up the space that is mine to take. Over the years, the more I broke down the layers, dipping my toes in the waters, exhaling the hesitation. The more I surprised myself. It was never as hard as I thought it would be, and most of the time it was met with love. When it wasnt, I was able to see that the judgment was not mine to hold, simply a mirror to what lived within the one who sent it my way.

So to walk across the land and be greeted by faces, both familiar and new and to be met with a smile, a hello, and more often than not, a conversation to check in on how the day had been. And to take up space without my heart beating a million beats a minute is a testament to my own growth. Because not one part of me felt like that old story was true. Actually, I am not shy, like what I had been told for years. I do express myself with clarity and ease and can create an energy of comfort for others to feel at home in my presence.

And I know there will be a few people in my community who have followed my journey over the past 10 years and will be totally confused by reading this, huh? Shy? What? But yeah, the inner voice is loud, right? This year at Roots, I made it my mission to meet new people every day, to engage, to question, to give time. And you know what, it was… easeful.

I thought that speaking on a panel about Pain to Power: The Womb’s Journey through PCOC and Endometriosis would have me on edge, but even that felt like second nature. And so the more I reflected on it, the more I was like, but of course, girl, you have been literally doing this for years, you just dropped the layer of discomfort you usually hold.

If I were to put year three into a one-sentence theme, it would be firm self-trust and allowing myself to take up space.

Landing back into “real life” after the most grounding and very privileged 4 days was not as smooth as it usually was; that much became clear. I felt sensitive, very sensitive. Opening my phone to around 170 messages was instant overload. I didn’t even count the emails. Seeing the reminders that the word was still, in fact, on fire, the government still fucked, and the brutality of the police with the innocent targeted and the twisted protected - it was a lot to hold after being in a very tightly held bubble.

And so, I had to re-ground, and anchor many times, and bring myself back to the reminder that Roots often provides, that our voices matter, that community matters and that what is heart-led will always sustain.

So, I turned the volume down on the news in my feed and the volume up on the halftime show, where Bad Bunny reaffirmed that despite everything, there are and always will be glimmers of hope. Of resistance, of the collective rising above. Of voices, culture and lineage being shared through art and story. A statement making it clear that we are worthy and together, with love, we shall rise above. Love conquers all.

Ohh, the power in that. Its impact is undeniable. Once again, reminding me that polarity will always be a part of this experience of life. All has always and will always exist alongside one another; we just witness different facets depending on where we stand.

So in this moment I am grateful for the privilege that is Roots, for the space and time to reflect, to connect with myself and other women who are riding this same journey of remembering who the hell we are, why we are here and why standing firm in cycle-breaking honours our red thread.