16/02/2026
I am a Mother of four daughters.
My eldest is in bloom. Still a child, but not quite. There is a new knowledge building, a flurry of hormones that sees her check twice in the mirror, considered clothing, a new depth in her eyes.
I have passed the baton of biological attractiveness; it is no longer my role to be mateable, and of course, that isn’t the be-all function of being a Woman, but we are also nature, and it is a part of our function. It is such an honour to see this part of her come alive, and to walk that part of me into a new role of wisdom keeper.
There are years and years ahead of us of mentorship, guidance, and exploration. Together.
It is now my job to walk her through the Rite of Passage from Child to Woman.
There is a journey to go on; it's not a quick flick of the switch.
We will only know that we have reached our destination once it has been reached.
It is a privilege to be a Mother passing on Womanhood.
It is also a must. And sadly, most of us missed it.
The death of marked Rites of Passage has cost us Women dearly. It has cost us trust in ourselves. Its demise has stripped us of certainty and self-honouring and saying no with a full chest. It has taken away our seconds of consideration before a now rushed choice, replacing it with a need to be seen as pleasing, helpful, quick-thinking and always instantly sure. It stole our ability to FEEL into things before we jumped.
When I look around the world, I see a lot of very mature children, Peta Pan-esque. We never grew up.
And why the f**k would we have wanted to?
Honestly. What is there to be truly revered in the image we have been sold and told of modern Womanhood?
Celebrity tells us that we are archaic once we reach the age of 40.
The beauty industry tells us to get preventive Botox in our twenties, to erase all signs of Motherhood from our breasts so they can return to the purpose of making men happy with their upturned ni***es and lack of milk-laden heaviness.
We tuck away aprons, we fight middle age spread, we must erase all signs of wisdom.
We must shave away our p***c hair, the hair we earned as we grew. It’s strange to ponder, isn’t it?
That somehow the transition from Vellus hair to Terminal hair through the biological wonder of puberty made us less than?
Dirty?
Not pure?
Too mature?
Undesirable?
Undesirable?
Womanhood undesirable?
Or just less desirable than the soft and smooth plumpness of childhood. Because that is a f**king sick thought, right?
Yet here we are. Soft and artifically plumped and bald as the day we were born, except maybe a landing strip, to guide them to the right bit, which many of them still miss.
Why do we want to be childlike?
Who told us that the pure was the destination?
That unblemished was marketable?
That the way of a woman was wife, virgin or w***e?
The sad thing is that we did.
We blindly followed the flashing neon lights that said buy me to be better, inject me to be more, shave to be accepted. Shed your curves. Hide the soft belly you earned from pregnancy, raise your ni***es skyward by way of scalpel.
Literally cut into your skin and undergo trauma and foreign objects to love yourself more.
It’s f**ked.
I want you to know that I am not talking to individuals here; do what you want with your body. Shape, contort, bleed, bend, silence it however you wish. It is yours, and yours alone.
But f**k the ideology that told us that we needed to.
F**k those men.
F**k that religious text.
F**k the industries.
F**k them all.
Mostly f**k passing that down to our daughters.
We outnumber the voices that would tell us to erase our years.
We are louder than any billboard.
If we choose to be.
I don’t want to be admired because I look like a little girl.
I don’t want to be frozen in time. I don’t want to feel shame when I see another woman's p***c hair escaping her bikini bottoms.
I don’t want to not hold my gaze as life shows me her mark in the mirror.
They conditioned us to shrink, because a gathering of women who let their belly muscles soften and snort laugh; perhaps even with spittle is a dangerous thought.
Breasts that sag are dangerous.
Chins that sprout are dangerous.
A gathering of women who don’t care to attract the male gaze, and acquiesce to it, is wild.
A gathering of women who say no with their full chest, yes with reckless abandon, and who refuse to moan when unpleased is damaging to a fragile male ego; and it is a macrocosm of fragile male egos we feed when we do.
There doesn’t need to be rage and snarls and rigidity to change it all, just a simple no thank you, and a grown-out bush will do.
Rae xx
I truly believe that the infantilisation of Women is a major contributor in the what the f**kedness of the world right now, and I am here for any Woman who truly wants to claim back her full body f**k yeah.
You can do it in one of two ways. By going on a deep and depth-laden 1:1 journey with me. This is the heavy hitter; this is where we uncover all of the filth that sits on top of you. Gold star at releasing those chains, baby. Click here to begin your uncovering.
Or you can come and dip your toes in with a 20-minute Tapping intensive where we grab hold of an issue that is keeping you stuck and make some serious progress on shifting it onwards and outwards. Secure your spot here.
I want to end each musing with a question for you to ponder over. Because it’s all well and good to absorb, but another thing entirely to create. My question for you this week is.
Where in your life are you infantilising yourself?
This isn't going to happen often, so soak this all in, my friends.
I am sharing this week's email newsletter on this page because I am so passionate about this message, and I want you to experience it, and hopefully take to it with a curiosity that perhaps precedes personal change.
Each week I send out a long-form piece of writing such as this one, and the intention behind it is to get us questioning the way we do life, so that we can do it in a conscious way. So we can be led by choices we have made, and not by ones we were given.
Please let me know if you would like to add your name to this mailing list, and I will make sure you get these words to your inbox each week. xx
