Sister Sister: I see your pussy

A Wild Woman's Weekend: Healing, Sisterhood & Self-Discovery

Jun 25, 2024

Fiona’s Wild Honey Logo

Wild Honey, hosted by Fiona, a women's mentor and transformational facilitator with a reputation for her bold and unconventional approach.

Fiona describes herself as a "truth-speaker, activator, no BS-taker, wild, sensual, & loving leader of the unapologetic feminine." Her passion lies in awakening and activating unapologetic feminine energy, guiding women to reconnect with their bodies, sexuality, voices, pleasure, and purpose.

It felt strangely fated, then, my bleed seemed to know 2 months in advance that I’d be working with Fiona.

My experience began at a workshop Fiona co-hosted in London a month earlier. Fiona described my experience as “ripping the band-aid off”. I had a moment where she stood opposite me, holding space for my freeze trauma state as uncontrollable tears streamed down my face. I felt so much pure energy being held and her power as this unapologetic wild woman. A few days later, I was following her on Insta.

Insta Stories showed me a pop-up of Wild Honey leading me to send her a message to acknowledge her words. These words penetrated me in a way where I just knew how powerfully special this retreat would be. In that moment, it was an example of the feelings I hope my writing will invoke in people.

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Initially, I had no intention of attending                                                                                  I just wanted to share how powerful her words were                                                          Somehow, as it always does, everything fell into place and that was it, I was on the list.

Days later, upon checking my app, there it was: my period was due on the first full day of the retreat. My cycle, “friend & foe,” often coincides with significant events. Now, I understood why I had been irregular the previous month - it was aligning with this retreat.

The Monday before the retreat, without a yin class, I agreed to a Rapé ceremony, a traditional Amazonian ritual using sacred tobacco. Holding the medicine, I confessed to the person sitting opposite me, "my little girl is coming up." The theme – "it wasn't your fault."

Friday arrived, travel day but work first. I sat at the back of the exam hall watching students hunched over papers, writing away before their time was up. Meanwhile, I’m there crying, also hoping no one puts their hand up for more paper or a toilet break because I was in a fuzzy-like state - like when your hair catches a balloon. I was full-on crying while a download was coming right through me of a healing session I had a few years back where my sister travelled to bomb drop a bit of news. Realisations and long-held truths resurfaced, along with a surge of anger at her mic-drop disappearing act.

This nugget of insight emerged after mentioning my sister during the Monday ceremony. Thankfully, no student bothered me as I cried and wrote furiously in my journal.

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A few of us decided to travel together from Kings Cross. One of the ladies messaged me to say she was wearing a pink cardigan. I stood up, saw her, and waved. In her recognition that I was the person she was looking for, I felt like I knew her. This was followed by Allie, another attendee who'd flown in from Eastern Europe specifically for this retreat. I knew that girl – I'd been that girl, and I still am. The only missing piece was Persephone, and the train to whisk us away.

From our pre-chat exchanges, I knew I wanted to be friends with Persephone. I didn’t know how or why, but I just wanted to be her friend. I was excited to meet her and disappointed when I couldn’t sit next to her on the train ride.

We didn’t talk much during the 15 min taxi ride, just a few one-liners. When we arrived, Pink Cardigan paid with full trust that we would settle later. She even arranged the return journey, giving my PA brain a break.

One by one, the others arrived, filtering into the kitchen for tea and the usual awkward introductions: names, how we found Fiona, and prior experiences with her. "What am I doing here?" I thought, surrounded by more silence than any group setting I'd ever encountered. It felt peaceful, yet unsettling.

Opening circle time. I sat in the middle. Persephone spoke second, her emotions igniting a spark among us. We connected, we were all in. As she took a moment to pause and breathe so did we. It was then we united in sisterhood. Every single woman’s energy line collated towards Persephone and our respective concrete surfaces began to show cracks. As each woman spoke, my throat tightened, a surprising calmness accompanying my tears. I knew what I wanted to say, or so I thought.

Pink Cardigan’s turn

BANG!

She said what?! My surface crack got bigger, as it did for many others, the tears became heavier. I couldn’t believe what she had said. Her words hit me like a bombshell, mirroring a part of my experience I've not heard someone else share before. Not only that, but I hadn't planned on bringing it up at all. She'd unknowingly spoken my truth. She threw the game for me.

A few more shares, it was my turn. I spoke the unspoken, the connection that had drawn me to Pink Cardigan. Her introduction explained why I felt I knew her. I stared at the floor, forgot to introduce myself and blurted out my thoughts to finish quickly.

Every woman shared something I connected with, explaining why I was there. My fellow Kenyan sister was next. She has this innocence to her and captured me by her bravery and how much she was willing to find a way to work through her stuff, her experiences, and her trust. Like 80% of the women, she had never heard of or met Fiona before signing up, and a handful of these women had never even been on retreat before. The power of that itself is so profound.

Beside her was my brown sister, who understood suppression – cultural, societal, and internal. Every woman there reflected a part of me – past, present, or future.

This was only the first meeting. What awaited us? The itinerary offered only session times, it was all a mystery. Yet, there was an air of calm. Fiona must have woven her zen-like magic through the venue, our rooms, and even the water. When she did prep us for an upcoming session, the physical pre-jitters were non-existent.

One of the things Fiona asked us to pack was a mirror. I knew, I just knew what that was for. I don’t even own a handheld mirror, so when I was having a pre-bleed packing meltdown I poured myself into the unmet group chat and asked Fiona to bring one. Her mirror now has the reflections of my pussy in it.

The mirror showed me the beauty of roses which transported me to a place of guilt, shame and wrong-ness. All narrated by a calm inner voice.

It can be hard to argue or debate when the calm voice comes out. Speaking with Fiona, she helped me to see that comfort will disguise itself to keep you from your edge. As she was giving me guidance, I realised everything had stacked up for me. Not only was I admitting that I wanted or deserved desire, sensuality, and pleasure by just being there, I was also pussy gazing in front of other women as well as being on my period as a practicing free bleeder.

The idea or effects of pussy gazing didn’t faze me as much as the breast massage session. It's said that your arms are an extension of your heart, your fingers have thousands of nerve endings, and the heart connects the throat and womb. I sobbed the entire time and hung a shirt over my head so I could fully surrender to ugly cry face.

That session was painstaking for me. I didn’t share and sat behind, sniffling, which led to more crying. Persephone sat next to me and asked if I wanted to be alone. I fell into her and broke entirely. She knew. The woman I wanted to be friends with knew I needed her to break through to that next level of healing. I'm grateful she listened to her intuition and came over. For whatever reason, I couldn't access that feeling without her.

We then, along with six other women, flow danced it out barefoot on the grass. I moved through the feelings and emotions, the dense energy that had been building up since the beginning of my week.

In the next session, DJ Dub walked in and had to choose whether to sit with me or someone else. To my surprise, she chose me. Up until this point, I hadn't had a chance to speak with her except to apologise for leaving my laptop on her bed the night before, not realising she was sharing a room with us. In fact, I later found out she had been hating on me, only to discover after we partnered up.

I had to receive first, so I reluctantly agreed. I shared some things, and she knew I was sensitive, especially after the breast massage earlier that day. I sat directly opposite her, and it took me a few minutes to lift my bra off, tears streaming down my face. I lay on my front, she touched my back, and I cried. She checked in, and I alternated between nodding and crying. I then decided to push my edge further from that morning and asked if she would massage my breasts without a cover-up. She agreed instantly. She touched them, I felt nothing. She rubbed them, I felt nothing. She massaged them, I felt nothing. We had a little chat and a giggle in between, and then it was my turn to give.

DJ Dub decided to meet me, choosing to touch a few of her edges after seeing me do so. I agreed to her requests, and we began. As I stroked an area of her body that caused her pain, she allowed herself to go there. She felt it and vocalised it, and when she did, I silently screamed ‘YES’ for her! From a scream to sobbing to weeping, she asked me to give her and that particular area a compliment. I did, which turned into a joke and hysterical laughter between us. She moved through the grieving stages, leading us to the next area she wanted to work on. She asked me to witness something, and I did. We then moved to releasing neck tension until the end of the ceremony.

DJ Dub and I became BFFs after that session. We sat next to each other for the remaining meals. We held each other through further moments of grief. She told me why she was mad at me, only to find out she had got the wrong person entirely!

We stripped down in a field, then jumped into the hot tub together, discussing our respective pussys while pointing them out to each other. I sat naked in the hot tub while DJ Dub axed naked through pieces of wood to keep the hot tub alive for later. We continued our lessons in giving and receiving, exploring the masculine and feminine dynamic, and made plans for the future of our friendship. Interestingly, she told me she knew we were going to be friends when I shared in the opening circle that my throat began to close up, as she felt it too.

I touched every edge except one, the photo shoot. I trust I will one day. Instead, I decompressed by pussy bathing on the lawn with Zara who I shared my first eye-gazing practice with. We exchanged insights into our worlds and really saw each other with deep compassion. This was my first eye-gazing experience where I was in a situation where both parties deeply saw and understood exactly where the other person was coming from regardless of our 23 year age difference.

My second eye gaze experience was the beautiful Mama Rose and her unborn child. Rose’s eye gaze with me was literally how you want a mum or family member to not only look at you but where you know there is no doubt in your body, mind and soul that you could say anything and everything and it wouldn’t faze her. Baby Rose is definitely going to have one of the most grounding, free-living, holistic upbringings that’s for sure. Mama Rose was also the gift maker for the retreat, creating a variety of natural blends to assist us each with our sensuality and pleasure.

Other connections blossomed during mealtimes. The musician and I delved into conversations about dating and living situations. Her insights unexpectedly helped me embody a version of myself aligned with my current location, something I have been disconnected from for some time. Seeing Reshma in the group chat, I was instantly struck by her stunning aura and her 70s style. Her presence mirrored a family member I once knew, creating a sense of acceptance and safety during the retreat. While our conversations didn't involve healing directly, her mere presence was profoundly calming.

Ellie… Ellie just somehow brought it all together effortlessly. It wasn’t about what she did or said—she just had a certain presence. Later, I realised how her job as a book editor mirrored her role at the retreat. She was integral, working behind the scenes, subtly weaving everything together. Her presence was the invisible thread that held our stories together at the retreat and in life.

Lastly, Alice became my timekeeper, the only woman wearing a manual watch. She grounded me in reality, keeping me connected to the present while allowing me to explore the depths of my inner world. I named her Alice because of her beautiful blonde, wavy hair, reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland.

Regardless of the things we did and didn’t face, it was our closing that touched us the most. The tunnel of receiving and accepting. Our initiation. The set-up of it was us stepping forward into our new selves, leaving the old behind while listening to whispers of positivity and encouragement.

Although only a weekend getaway, merging with these women and Fiona’s energy was as if I had known them for a lifetime. It was peaceful and at times painful lesson where we brought genuine light and belly laughs to the mix. The power of connection emerged as a core theme of the retreat. Sharing experiences and vulnerabilities in a supportive environment fostered a sense of deep friendship amongst the participants. For me, it was a reminder of how everything is connected, things are working for you inc. our cycles, trusting in the process and embodying what the word sisterhood really means.

While this approach may not resonate with everyone, for those seeking a transformative experience, Fiona's retreat provided a powerful and undoubtedly safe opportunity for self-discovery.