MUD is an intimate deep-dive into the raw and tender Truth of your birth trauma
a shedding of every question of “am I broken?”
a re-calibration to the Truth about birth and your body
a journey home to your power
MUD GETS ALL OVER YOU,
squishes between your toes,
says “my girl, you are not separate from nature.”
mud smells like spring melt, and quenched soil, and composting beliefs.
mud doesn’t care if you’re comfortable
she’ll eat you whole.
you can pretend she’s not there
but you’ll just keep sinking.
mud is a soupy rebellion against the sterile white coats
against your good girl
against “yes, doctor”
mud is the fertile ground of clarity
the nourisher of summer meadows and f r e e d o m
the metabolizer of bullsh*t
mud says
“put your face in my soil
and drink.
fill your belly with black dirt
I promise,
you don’t need to carry this hurt.”
