Womb Healing & Mother Grief

by Virginia Underwood

“You are so much stronger than you even think you are,

Let your heart, let your heart lead the way—

That’s what she’d say…”

—Andy Grammer, That's What She'd Say

This verse has been playing on a loop in my head all morning. Over and over like a mantra. Like a message from beyond. And I know—it is.

In just fifteen days, it will be the 34th anniversary of my mother’s death. Most years, I move through this time with steadiness. A soft ache, a sacred remembering. But this year, something is different. Something is deeper. Something is rising.

Yesterday, I was meant to receive a womb activation. The practitioner I had scheduled with wasn’t able to connect. And at first, I felt the familiar pang of disappointment. But almost immediately, something deeper stirred in me—a knowing. A divine intervention.

So I listened to my own spirit.

I crafted my own ritual.

I performed the sacred act of womb activation for myself—by myself.

And something cracked open.

The womb, after all, is the origin point of life. The place where I was once held by her—my mother. Where her heartbeat shaped mine. Where her story seeded into mine.

In opening my womb, I opened the door to her.

Her memory.

Her love.

Her grief.

Her pride.

And I feel her.

Oh, how I feel her.

I feel her watching me with awe and tenderness. I feel her standing behind me, as if whispering, “You’re doing it, my darling. You’re doing the things I couldn’t.”

I’ve left a long term relationship that no longer served my highest self.

I’ve walked away from the illusion of safety in the corporate world.

I’ve trusted the voice within.

I’ve followed my heart, my intuition, my dreams.

And I know—she sees me.

She’s proud.

She’s with me.

There’s a bittersweetness in healing what our mothers couldn’t. In becoming the women they never had the chance to become. It doesn’t erase the ache, but it transforms it. It sanctifies the sorrow into purpose. Into power.

As I approach this anniversary, I feel gratitude.

Gratitude for the woman she was.

For the way she loved me—to the best of her ability.

For the adventure, the childlike wonder she carried.

For the legacy she left in my bones and blood.

I am not alone in this healing.

My womb is a temple.

My tears are offerings.

And my mother’s love is the light that still leads me forward.

That’s what she’d say.

And this is what I now know.