Iโve been to two bathhouses recently here in Texas and theyโve become my second homes. Both are exactly what I hoped. Deliciously divine. Healing. Melting. Grounding.
Theyโve become my slow sanctuaries. A mystical rebirth. A wet offering and sacred seduction, the womb I willingly return to. Time loosens its grip, my body relaxes, lets go and remembers an older language.
I donโt go with an agenda, with a checklist, with a plan. I go with a willingness to surrender and be led.
My body always knows.
She knows which room to enter first.
She knows when to linger.
She knows when to move on.
She knows when itโs time to sit, to open, to soften, to stay.
Sometimes I stay for five hours. Sometimes seven. Soaking. Sweating. Resting. Moving slowing. Intentionally. As if each step is a prayer. There is no rushing here.
No rushing. No rushing. No rushing.
Sometimes I sleep in private dark rooms, wrapped in warmth and utter silence. Other times I steam where water falls gently over my face, my breasts, my thighs-embracing me, holding me, shielding me from the busyness of the outside world. The heat feels maternal. Protective. Ancient.
This is where I remember that rest is devotional for me. Itโs medicinal.
Since 2009, bathhouses have been my holy grounds of internal cleansing. Jeju Sauna, Atlanta. I practically lived there for years. Spending the night on many nights because of its twenty-four hour access. The ones I recently found are not twenty-four hours but if you take your time, if you sit for a while, it could feel like it.
Between the massages, the foot soaks, the body scrubs, the warm, hot, cold baths, and even just sitting in silence with a personal face mask, itโs more than indulgence. Itโs medicine.
And on certain visits I always get a Hip Bath. Also known as a Yoni Steam. Itโs Holy and Divine.
This is the kind of rest that ripens you. The kind that speaks to you.
Iโm listening.
An era of obeying pleasure. Of choosing softness without needing to justify it. Of devoting myself to rhythms that feel ancestral and wild and feminine and mine.
On the Sacredness of Silence Around Bodies
In the Bathhouse, we listen and we donโt judge. Shh. ๐คซ
When youโre in the bathhouse, you see every kind of body. Curves, scars, softness, stretchโฆmarks. Lean lines, aging skin, post-baby bellies, tight skin, loose skin, hair, no hair. Some women walk freely, some a little less. Some cover, some could care less. Some watch. Some avoid eye contact. And all of it belongs.
One thing Iโve come to deeply value in these spaces is the absence of body commentary.
No one is saying:
โYouโve lost weight.โ
โYouโre so small.โ
โYour body looks, good.โ
Even if meant as a compliment, even if said in love, it interrupts the quiet miracle of simply being.
We learn from such a young age to look at each otherโs bodies and offer praise or critique. We learn that we have the authority to judge. But in sacred circles, in healing waters, in sanctuary waters there is no room for that. We are not here to look at one another. We are here to be with one another. In our truth. In our skin.
Walking naked in the bathhouse I feel confident. Not because I look a certain way, but because Iโve stopped measuring myself against the noise of expectations that can be so loud and debilitating.
I realize that I have nothing to complain about. My body is my body. My Temple. She holds me. She moves me. She deserves my reverence and the very best from me.
I believe that this is where women go to soften. This mentality right here. Itโs how we begin to normalize all shapes and sizes, not by pretending differences donโt exist, but by refusing to make anyoneโs body a spectacle, even in admiration.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let this be a soft reminder, Ladies ๐น
Donโt comment on someoneโs body. Not even to compliment. Especially not in sacred spaces. Instead, let her feel herself, uninterrupted, unbothered. Because how she feels in her body is what truly matters and if she feels well, loved, healthy, and whole, that is all that matters.
Letโs be a catalyst to return women to their own sacred, magical gaze.๐ช
To your sacred beauty,
and mine,
โ๐พ๐๐ถ,
๐ขโด๐น๐นโฏ๐๐ โ๐ถ๐๐๐ฝ๐๐๐โฏ๐ ๐ชท
This is stunningโso reverent and embodied. It reads like a love letter to rest, to the body, to remembering who you are beneath the noise.
This reminds me of the book The Four Agreements. One of the agreements says โnever take anything personallyโ-not just the negative but even the compliments because all they are are reflections of the compliment givers perception of reality and that really stuck with me.