I Matter

At the beginning of October I did a ceremony on my own in the mountains. 

A bowl of water, some stones I gathered from the land, a few feathers, many tears. 

In the closing, I wrapped a strap of leather around my wrist, three times, and tied it with a knot, repeating out loud to myself, ‘I matter’ with each wrap. 

My grief matters. My anger matters. My desire matters. My pleasure. My experience – no matter what it is – matters. 

If I’m totally honest, at that moment in time, about 85% of me didn’t want to matter. To those parts, mattering felt dangerous, annihilatory even. It felt as if noticing and valuing my needs and desires would disrupt and destroy my world. 

In less dramatic language, it would require that I make changes in my life that would likely be painful and leave me sitting in uncomfortable levels of the unknown.

Ceremony has been used across cultures and throughout human history to mark change and transition that has happened, is about to happen, or is already underway. No matter where you are in a process, pausing to mark a threshold and name it to yourself and to the human and more-than-human world can help you to get started, to integrate, or perhaps to take a deep breath and just keep going. (We are offering a weekend immersion into ceremony in June. Learn more and sign up here).

At the time I performed the ceremony above, my process of mattering was well underway. I had already begun to name and enact my needs and desires to the tune of ending an intimate partnership. But even so, it was only 15% of me that was on board and that 15% was worn out. 

My ceremony was not a declaration, it was a quiet plea for help from my ancestors and the unseen world to push me along, hold me, and encourage me here. As I tied the leather onto my wrist, a small reminder that I matter, I wondered if anything would actually come of this. 

In my experience, this is often how ceremony is. No booming voice from the sky or burning bush. No certainty about what’s to come. It’s simply another step in the process.

As I sit here now, seven months later, things are different. The gentle constant reminder on my wrist that I matter has slowly moved the needle. I still have moments of wanting to disappear, become invisible, or pretend like I don’t have needs or desires. But little by little, I’m trusting that I can navigate whatever comes from choosing to matter. 

Enacting ceremony in community, with support and guidance is a lost tradition these days. If you find yourself aching to be on the land and in ceremony with other women, join us in June for a weekend camping immersion, Eros, Ceremony, and Belonging.