I was over forty years old before I realized I was beautiful—right about the time many people might believe that a woman’s beauty begins to fade.

I remember sitting in grade school, awkward and shy, with a unique sense of imposed style that often got me ridiculed, imagining that someday—when I was much older—I would be beautiful. It wasn’t a thought I dwelled on or fully understood at the time, but it lingered quietly, a small ember of knowing: someday, I would be beautiful.

Like many women, beauty was a concept shaped for me long before I could define it for myself. Growing up between two sisters—one a beauty queen and the other a model—comments about their beauty filled my childhood. When I was older, I was told that no one had called me beautiful as a child because they feared it would make me vain. But withholding that affirmation didn’t protect me; instead, it left me clinging to the idea of beauty as something elusive, something I did not have.

I was taught, like so many women, that beauty was both a target and a talisman—something that made you desired yet dangerous. Beauty was a rare and special gift, but being attractive came with risks. If I was mistreated, it was because I was attractive; if I was treated well, it was because I was beautiful. The world decided what I was based on arbitrary measures: my features, my clothing, my inherent energy—or their own desire. To make things even more complicated, I was also taught that attractiveness measured beauty, creating a vicious circle of proof and doubt.

As a young girl, I watched the women around me obsess over beauty, unable to see themselves clearly. What was made clear was that beauty was a measure of my worth as a woman. For a time, I rejected this script outright. I butchered my hair, shopped at thrift stores, and avoided mirrors for years. I didn’t want beauty to matter. I wanted to escape the exhausting pressure of whether I was—or wasn’t—beautiful. I wanted to leave behind the unwinnable battle

Beauty is not something we need to chase or earn. It is intrinsic, already ours. It is how the divine speaks through us. And the tragic but common inability to appreciate it for what it is cannot be fixed by avoiding its expression or dampening its flame.

And yet, women remain caught in a paradox. We are expected to care enough about beauty to always look good but not so much that it becomes obvious we are trying. We are asked to be effortlessly lovely, as if beauty is an accident of existence rather than the result of care, cultivation, and self-respect—as though care, cultivation, and self-respect would somehow limit our beauty rather than reveal it.

When we believe that beauty is owned by external standards, we lose sight of its origin as one of the most precious things in the universe. We forget that our beauty, in all its forms, is a gift we give to the world.

We live in a world that commodifies beauty, defines it narrowly, and sells it back to us. But true beauty cannot be packaged. It is wild, uncontainable, and uniquely ours. It grows in the cracks of imperfection, in the places where we allow ourselves to live authentically. It is nourished through our care and embellished with our love. We may decorate it with high heels or Birkenstocks, but the truth remains: our beauty deserves to be honored—not declared as a reaction to a world of abuse and misunderstanding, but expressed from the full knowledge of its magnificence.

So, sometime after forty, I began to see the beauty I had known was possible as a child. The beauty she somehow knew was not about how I looked or how the world responded to me, but rather the result of a courageous heart willing to bring the sacred feminine into being—right here and now, whenever and as much as possible.

It is not flawless, but it is real. 

And true beauty doesn’t demand that we be anything other than who we are. It only asks us to honor the luminous, intricate, sacred beings we’ve always been. 

My prayer for each and every woman is that we know our own beauty so deeply that it sings our heart through our skin and lifts the corners of our eyes with love.

What is your relationship with the divine feminine, and how has your embodiment of it evolved over time?

This question is both intimate and expansive—its roots reaching deeply into my personal history and still shaping the work I do today. To answer, I cannot help but trace my steps back to a younger version of myself who, unknowingly, was already committed to bringing the feminine into full expression—through this body and through this life.

I was just a child, no older than four, and even then, I had thoughts that felt too large for such a small person. One of these thoughts stood out—a bold declaration: I will be in my power, but I will be in my power like a woman. At the time, I did not know what that meant. I carried it with me like a small seed, tucked away, waiting to grow.

But life is rarely linear, and my relationship with the feminine grew complicated. I was raised in a world that taught me—through words, actions, and omissions—that femininity was something to diminish. I learned that it was both frightening to others and, at times, dangerous for me to express. Regardless of how severe, the message was clear: being female was not a strength. As a result, I entered adulthood with a deep, unconscious belief that my power had to mirror the masculine to be valid.

I did it all. I prided myself on my independence, my competence, my ability to carry every burden alone. I minimized my femininity, often without realizing it. I muted my actual voice, ignored my beauty, and approached life with a masculine intensity that left little room for softness. At the time, I believed I was embodying strength.

Understanding this transformed the way I saw myself and other women.

Where I once judged or envied, I began to see beauty. I noticed the societal conditioning that pits women against one another, and I committed myself to unlearning it. I realized the importance of creating spaces where women can support and celebrate each other—where we can heal the wounds of competition, jealousy, and judgment. It is constant and regular work, as these patterns run deep, but conscious attention to healing supports new opportunities for all of us.

My relationship with the divine feminine and how I bring it into expression in this world continues to evolve. I have reclaimed parts of myself I once denied and staked a claim for the marvelous complexity of the feminine to have a place—at least in my own world. I honor my fierceness and hold my vulnerability with deep respect, but I also learn each day how to do this better and to embrace the ever-new and beautiful aspects of my being.

I use many tools—jewelry, clothing, flowers, the cultivation of my environment—to nurture these aspects of myself. They remind me of the beauty in all forms of femininity and the importance of weaving them into my life. This is not just personal—or superficial; it is a practice of bringing more of the divine feminine into the world. I consider it an art, one that deserves more attention and reverence.

But healing the feminine goes far deeper. It is not as simple as placing flowers on a table or ensuring your hair is done (though I wish it were). There is profound soul work required. While I once believed that change would come if men shifted or societal structures evolved, I now understand that women themselves must lead this transformation. It requires us to dive deeply into our own stories, confront the conditioning that has shaped us and that we ourselves have perpetrated, and make courageous choices to live in alignment with the divine feminine energies we are uniquely able to express.

This is an invitation—a call to step forward. Women, we must reclaim the fragmented pieces of our feminine selves and come together to restore balance in the world. It begins within: in how we honor our beauty, our power, our softness, and our strength. But it does not stop there. We must actively support one another, breaking the cycles of competition and comparison to create a collective force of empowered feminine energy.

The journey is not linear, nor is it complete—but it is ours to walk. Together, we can weave the wisdom of the Divine Feminine into the very fabric of our lives.