#alchemyforwomen

The Sacred Threshold: Celebrating Samhain

~ Ella Hicks

Tonight, the veil thins.

I’ve known since childhood that the world as we see it is not as it truly is. I was blessed with gifts that showed me what others couldn’t see, that whispered truths the visible world tried to hide. I learned early that what was being presented to me was not the only path forward. That nature held both the masculine and the feminine in perfect balance, and that the divine lived there, not in buildings or dogma, but in the earth, the trees, the endless rhythm of the sea.

This truth was known long before the Abrahamic religions began, before the movement that removed the sacred feminine from the entire equation. But as we see in nature, we cannot separate the feminine and leave her behind, for she is our mother. She is the soil, the harvest, the dark season of rest. She is the cycle itself.

Samhain marks the third and final harvest, and the end of the light half of the year and the beginning of the dark. Not darkness as emptiness, but as the fertile void where all things rest before they’re reborn.

This is the season of going inward. Of letting the external world fall away so we can tend to what lives beneath. The seeds we’ll plant in spring are dreaming themselves into being right now, in the quiet, in the dark, in the unseen places where transformation begins.

Our Celtic ancestors knew this deeply. They marked this threshold as sacred, the turning of the year when the boundary between worlds dissolved. They understood that death and life are not opposites, they’re partners in an endless cycle. That what appears to end is only changing form. That the veil between worlds grows thin not to frighten us, but to remind us: we are never alone.

Those who came before us are still here, walking beside us, whispering guidance through our intuition, our dreams, our inexplicable knowing. I feel them most strongly near the sea, my front yard, my church. The water is a conduit to the divine, and tonight that connection pulses with presence.

Samhain is not about the modern commercial holiday, it’s about memory and continuity. It’s about honoring the dead not as distant figures frozen in time, but as living presences woven into our very being. Their blood runs through our veins. Their resilience lives in our bones. Their unfinished work becomes ours to carry forward.

Tonight, I’ve set an altar to honor this final harvest. Wormwood and mugwort, bay leaf and thyme, rosemary and sage, hibiscus and more. Herbs grown, tended, and gathered with intention. And alongside them, space for my grandmothers, especially those of my maternal line. All the women who came before. All the ones whose names I know and the countless ones I don’t.

We speak their names. We light candles to guide them home. We remember that we are the answered prayers of ancestors who never stopped believing in a future they would never see.

And as we enter the dark half of the year, we do what they taught us: we rest, we reflect, we turn inward. We trust that in the darkness, something new is always being born.

The veil is thin.
The ancestors are close.
And we are exactly where we’re meant to be.

Breaking the Cycle: Empowering Generations to Heal

~ Ella Hicks ~ Leave a comment


When I see women stepping away (decentering) from the patriarchy or millennials distancing themselves from their parents, I recognize the same thing happening: a powerful, quiet shift that says, “Please, treat me like a human. I’m done carrying the emotional weight for a connection when you won’t show up in ways that respect me.” It’s happening in romantic relationships, and it’s happening within families. One person is trying to dominate the other, and the other is saying, “No more.”

This shift is not just about distancing; it’s about reclaiming our right to be seen and respected as equals. It’s about recognizing that relationships, whether romantic or familial, must be built on mutual respect, not power struggles. If you want a real connection with me, there are no power dynamics at play. We show up with joy, a willingness to understand each other, and a shared love. Our feelings matter—whether we agree or disagree. No one gets to control another person’s time, space, or emotions.

I choose when I give access to myself, moment by moment. No one is entitled to it just because of who they are to me. This is the basic foundation for healthy, authentic relationships. But trauma makes these boundaries hard to honor. When we’re disconnected from ourselves—emotionally and physically—we can’t fully connect with others. And so, we resort to unhealthy ways of holding on—through loyalty or financial control, things that mask the real work of connection.

Healing begins when you reclaim your own identity. When you are honest with yourself, trust yourself, feel your emotions, and take care of yourself as an adult, you begin the process of building a personal foundation that is unshakeable.

The generations that came before us dealt with a lot of dysfunction, power struggles, and a loss of autonomy (especially for women). Abuse was accepted for women and children, at home, school, and the workplace. And one thing our world has never been in short supply of is war. Generations of men (and women) went to war, returned broken, and passed down their pain. That trauma lingers, shaping how we relate to one another.

It doesn’t take a massive event to cause trauma. In fact, trauma isn’t something that happens to you—it’s how your nervous system processes a traumatic event. Sometimes, it’s the smallest moments that leave the deepest marks, especially for children. But healing is possible, and it’s necessary. We are at a time where healing is essential to how we show up in our relationships. We can no longer build connections in the absence of boundaries. We have to heal to truly relate—and it starts with healing what was broken.


My Personal Insight: A Legacy of Healing

Raising my sons has been one of my greatest acts of healing. I’ve spent much of my life breaking free from the patterns I inherited from my parents—many of which they inherited from their own parents. My father, who I know loves me, is controlling and emotionally distant. My mother, though loving, has been subjugated to him my entire life. When I married at the age of 28, my partner brought his own history of intense trauma into our relationship, ultimately trying to control and diminish me.

I had to unlearn everything I was taught, not just for my own sake, but for my children as well.

I never wanted my sons to experience the same cycle of power and control that I did. I was determined to break the cycle and protect them from that. But healing is not something that happens overnight. It’s been an intense process, and I’ve learned that this journey of healing is just as much for them as it is for me.

My own healing only truly began after I escaped my abusive marriage. It has taken time—years, in fact—for me to identify the patterns of dysfunction I was caught in—and I’m still healing. I know that my trauma—the way I was raised and the relationships I’ve had—has shaped my responses and my approach to raising them. I don’t want our home to feel rigid or oppressive, so I’ve tried to create a space where they can heal themselves, without pressure or judgment. Even though I tried to protect them from the trauma I experienced, they still felt its echoes. Perhaps they wonder why I reacted in certain ways or why some patterns feel familiar. They too carry their own trauma—different from each other, stemming from their time with their abusive father. These wounds run deep within them, and only they can bring them into the light, where healing can begin.

In the absence of a father, my sons have gotten to know my father, their only grandfather, very well. A good man with many strengths, but he was raised in a time and in ways that didn’t allow him to be emotionally available or aware. The trauma he experienced carried over into his relationship with me, and in turn, it affected how I was able to show up for them at times. This legacy is real, and recognizing it is the first step to healing. Watching my mother become subservient to him and their religious dogma only deepened the dysfunction. This was her story, passed down from her mother: a man ruling over a woman—unhappy and unfulfilled—looking for escape or a better way. Even though I rejected and hated what I saw growing up, it still felt familiar when I met the man who would become my husband. That’s what happens with trauma—it feels like home, even when it’s unhealthy. It’s not a comfort, but a deep-seated familiarity that can be hard to shake, even when it’s harmful.

I understand that trauma can feel like a bond, even if it’s destructive, and it’s hard to break free from that. It is rooted in generations past and it lives in our very bones and flows in our blood. This is why it’s so important to see how dominance in relationships operates. It’s not always loud or violent, and it doesn’t always look like someone who is just too controlling or manipulative. We may interpret it as “care” or “concern,” but it’s really about control. Whether it’s a parent controlling who you see, where you go, who you worship, how you think, or a partner making you feel less than, it all comes from the same place: fear and control.

I’ve been a devoted student on my journey of healing, not just for me, but for them. I want my sons to know that they have the power to do the same. They are not bound by the patterns of the past. They are capable of building relationships based on love, equality, and understanding. They are worthy of all the love that comes from a place of respect—not control—and they must offer the same to others worthy of them. I can guide them, but the work of healing belongs to them alone.
I’ll always be here to walk beside them, but the real journey is theirs to take.

A pivotal piece of writing that has helped guide my parenting, more than almost anything else, is by Khalil Gibran, On Children:

“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”

When they enter future relationships, I hope they do so with the wisdom of knowing that love is never about control. It’s about two people coming together with respect and shared growth.

Another piece by Gibran that has guided me in my own life is, On Marriage:

“…let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.”

Ultimately, as they heal, so too will the world around them. Their healing is not just for their own sake; it has the power to shift the very fabric of their relationships, their communities, and future generations. By doing the work to heal, they will light the path for others to follow. They have the power to change the course of their lives—and in doing so, help heal the world.

Love as the Bridge: Rumi’s Wisdom for a Divided World

~ Ella Hicks ~ Leave a comment

Rumi: Loved by many, known by few.

Born as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī Rūmī in 1207, in what is now Afghanistan, he was a 13th-century Persian poet, Islamic jurist, scholar, theologian, mystic, and Sufi master. Through his poetry, Rūmī expressed themes of divine love, compassion, and the soul’s journey back to the Divine.

“Stop acting so small. You are the entire universe in ecstatic motion.”
“You were born with wings, why prefer to crawl through life?”
“You are not a drop in the ocean, you are the entire ocean in a drop.”

Rūmī’s spiritual path was forever changed by his encounter with Shams of Tabriz, a mystic who opened him to profound spiritual depths and ignited his transformation. Through this meeting, Rūmī’s teachings began to center on love as the essence of all connections, the force binding us to each other and the sacredness within all life.

“We are born of love; Love is our mother.”

Rūmī’s message has endured across centuries, resonating with a universal yearning for connection that transcends cultural boundaries and beliefs. His words, “Love is the bridge between you and everything,” remind us that love is the thread uniting us to each other, to nature, and to the Divine.

“Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you.”

In a world that feels more divided than ever, Rūmīs teachings are a timeless reminder of our interconnectedness. His wisdom speaks to us across boundaries, affirming that love dissolves separation, that we’re not adversaries but reflections of one another.

“I am neither of the East nor of the West, no boundaries exist within my breast.”
“Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”

As we witness uncomfortable shifts happening in the world, Rūmīs words remind me that love is not simply an emotion—it is a way of being that can transform and heal our world’s deepest wounds.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

His work urges us to rebuild bridges, to embrace love as a source of strength, to act from it and allow it to guide us forward. In these challenging times, his wisdom feels as vital as ever: a reminder that we carry the capacity for love and unity within us, waiting only to be awakened.

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”

Rūmī’s legacy will remain a guiding light for all times, inviting all of us to transcend divisions, embody compassion, and discover the sacred connections that make us whole. What the world needs now is some discovery and digestion of the mystical wisdom from the Sufi poets.