The Lost Art of Being Held

How we forgot

Somewhere along the way, women stopped being held.

We started holding everything — the jobs, the children, the emotions, the lists — and no one thought to hold us.

We go through birth, loss, change, menopause, heartbreak, each transition met with “you’ll be fine.”

And mostly, we are. We survive.But surviving isn’t the same as being tended.

For thousands of years, women understood that big thresholds need closing — not with words, but with hands, cloth and breath.

When those traditions faded, something in us stayed open — a door that keeps letting draught in.

Why We Need Rituals of Closure

In Central and South America, midwives have long practised Closing the Bones — wrapping a woman after birth so her body and spirit can gather themselves again.

The wrapping isn’t just physical; it tells the nervous system, You can come home now.

Every culture once had its version: sweat lodges, postpartum bathing, rebozo rituals, herbal compresses. They were community medicine, not luxury.

When we lose these rituals, we lose the embodied sense that life has seasons — that endings are as sacred as beginnings.

No wonder we feel scattered; we never close the circles we start.

The Moment of Being Held

A moment she allows herself to be held — not because she has fallen apart, but because she has finally stopped holding everything together.

The space becomes quiet. Warmth gathers. Breath slows until it almost disappears into stillness.

In that quiet, something ancient moves: the sense of being supported by more than one pair of hands, of being witnessed by the unseen lineage that stands behind all women.

Rest settles into the body like a slow tide. Sometimes it arrives with tears, sometimes with laughter, sometimes with a silence so deep it feels like prayer.

It isn’t performance; it’s presence. It’s the simple recognition that you don’t have to do all the holding alone.

Holding As Medicine

Being held isn’t about weakness. It’s about balance.

You give, you love, you stretch — and then you gather back what’s yours.

Physically, the body realigns; energetically, the pieces of your story settle.

The nervous system resets. Your pulse remembers its rhythm.

It’s not therapy or massage; it’s human architecture — the rebuilding of your structure through tenderness.

Ina May Gaskin once said, “We are made to rise to the occasion if the occasion is love.”That’s what this work is: love made tangible, one wrap at a time.

Thresholds Everywhere

Closing the Bones isn’t only for postpartum.

Life gives us many births — a business, a new home, a loss, a change in identity.

Every threshold deserves marking.

When we pause to close one chapter before beginning another, we stop dragging old energy into new spaces.

We move forward clear, gathered, whole.

It’s the art of knowing when to loosen, when to tighten, and when to rest in between.

An Invitation to Be Held

If you’ve been strong for too long, if you feel unanchored after a change, or simply hungry for the feeling of being witnessed without needing to perform — this ritual was made for you.

In my cabin in Hedge End, Hampshire, UK - the air hums with herbs and birdsong.

Cloths wait folded, ready. It’s quiet work, but it changes everything.

Come and rest.

Let the world hold itself for a while.