Ripping the Band-Aid Off

Photo by @rebeccamwalker

I am struggling to sum up my experience at the 2026 Wild Roses Festival because if I’m being honest, I had a hard time this year. 

I expected that the most difficult part of the weekend would be managing my pre-presentation anxiety, avoiding mosquito bites, and staying dry in my tent. What I did not expect was to uncover a wound that brought me back to a time when I felt most vulnerable. 

I went into the event desiring an emotional outlet, but more than that, I was craving connection and the space to be present with other women. I planned my schedule to include sessions like “Hex the Patriarchy” with Sierra Jameson, "Sacred Rage” with Briar Culbert, and "Reparenting Attachment Wounds” with Tessa Lawlor, as well as a variety of somatic movement and dance sessions, including my Sunday morning Somatic Mobility session, Release. 

And while I gained so much from each of these, it was the experience of simply being present at the festival that hit me hardest. 

I felt it wash over me like a wave as soon as I pulled my little VW onto the land, like a long overdue exhale. This space, created for women by women, all the way down to the porta potties, felt more like a diverse and thriving community than a festival, and in some ways it felt like coming home. 

I can think of very few places in my life where I’ve felt entirely safe from the male gaze. I felt it land on me, track me, motivate me, and instill a sense of un-ease in me as a young woman long before I knew a name for it.  Although, in the more recent of my 37 years, the impact that gaze has on my choices has gone way down, I can’t say that it doesn't occasionally make its presence felt in one way or another. 

The opportunity to lay that burden, which should never have been mine to carry, down for a few days is a gift for which I am endlessly grateful.

But if I have learned anything through my years of therapy and personal development, it’s that the more I heal, the more I realize that there are deeper wounds below that still need tending. This sudden break from the male gaze was like ripping the bandaid off to expose what some might call the “sister wound” or “witch wound.” 

If you know me personally, or have heard me speak, you may know that I lost my mother just before the age of twelve, and that loss, of course, impacted me greatly. But grief is just one small piece of the puzzle that I am still slowly putting back together. 

As I moved through girlhood toward womanhood, my lack of motherly influence often made me feel like an outsider with other women. 

Learning about fashion, personal grooming and my own changing body mostly through books, magazines, and what little information I could glean from school and my peers often left me feeling like I was doing this girl thing wrong, and it seemed that others thought so too. 

Girls at school critiqued my body and my clothes, while others shared even crueler gossip that inevitably made its way back to me.

Surviving these early experiences was no easy feat, and I’m sure that there were many times since, when I’ve perpetuated similar judgemental behaviours. Over the years, however, it’s been the love and friendship of other women that has most helped me heal these wounds and change, but I see now that there is yet more healing required. 

I went into the festival with hopes of connecting with other women over shared experiences, but to my surprise, instead of connecting, I felt myself withdraw. 

I showed up physically for the experiences, but I struggled to be present and connect. A familiar feeling of being “too much,” of not feeling safe to be vulnerable for fear of judgement and rejection stung me and I struggled to fully express myself, even in the company of trusted friends. In the absence of the male gaze, I found myself drowning in a mixture of grief and fear of “doing it wrong” when what I had been craving for so long was there in front of me. I craved the opportunity to share in rituals with other women that I felt I’d missed out on, not having any women left in my family to look up to and learn from. 

I spent the first day or so of the festival unsuccessfully holding back tears until a woman I hadn’t seen in years offered me comfort, and my flood gates opened. 

We ran into each other outside of the washrooms after a powerful presentation, and she told me she’d seen me crying and asked if she could give me a hug. Although in the moment I didn’t have the words, or the capacity to share the depth of all I was feeling, and in my usual fashion, I laughed it off like it was no big deal.

“Oh I’m always crying” I joked, “I love a good cry.”

But the truth was, that moment created a shift in me. I had been seen in my pain, and offered love and acceptance, with no further questions asked. 

I would love to say that this simple moment of connection helped me let my walls down, and it did, but first it cracked me wide open, and in private, I crumbled. 

Over the next hour or so I hid away in my tent, grief spilling out of me in buckets as I grappled with the realization that I was missing out on the connection I so desired simply because I feared being seen. 

Being seen in my pain

Being seen as different 

Being seen as I am

I had every reason to believe that this of all places, was safe for me to show up authentically, to engage in community, and experience on a large scale, the exact thing that I myself have been trying to build, but I was holding myself back. 

Eventually, I managed to pick myself up off of the floor of my tent, and carry myself back into the remainder of the festival, feeling a little lighter. 

By the final day of the festival I felt myself returning, and for that I am so grateful. Not only did it happen just in time for me to show up authentically for my morning presentation, but I was also able to be present for the rest of the day’s activities, which proved to be just what I needed. 

One of the last presentations I attended was called "Healing the Witch Wound" and was facilitated by Eileen March. 

In a nutshell, the witch wound is a wound rooted in the historical persecution of women and healers, and can present itself in a fear of being seen, and a distrust of others, particularly women. 

Eileen’s presentation could not have come at a better time for me. It not only helped give a name to my feelings and experiences, but as she guided us through a visualization practice, I found myself feeling connected not just with the women around me, but to the generations of women who came before me, even those who’ve been lost. 

As I reflect back on my wild roses experience, I am grateful for the journey it took me on. 

As much as it would have been nice to experience the whole weekend from this place of lightness and connection, I am grateful that the experience I did have, helped me get there eventually. 

I know that there is still work for me to do, and I will likely continue to uncover deeper layers of myself that need tending. But this experience has reinforced my belief in the importance of nurturing a sense of community in which folx feel safe to be authentic, and vulnerable, and the best way for me to do that, is to continue getting comfortable with my own authentic and vulnerable self.