Fireflies and the Feminine

A solstice reflection on sisterhood, synchronicity, and finally feeling like I belong

For most of my life, I struggled to feel truly connected to other women.

As a teenager—and honestly well into adulthood—I felt more at ease with my guy friends. It was easier. I could be goofy, loud, a little outlandish. I knew how to win their approval by being the “cool girl”—funny, chill, never too much. But around other girls, I felt awkward. Judged. Out of place.

Maybe it had something to do with my dad. With the absence of that early masculine validation, I may have spent years trying to earn it elsewhere. Or maybe it was my sister, who made it clear growing up that I wasn’t cool enough to hang out with her and her friends. (Kim, if you're reading this—I love you, and I forgive you. Truly.)

Looking back, I see that my disconnection wasn’t really about them. It was about me.

I was judging myself. I didn’t feel worthy of sisterhood, of softness, of being seen. I thought my worth was tied to how much people wanted me around, how useful or entertaining I could be. I was a people pleaser, and boys were easier to please.

But things have changed. I’ve changed.

I now sit in the belief that all relationships are mirrors. The beauty we recognize in others is the beauty within ourselves. And the things that rub us the wrong way? Also a reflection of something unresolved inside.

I don’t feel the need to shrink or shape-shift anymore. The parts of me that once performed for belonging now rest. The parts that once hustled for love now trust.

I’ve entered a stage of life where I am mostly surrounded by women. Real women. Messy, magical, intuitive, ever-becoming women. Women who hold space and hold mirrors. Women who dance barefoot under the stars and cry without shame. Women who have reminded me that I, too, am sacred.

These past few days—fittingly aligned with the solstice—have been overflowing with connection, catharsis, and ceremony.

We’ve moved our bodies and let go of what no longer serves. We’ve witnessed one another through raw transition. I’ve seen eyes widen with clarity and hearts soften in grief. I've felt the divine pulse of synchronicity as messages, moments, and meetings lined up too perfectly to be coincidence.

We gathered in meditation, singing bowls reverberating through our water-based bodies, tuning us to ancient frequencies. We visualized reentering the womb—our mother’s and the Great Mother’s—bathed in radiant light. From that space of pure potential, I saw my past, present, and future illuminated. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t trying to become anything.

I was.

I am.

Sitting in my backyard afterward, I watched the fireflies emerge one by one. At first, they flickered shyly. As the sun sank, their rhythm grew bolder, more insistent, a slow crescendo timed with the stars. And then—just as the light of the cosmos took over—they vanished into the night.

There is always darkness. There is always light.

And in the deepest part of me—in the part that knows without logic—I remembered:

Like the first spark of life in my mother’s womb,
I am light.
I shine for anyone who wants to see it.

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May the goddess Zorya, from Slavic mythology, remind us of the sacred rhythm of light and dark.
She who opens the gates of dawn and watches over the stars at night—may she walk beside us in the liminal hours. May she help us trust in our own flickering light, even when the world grows dim. Like the fireflies, may we pulse with magic, knowing we are part of something much greater than ourselves.

And maybe—just maybe—she watches from the treetops, as a dog sits quietly beneath the stars, fireflies dancing all around.

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💫 I'd love to hear from you: Have you ever experienced a turning point in your relationship with the feminine? With your own inner self? Leave a comment or share this post with someone who’s walking a similar path.

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