One small thing—a song, a glance, a flicker of light—and suddenly, I was her again. Flirty. Free. Radiant. The version of me untouched by hurt, dancing through life like it’s a rom-com written just for her. We talk so much about healing, but no one tells you that on the other side, there’s joy so exquisite it feels like sunlight has hands. This week, I remembered: I was never broken. I was just waiting to remember the rhythm.

They told us everything we needed was already inside. But when the ache came—deep, wordless, ancient—we found ourselves scrolling, spiraling, searching. Where were the women who once held us with stories, with silence, with knowing eyes? We traded their wisdom for wellness tips and filters. Now, in a world obsessed with youth, I find myself asking: Where have all the wise women gone—and what happens to us without them?

Not all healers bring light. Some wear the guise of spiritual wisdom, wrapping you in soft words and gentle touch, but leave your soul heavy and your gut uneasy. These ‘spiritual plastics’ speak of healing, yet their energy leaves you questioning everything. Their presence lingers like a whisper, hiding something darker beneath the calm. Unveil the truth about these deceptive healers and learn to trust the whispers of your own body—before they steal your peace.