Why I Wrote “The Womb Remembers”
I didn’t plan to write a womb healing poem. I once went through a phase where I felt heavy for no reason. Everything was fine, and nothing went wrong in my life. But inside, it felt like something was holding on. Something deep. It made me hesitant to move forward, to take risks. I was overcautious. Even though it helped me a lot, it kept me wondering, why?
At first, I thought it was just stress. My fear is just a habit of mine. I thought so and never cared. But when I started writing about it, the words felt older than me. That’s when I realized I wasn’t just carrying my own pain. I was holding onto pieces of someone else’s story, too. Maybe my mother’s. Maybe someone from before.
That’s how I came across the concept of womb memory. The idea that the womb is not just a place for life. It’s a place that stores ancestral trauma, even if we don’t remember it. Even now, when man has moved a long way from the Stone Age, he feels happy when the bird chirps. It comforts him, saying he is safe in the jungle. So is petrichor.
It made sense. Some people go through therapy and healing for years and still feel stuck. That’s because not all wounds come from our own lives. Some are passed down. Scientists call it epigenetics. It means pain can live in your DNA. Not just in your heart.
Why This Poem Matters?
The Womb Remembers is a poem about generational pain, but it’s also about healing the feminine wound. It speaks to the quiet grief that many of us carry but don’t know how to name. It’s for the baby that never made it. The woman who died giving birth. The mother who raised children while swallowing her sadness. The father, who broke down under pressure, stayed silent.
This poem isn’t about blame. It’s about release. About giving the womb a voice.
Real-Life Signs That We Carry Ancestral Pain
You might feel emotionally overwhelmed for no clear reason.
Or you may have fears about life, safety, or childbirth without any past trauma of your own.
You may feel disconnected from the world.
Or you may even fear people abandoning you.
These are real signs. You are not imagining them.
And you are not alone. Everyone has this womb memory. And they have it in some way. Healing helps you get a better life.
People across cultures are now turning to womb healing, inner healing, and ancestral remembrance to find peace. Even psychologists like Mark Wolynn talk about how “it didn’t start with you” and that healing starts with awareness.
Who Needs This Poem?
If you have lost something and cannot speak for yourself.
Or if your body holds a sadness that therapy couldn’t explain.
If you want to explore your connection to the women before you.
Or if you are on a path of spiritual healing, awareness, or emotional growth.
Then this poem is for you.
It’s a space to be still. To remember, forgive, and breathe. Just remembering our ancestors and the way we are connected. Let’s cherish and value the thread connecting all of us.
A Note Before You Read
This isn’t just a poem about womb memory. It’s a space to feel. It’s a mirror for anyone who’s been carrying grief that was kept hidden. And it’s a soft place to land if you are tired of being strong all the time.
I hope The Womb Remembers helps you feel seen. I hope it reminds you that healing is possible not just for you, but for the generations before and after you.
The Womb Remembers
The wombs carry pain and stories that people ignore.
Have you ever felt a connection with someone before?
If it is, it’s through the umbilical cord, right?
It knows when the mother faced bullying.
Or when the father cries due to societal pressure
It carries the pain of yesteryears in it.
The trauma of a million lives it holds
It knows the baby who never breathed.
And the baby that missed a mother’s cradling love
The pain of struggling under power or poverty
It knows all.
Yet in that pain lies silent power that rebels,
A sacred river, never broken.
It pulses with the fire of those who survived,
Of women who bled, but stayed alive.
Of men who tried and failed or succeeded.
The way to victory and failure, you can find every map.
It whispers through silence, shame, and night,
Holding the moon, the blood, the pain, and the smile.
It is the drumbeat of forgotten songs,
The holy place where the lineage records its story.
And when you touch it with tears and breath,
You awaken the dead from slumbering death.
You say, “I see you. I won’t look away,”
And a thousand spirits rise to stand by you.
You are the voice they never had,
The balm for wounds that made them cry.
When you live their dead dreams, they bloom again.
You are not just healing your deep ache –
You are breaking ancestral walls that kept them chained.
So speak, write, and express.
So cry, laugh, and dance
Sing and follow your heart.
Be yourself.
Keep improving.
Your womb is not a curse –
It is a portal of remembering and paying gratitude.
