Women’s circles have candles, crystals and a dash of cultural insensitivity, but they also promise connection. Will it be a disaster? Or will it be beautiful?
On a scale from skepticism to esotericism, I lie somewhere in the middle.
Raised by a busy West Auckland GP, I spent much of my childhood behind the reception desk of her surgery, playing with stethoscopes and blood pressure cuffs. In my home, chiropractors were quacks and most homeopathic remedies were dismissed as little more than placebos.
Still, I have a growing tarot card collection and am very familiar with my birth chart (big moon energy in Scorpio). I love yoga and meditation, even though I can’t hear my teacher’s pointers about auras and healing frequencies without also hearing my mother’s voice pontificating about double-blind, peer-reviewed studies.
And so it is with some disquiet that I find myself in an exclusive “alternative wellness centre” in Ponsonby on a drizzly winter morning, sitting cross-legged with nine other women in a circle around a set of “oracle cards”, white pillar candles and a fair number of crystals.
I’m attending a “New Moon Women’s Circle,” a two-hour event hosted by a CPA turned “breath and meditation practitioner” and “Reiki Master.” I paid $55 to attend.
Over the last few years, as I’ve embarked on a self-care journey of sorts, I’ve seen a number of similar “women’s circles” advertised online. They’ve piqued my curiosity and promised certain things I’m always craving: vulnerability, connection, growth.
When one night another women’s circle came to my screen and promised great opportunity to get in touch with like-minded women, The Release of any stagnant energyAnd Space for mental clarity and bliss – I butted in. I was stressed out from work and personal life and always up for a chat, so I thought it couldn’t hurt.
In the world of holistic well-being, women’s circles occupy an interesting place.
By combining a secular basis of conversation and sharing with elements of meditation, breathwork or movement, they may have more in common with conventional therapy groups than with the more “out there” spiritual practices such as Reiki and energy healing.
These are not therapy groups, however. Modern women’s circles range from multi-day events at luxury yoga retreats to intimate gatherings in local community centers. They are almost never led by psychologists, and most use at least one element from the smorgasbord of New Age spirituality: think tarot cards, essential oils, sound baths, and ceremonial cacao.
The result is a unique blend of the mundane and the esoteric, potentially serving as an accessible entry point for those looking to delve into the world of spirituality or, conversely, for spiritually inclined people seeking a more grounded connection to others.
Of course, the search for deeper meaning and mutual care is nothing new, and neither are women’s circles. In fact, many claim that modern circles are merely the latest version of an ancient practice found in various cultures around the world, from Wiccan and Celtic-Christian traditions to Native American moon lodges. Many of these traditions are said to have focused on supporting women during menstruation, and were often organized around the cycles of the moon.
Recently, Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goopification of modern wellness and the proliferation of health and wellness influencers online have undoubtedly contributed to a certain type of women’s circles returning to the mainstream.
Now I sit there with my eyes closed while the moderator waves a burning piece of sage through the room – a practice that is sacred to certain indigenous groups who have repeatedly condemned its use by outsiders – I am well aware that the core problems plaguing the modern wellness industry are also present here.
We are a group of predominantly white women, sitting in a white room in one of Auckland’s wealthiest and whitest suburbs. It should be an absolute taboo to use things from other cultures for our own rituals. And yet I see it all the time, in countless yoga studios and meditation classes. It doesn’t have to be that way: there are many other ways we can achieve enlightenment, find inner peace and connect with each other.
The commodification of connections worries me too. In some ways, paying for two hours of sharing feels like a transaction, as easy as looking for a burrito bowl on UberEATS. Money in, connection out. I’m not sure I buy that – and at the price many of these women’s circles charge (anywhere from $40 to over $100), I’m not sure many others would buy that either.
But real connections seem to be becoming increasingly rare in our world. Recently, I spent the entire bus ride to work staring at my phone – and completely failed to notice that an old friend from college was sitting one row in front of me doing the same thing. Could joining a women’s circle be like joining a fitness class: learning to work an old muscle again?
I have to interrupt my constant stream of internal conversations because the woman to my right has handed me a large rose quartz crystal: now it’s my turn to speak. I murmur something about gratitude, the desire to stay in the here and now, the need to find time for myself. The nine pairs of eyes looking at me are friendly, attentive, open.
It’s time to pair up – we’re encouraged to identify something that’s challenging us in life and share that with our chosen partner. I expected to be more nervous, but instead I found myself caught up in a conversation that skips the little things and goes straight for the throat: work stress and life events and social comparison and meeting family expectations and discomfort and regret and heartache and all the mess it takes to have a life.
I really do feel better afterwards. It felt good to share something – and also good to be trusted to listen to someone. It seems as if we all feel the same: the stiff formality in the room has loosened, we are lying on our stomachs or curled up in comfortable positions, our eyes are sparkling and we smile more easily.
Now we come to the breathing exercises part of the session. Our instructor demonstrates how to do it – the cheeks puff out like a fish when breathing out, and air is sucked through a straw when breathing in. I don’t know what to make of this: I’ve done yoga breathing exercises and meditation before, but this is different. We lie on our backs for half an hour and breathe repeatedly and forcefully to a soundscape of tribal drums and chants.
At first my mind resists, but soon I am drawn into the sound of nine women breathing in unison. In, out, in, out. It is a powerful sound, and eventually I forget myself. I don’t cry, nor do I feel the tingling in my fingers and toes that I was warned about, but I do feel something: somewhere in the rhythm of the breath, the busy noise in my head is turned down to a very low level.
As we return to our circle of seats, some women seem deeply moved, even with tears in their eyes. By the end, the room full of nervous strangers has been transformed. People hug, exchange numbers, hug again.
Back in the day, I sit at the bus stop, yoga mat on my lap, and think about the last two hours.
The reservations I have about certain aspects of the alternative wellness industry are still very real.
I still don’t believe we need to plunder and commercialize cultural traditions to achieve enlightenment. I think we should be cautious about the exclusionary nature of language around the “divine feminine.” And I still have questions about how to put a price on connection and what that says about the state of our world.
It would be too easy, however, to use these reservations to dismiss the good things. And there was plenty of good: The morning offered real moments of genuine vulnerability and caring, and those moments clearly had a huge impact on the women in the room—myself included. Wrapping our time in ritual and meditation seemed to be an essential part of that, too.
I don’t know how I feel about women’s circles, at least not in their current format. But I do know that when I leave them I feel noticeably lighter: less stressed and more mentally clear, and that was exactly what was promised.
And I know that when the bus arrives, I greet the driver with a smile and he smiles back. I notice that his eyes are a piercing shade of blue.
As I settle into my seat, the toddler in the stroller across from me drops his toy – I hand it back to his mom and she smiles too. I ask her about her day and she replies, asking about mine.
It feels good. I forget to look at my phone until I get home.
