Women Who Refused to Forget the Sacred
I’ve been grooving on the Sacred Feminine since my Catholic grade school days with the BVM—the Blessed Virgin Mary, for those who didn’t grow up Catholic. Long before I had language for it, she was there: mother-comfort, safety, strength. So when I walked up to my new rental home and saw a massive mural of the BVM painted on the side of the house, I knew—without logic or hesitation—that this was the place for me. Blessed. Chosen. Held.
I still feel her motherly comfort and steady encouragement: be strong, live the love of the Christ within you, and fear not what comes of it.
In my forties, I reached outward as well as inward, drawing strength from Athena and Kwan Yin—Athena for courage and wisdom in the face of conflict, Kwan Yin to soften me with compassion and mercy. Together, they steadied me, balanced blade and balm.
Now, in my fifties, I find myself circling home again—back to my Catholic roots and back to historic female mystics. These women were absolute bad-asses, far ahead of their time, yet still speaking from the pioneering edge of spirituality today.
St. Hildegard of Bingen (1098–1179)
Benedictine abbess, visionary, composer, theologian, natural scientist, Doctor of the Church
Hildegard’s poetry, music, and radical understanding of the body—not as a prison for the soul, but as something the soul dwells within and without—have opened both my mind and my heart. Her vision of creation as saturated with divine life and her insistence on honoring the sacredness of the everyday—including our messy, human selves—continues to call me back into right relationship with myself and those around me.
When I feel off, unmoored, or spiritually dehydrated, I follow her wisdom into nature. I smother my toes in the sandy banks of the Rio Grande, bemuse myself with the odd little ducks, and let the sunset stream through the bosque like a benediction. There, I remember who I am. I am replenished—body and soul—by the greening force of life itself.
St. Catherine of Siena (1347–1380)
Lay Dominican, mystic, reformer, Doctor of the Church
Catherine is often remembered for her intense asceticism and ecstatic prayer, but what most grips me is her fearless truth-telling—a laywoman who spoke with such authority that even popes had to listen. She taught that the soul discovers God by descending into the Truth within, where humility and divine love meet—and then demand expression in the world.
For Catherine, inner transformation was never an excuse for spiritual withdrawal. It was the fuel for public courage, moral responsibility, and holy disruption. She moved beyond contemplation into action that was informed by Spirit.
Her famous directive—paraphrased as, “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire”—has become my own living affirmation:
I welcome my authentic self to show up fully in this moment
and restore the flame of hope for those who are in the dark.
St. Julian of Norwich (c. 1342–after 1416)
Anchoress, theologian, author of the first known book in English written by a woman
Julian’s voice arrives like a soothing balm in fraught times. Best known for her refrain, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,” she offered one of the most radical theological claims of her time—and perhaps of ours: God is not wrathful, but endlessly loving.
Sin, she taught, is not the final truth about humanity. Love is.
Julian dared to name God as both Mother and Father, holding creation with tenderness, allowing pain without surrendering love. Her mysticism does not deny suffering; it refuses to grant it the final word.
Grounding in the Sacred
In a world that feels desacralized, fragmented, and untethered, these women return me to my sacred center—to the divine power that has always been woven into my being. Hildegard reminds me that the earth still hums with holiness. Catherine demands that love take shape as courage. Julian whispers hope when despair feels justified.
Together, they teach me that mysticism is not an escape from reality. It is a deeper immersion into it—grounded, fiercely honest, and radically hopeful. The sacred has not disappeared. It has been waiting patiently for us to remember how to see, how to listen, and how to live from that remembering.
Perhaps it is worth pausing here, breathing for a moment, and sitting with these questions:
Where is the sacred quietly waiting for you to remember it again?
What keeps you grounded, honest, and hopeful?
What truth are you being invited to live more boldly in this moment?