An Open Letter to the Wild Woman Reading This

You found your way here for a reason.

Maybe it started with a whisper -

A quiet knowing in your belly.

A tug in your chest.

A silent scream beneath the skin that said: There has to be more than this.

Maybe your period has felt like punishment.

Maybe you’ve lived inside a body that felt like a stranger.

Maybe you’ve been on birth control for so long that you forgot what it means to live in rhythm.

Maybe motherhood cracked you open and left you bleeding - or never came and left you aching.

Maybe sex feels like a chore or a disconnect from your true essence.

Maybe you’ve felt the power in your bones, but just aren’t sure how to reach it.

Or maybe you just heard the words Wild Feminine and thought: Yes. That’s me. That’s mine.

Whoever you are, whatever brought you here - I want you to know this:

You are not broken.

You are not late.

You are not too far gone.

You are not too sensitive, too complicated, too intense.

You are a woman remembering who she is.

This space - Wild Feminine Holistic Wellness - is not a brand.

It’s a reclamation.

It’s a fire built out of ash.

It’s a home for every woman who has been told to quiet her intuition, ignore her womb, override her symptoms, or harden herself to survive.

Here, we do the opposite.

We soften.

We listen.

We bleed on purpose.

We heal with plants.

We tend to trauma.

We hold our rage like sacred medicine.

We cry and cleanse and mother ourselves home.

Here, we don’t “fix” our bodies.

We honor them.

We learn the language of the cycle, the moon, the gut, the womb, the cervix, the breast.

We learn to see our symptoms as messengers, not enemies.

We take back what the world has taught us to shame, and we turn it into sovereignty.

I created this space not just as a practitioner - but as a woman who’s lived it all.

The hardships.

The pain.

The side effects.

The lack of education.

The years of birth control.

The traumatic births.

The postpartum unraveling.

The rage at the medical system.

The tears on the bathroom floor.

The way it feels to know something is off in your body and be told, “everything’s normal.”

Nothing about any of that is normal.

I know this now.

And now, I write before you as a woman who has turned her entire existence around because I made one decision -

to live and learn from my womb.

I had two tranformational pregnancies.

I now am a mother to two beautiful children, and a full-time stepmother to two incredible teenage boys that I view as my own.

I am married to a extraordinary man who knows my cycle better than I do - because he takes nothing more seriously than his role as a sacred protector to the Divine Feminine.

I live in a home where moon phases matter more than Mondays.

Where herbs hang from the walls and birth stories are told like scripture.

Where my 3-year-old daughter already knows the names of the Divine Beings I walk with and anatomical terms for all parts of her body.

Where my baby is nursed in candlelight while I speak to goddesses.

Where my sons are being raised to respect the power of a woman.

I run my own business, but I don’t hustle.

I build in rhythm. I rest on purpose.

I’ve traded burnout for beauty, urgency for trust.

I don’t need permission to speak, to slow down, or to lead.

I know the taste of pain, but I also know what it feels like to come back home to my body.

I’ve been ripped open by motherhood (physically and metaphorically), humbled by hardships, broken by trauma, and rebuilt myself cell by cell, brick by brick.

I created this space because I must. I teach because I’ve lived it.

And I stand here now as proof that healing doesn’t make you softer - it makes you sharper, clearer, truer... more in tune with your purpose than you ever have been.

I don’t have all the answers, and I will never pretend that I do.

But I have the education.

I have the ancient wisdom.

I have the voices of every female ancestor in my ear.

I have scar tissue and a body that’s been a portal for new life and a temple for repair.

I have you.

And I’m a writer.

Before I was a practitioner, I was a woman with words as her shield. I write because it’s how I navigate this existence, how I make sense of power and pain. I write to remember, to reclaim, and to reach you. Everything I offer here - courses, coaching, teachings - began first as whispers in the dark, written on pages no one else could see. So this blog isn’t just content. It’s ceremony. These aren’t just posts. They’re callings. And if you feel lit up or cracked open by something I share here, it’s because I serve as a mirror, and your own words are ready to return back to you.

So if you are here, Wild Woman, know this:

You’re not here to be tame.

You’re not here to numb yourself.

You’re not here to conform or shrink.

You’re here to awaken.

You’re here to heal.

You’re here to rise.

This blog will be a living altar - filled with stories, teachings, tools, truths, and reverence for you, me, who we were, and who we’re becoming.

I’ll write to you like we’re soul-contracted, life-long companions.

Because we are.

Even if we never work together.

Even if we never speak.

We are.

I’ll write to the past versions of you begging you to heal.

I’ll write to your inner child who needs to hear that her body isn’t broken and she will be okay.

I’ll write to the parts of you that you’ve hidden.

I’ll call you into your pain, your power - not away from it.

Because that’s what you deserve.

This is the beginning of something holy, something magic, something extraordinary.

And I am so fucking happy you’re here.

Welcome Home.

From one wild, worthy, work-in-progress to another,

Avree Jamison, IC-FHS

Avree is a Practitioner of Natural Wellness, Certified Functional Hormone Specialist, writer, mother & full-time stepmother to four wildly different, wildly beautiful humans. She holds space for women healing their bodies, minds, cycles, and spirits - blending ancestral medicine with clinical knowledge - and infusing it all with the kind of grounded humor that makes holistic wellness approachable, soulful, and swear-filled. She spends her time nursing her baby, chasing her toddler, raising her teenagers, and being held by a man who once guarded nuclear weapons - and now guards her womb like the sacred altar it is. Most days, she’s consulting the Divine between diaper changes, looking at moon charts and grocery lists, and orbiting somewhere between sacred routine and total surrender… often with one boob out, zero shame remaining, and a toddler yelling “watch this!” sixteen times before breakfast.