I didn’t expect a Zoom room to feel like a mirror.
But there we were on a windy Monday, rain tapping at the window, my sun’s little footsteps padding down the hall. Faces glowed in tiny squares. I handed the mic to Jemma and felt my shoulders drop.
Something in the room shifted. Softened.
She began to speak about bodies not as projects to fix, but as companions to choose.
It felt perfectly Libra, ruled by Venus, the planet of love, beauty, and connection.This season always reminds us that the way we relate to the world begins with how we relate to ourselves.
“Your body isn’t the problem.What you’ve been taught about your body is.”
Then she asked us to take the cruel things we say to ourselves and speak them to a photo of our younger selves, or of the children we love.
The chat went still.We looked down at chubby-cheeked smiles we once wore.
You could see it in our facesthe recoil, the no way, the mothers shaking their heads, the women covering their mouths.
That sudden, sacred knowing that the voice in our head is not the truth. It’s a training.
Something in me exhaled that I hadn’t even realised I was holding.
A brief biography of my body
If my body could write a one-line bio for each decade, it would read like this:
• Teens: comparison and cruelty.• Twenties: started harsh, disordered, unkind, ended curious, willing to look again.• Thirties: rediscovering, meeting myself again after birthing a child, returning to self-adoration, living from intuitive connection.
I grew up in a religion... well, a cult, if I’m honest.
Modesty wasn’t a value, it was surveillance.Old men commenting on young girls’ bodies.Children framed as temptations.Bodies made responsible for other people’s lack of self-control.
I remember sitting in a hall of hundreds while a man on stage called spaghetti-strap tops “inappropriate.”I was wearing one.
Shame burned like a sun.I learned to be looked at, not lived in.
Years later, I am re-learning how to live in this skin with gentleness.
Because that’s the beauty of Libra seasonit invites us to rebalance.To restore harmony where judgement once lived.To choose tenderness over tension.
Last week I ran along the beach, wind in my lungs, salt in my hair, the kind of sky that makes you stop mid-stride and whisper thank you.
I ended at the nudist beach, stripped off, and dove into the water.Salt kissed my eyelids.My body felt like home.
Later that afternoon, I jumped on the trampoline with my sun until we fell over laughing, breathless, messy, alive.
That, too, is embodiment.That, too, is devotion.
Libra’s medicine is this: finding beauty in the ordinary, balance in the chaos, pleasure in the present moment.
Body neutrality feels like peace
I loved how Jemma spoke about body neutralitythat we don’t have to love every inch of our reflection to live a loving life inside our skin.
It reminded me of Libra’s scalesthat sweet spot between shadow and light, effort and ease, critique and compassion.
I don’t need to love how my body looks to live a loving life within it.I can move toward neutrality. Toward trust.Toward the truth that confidence isn’t an outfit; it’s self-belief.
She reminded us that our inner critic often thinks it’s keeping us safe, shaped by the rules of the playground, the comments online, the beauty standards whispered in boardrooms.
Naming that voice helps.
Hers is called Frida.I have one too.She’s loudest when I’m tired, softest when I breathe and speak to myself like a friend.The mirror practice
Libra is ruled by the mirrorthe sign of reflection, of seeing ourselves through the eyes of another.But sometimes the most healing gaze is our own.
The first time I tried the five-minute mirror practice, it felt brutal.My gaze was a blade, scanning for proof I was too much or not enough.
Somewhere around minute four, my eyes softened.The longer I stayed, the more I could actually see.
Skin as storybook.Freckles like constellations.A birthmark I’d forgotten.The warmth I carry.The way my chest rises when I think of the people I love.
After the masterclass, I did it again, in the bath, candlelight flickering, rain on glass.
I held a photo of little me and asked, What do you want?
She asked for play.For connection that isn’t conditional on flatness or smallness.And she refused to carry shame that was never hers to hold.
If you try one thing from this piece, let it be this.Five minutes. No distractions.Can you name ten things you notice that you like or appreciate?They can be tiny, the curve of a wrist, the strength in your thighs that have carried you across rooms and eras.
Nourishment over punishment
Libra reminds us that balance isn’t found through perfection, it’s found through presence.
Younger me would not have called this discipline, but it is.
• I cook and eat hearty, nourishing meals. I used to binge and purge. Now I feed myself like someone I love.• I move for joy, running when it feels expansive, dancing in the kitchen, ocean swims that make me grin.• I speak about my body with reverence, out loud, in front of my son.
And I’ve stopped punishing myself in the name of “health.”No more going all-out at the gym when my body says no.No more disordered “rules” disguised as wellness.No more pretending pain is devotion.
Joy is my metric now.Listening is my pace-setter.
Mothering as mirror
I love my mum, deeply.But I remember the cabbage soup diets, the sighs about stretch marks, the way she spoke of her body like an apology.
I swore my sun would hear a different song.
In our home, my body is spoken about neutrally or lovingly, never with shame.
If he learns one thing from watching me, let it be this:It’s just a body, and it’s also a wise companion.It carries you. It signals truth. It wants to feel good.Listen.
The village effect
There was a line in the chat that hit like a bell:
“I wish I was as fat as the first time I thought I was fat.”
That was me once, body dysmorphia running rampant.Hearing it said out loud loosened a knot I’d carried for years.
Doing this work in circle is different to doing it alone in a journal.It dissolves shame.It reminds you you’re not the only one learning to stay.
When we gather, we remember:we were never meant to heal in isolation.
That’s the essence of Libra we find wholeness through connection.
A gentle invitation
This week, do something that nourishes your relationship with your body.
Maybe it’s the mirror practice.Maybe it’s moving because it feels good, not because you “should.”Maybe it’s feeding yourself something colourful.Maybe it’s rest.
Let it be simple.Let it be sacred.Let it be yours.
Because Libra season whispersHarmony isn’t found by chasing balance; it’s found by being with what is.
With gratitude
To Jemma Haythorne, thank you for holding the room so softly and teaching with such truth.You can find her at @inspire__wellness, and I can’t recommend her work enough.
To my Soul Seekers this masterclass replay lives inside The Soul Seeker Society forever now.The doors are closed for now, but when we reopen, this one will be waiting for you.A mirror to meet yourself in.
For now, meet yourself where you are.
The rain is still falling outside as I’m writing this (seriously where is spring).My sun’s giggles echo down the hall.And I’m here (body and all) taking a deep breath of gratitude.
Thank you, I whisper to myself, to my body.For carrying me through another season.For letting me come home again.
With all my love,
Courtney
