The truth is, we are never NOT broken, we are are ALL Akhilanda.


I am obsessed with SHE Stories.The stories o' women as they unfold, unravel, unfurl. I love it when women drop their game faces -  you know the ones; I'm so shiny/I've TOTALLY got my shit together/look at my perfectly instagram-ed life - and instead, they let shit get real. When they stand on a stage and get blotchy, or cry, or pause, not for effect, but because their story can't be boiled down to soundbites and tweetables. Those are the stories that set my soul on fire. I recently completed the first round o' SHE Stories with 58 brave badasses, we delved deep into the stories that make us women, we worked with the cycles o' mumma nature, the moon + our menstrual cycle, and we shared. We shared as if our lives depended on it, and that's because our lives, our well-being, our relationships DO depend on it. Over the weekend, I was told by a woman who had recently read my book, Code Red, that her partner was disgusted by her yoni. He was 'happy' to have sex with her, but he needed to wash his hands after. This, sadly, is not a new story. I had an email from a women whose husband was outraged by The Viking's section in the book ( yep, if you haven't read it yet, the Viking has written a dudes guide to the menstrual cycle, which is basically a how to honour, respect AND avoid arguments with the women that you live with in each phase of your cycle for dudekind - it's SO good!) because they can't possibly understand why he'd do that, asking 'what is he, some kind o' pussy?'  FYI: dudes, honouring + respecting your partner + her pussy doesn't make you a pussy, it means that you get significantly more pussy action. Just saying. At the weekend I attended #higherselfie, a spiritual un-conference where women were invited to share their voices on stage, it was emotional, hilarious and heart-aching. And as I listened to the stories of key-note speakers alongside first-timers daring to share their stories, was that there was a common thread. These women, all totally successful, gorgeous and big-hearted, had all been broken. And it was through their broken shards o' self that the light slowly began to break through. Some of them are now light workers, some of them have found new directions towards positivity and some are creating incredible lives and businesses thanks to their Eat, Pray, Love 'God, I'm on my knees, help me out here, please?' moments. This is the story of so many women. We strive for success thinking we have to fit someone else's pre-conceived idea of what success actually looks like, we 'do' lives in a set, linear, dude-like way because we're told doing it any other way makes us seem weak in comparison to the dudes, we push our bodies to look like a goal someone else has set for us, and then beat ourselves up with a REALLY big stick when we don't look/ like that,  so it's no wonder our hearts, our souls, our bodies and wombs cry out in pain for deep satiation - PMS, dis-ease + body discomfort, anxiety, stress, depression - are all signs that SHE is pissed and is calling us to pay attention, to listen, to come home to ourselves.

The truth is, we are never NOT broken. We are ALL Akhilanda.

The truth is, we are never NOT broken. We are ALL Akhilanda. Now, I can’t tell you how to not feel vulnerable, because I want you to feel vulnerable. I want to serve, more than I want to feel comfy + I wish that for you too. People dig what I write, listen to me speak + follow me on social media because I share. A LOT. I use my voice. I make no apology for swearing. I share my home life. I talk about the blood and guts of being a woman. I shared when my mum and dad died. ALL of it. I share if I fuck up and make a programme and no one buys it. I share when I have huge-ass successes and share how I do it. People dig me for this. Other people hate me for this. There's not many people who simply 'like' me, but I’m a journalist first and foremost in it’s most traditional form, I journal my thoughts and experiences and I share them through my you-nique to me lens, not for ego props but because I HAVE to. I shared my first Eat Pray Love moment in SASSY, I shared what happened next in Code Red, and I continue to share the broken bits, the light bits, the awesome bits, the messy bits, the damn right bloody bits, because sharing your story, your experiences, your life-lessons, allows others to realise that they're not alone. It allows them to see their story reflected in your words, to understand something in a different way, to look at the world a little differently.

This was absolutely not the blog post I was going to write. I had period questions to answer, I had a deeply profound piece about the sacred art of fucking up and why it's a necessity in creating an awesome life, I had another piece about how we can access our deepest truth in pre-menstruation, but I love to share an unedited hear-riff with you from time, safe in the knowledge someone clearly needs to hear it in the way it's been written.

Question:  What story would you tell if you weren't scared? If you knew you had the support of a SHE-loving sisterhood who would woop + applaud you simply for daring to share your truth, what would you say? I'm curious. Please share below in a comment, or over on facebook, or in a blog post or youtube video and hook me up with the link - because FYI: You are supported, and I am totally your number one cheerleader, 'k?!