Transforming Hurt into Growth
“Mama G love you Gizmo, remember that please.” — Wendy
Physical Setting & Preparation
Find a quiet space where you can sit undisturbed, preferably near a window where you can observe the changing sky or outdoors if weather permits. Place before you a small bowl of rich soil, a cup of water, and if possible, a seed or small plant beginning to sprout. If you have one, include a crystal or stone that brings you comfort. Sit in a position that feels secure and grounded, allowing your body to be fully supported. Rest your hands palms down on your thighs, connecting you to your physical form. Take eighteen slow, mindful breaths—one for each day that has passed in this month—allowing each exhale to carry away tension and create space for healing.
Opening Invocation | Fosgladh
Air an ochdamh latha deug den Mhàrt,
Eadar an seann ràithe agus an ràithe ùr,
Eadar an dorchadas agus an solas a' fàs,
Tha mi a' seasamh le mo ghoirteas, ag iarraidh leigheas.
A Mhàthair na talmhainn, tionndaidh mo chràdh gu fàs.
On this eighteenth day of March,
Between the old season and the new,
Between darkness and growing light,
I stand with my hurt, seeking healing.
Mother of the earth, turn my pain to growth.
Feel the energy of late March—the eighteenth day—when the balance continues to shift toward spring's renewal. The ground thaws more deeply now, allowing tender roots to push through soil that was once frozen and unyielding. This mirrors the journey of transforming hurt—what once felt impenetrable gradually softens, creating pathways for new growth. Notice the quality of light around you, how it strengthens day by day, illuminating what was hidden in shadow. Visualize your hurt not as an adversary but as fertile ground that, when tended with compassion, can yield unexpected blessings.
Body of the Working | Corp
Tha goirteas mar an talamh cruaidh,
A' feitheamh ri blàths gus maothachadh.
Tha e a' teagasg dhuinn foighidinn,
Mar a dh'fheitheas sìol ri uisge.
Hurt is like hardened earth,
Waiting for warmth to soften.
It teaches us patience,
As a seed waits for water.
Place your hands on the bowl of soil before you. Earth is the element of transformation—it breaks down what has ended and builds up what is beginning. Feel its texture, its coolness, its potential. This is the body of the Mother Earth, who receives all wounds and hurts and, in time, transforms them into nourishment for new life.
Now, bring your awareness to your body. Where do you feel hurt most acutely? Perhaps in your heart as a heaviness, in your shoulders as tension, or in your mind as recurring thoughts. As you locate these sensations, place one hand there while keeping the other on the soil. Establish a connection between your personal hurt and the earth's power of transformation. With each breath, imagine this hurt softening slightly, not disappearing but becoming more malleable, more open to change—just as frozen ground gradually yields to spring's persistent warmth.
The Deep Working | An Obair Dhomhain
A Mhàthair na talmhainn, gabh mo chràdh,
Chan ann gus a thoirt air falbh,
Ach gus a thionndadh gu rudeigin prìseil.
Teagaisg dhomh mar a chruthaicheas mi bòidhchead,
Bhon sgàineadh is bhon bhriseadh.
Mother of the earth, take my pain,
Not to remove it,
But to transform it into something precious.
Teach me how to create beauty,
From rupture and breakage.
Take a small amount of soil in one hand and a few drops of water in the other. As you mix them together, feeling the earth become more yielding, close your eyes and imagine yourself in a garden at dawn. The air is cool and fresh, carrying the scent of damp soil and green growth. All around you, plants are emerging from winter's retreat—some bearing scars from frost or storm, yet growing nonetheless.
In this sacred space, the Mother of the Earth approaches. She wears a cloak woven of moss and early spring flowers, and her eyes hold both compassion and strength. In her hands, she carries a clay vessel that has been broken and mended with gold, the cracks now the most beautiful part of the whole.
"Hurt is not the enemy of growth but often its catalyst," she speaks, her voice like wind through new leaves. "The places where you have been broken are also the places where new strength and beauty can enter."
She kneels beside a plant whose stem was broken by winter's weight. Around the break, new shoots have emerged, creating not one but several pathways for growth. "See how life responds to wounding," she continues. "Not by erasing the injury, but by incorporating it into a new pattern of becoming."
She takes your hands in hers, and you feel a gentle warmth flowing between you—not removing your hurt but infusing it with possibilities. "Your hurt carries wisdom that ease never could," she tells you. "When tended with compassion, it becomes fertile ground for deeper understanding, greater resilience, and more authentic connection."
She places one hand over your heart, and you feel the hurt there beginning to stir, like seeds awakening in spring soil. "This transformation cannot be rushed," she reminds you. "Just as the earth takes time to turn winter's decay into spring's growth, your hurt requires patience as it reveals its gifts."
Feel her wisdom permeating your being, creating spaciousness around your hurt. Remain in this connection for several minutes, breathing deeply.
Afterthought | Smuain Dheiridh
Take a moment to contemplate:
How might the hurt I'm carrying contain seeds of growth that could not have been planted any other way? What strength or wisdom have I gained through past experiences of pain that I now value? In what ways am I like the March landscape—bearing the marks of difficult seasons yet continuously renewing?
Closing Blessing | Beannachd Dheiridh
Tha mi a' toirt taing dhut, a Mhàthair na talmhainn,
Airson do ghliocais agus do thruas.
Mar a thionndaidheas tu geamhradh gu earrach,
Mar sin tionndaidhidh tu mo chràdh gu neart.
Tha mi a' giùlan do chumhachd ath-nuadhachaidh leam.
I give thanks to you, Mother of the earth,
For your wisdom and your compassion.
As you turn winter to spring,
So you turn my pain to strength.
I carry your power of renewal with me.
Gently return the soil to its bowl. If you have a seed or sprouting plant, tend to it with a few drops of water, acknowledging its journey from dormancy to growth. Touch the crystal or stone if you have one, recognizing its formation through pressure and time. Finally, place both hands over your heart, honoring the wisdom that resides there—in both your joy and your hurt.
Rise slowly, carrying the earth's transformative wisdom within you. Know that just as the eighteenth of March continues the journey from winter's depth to spring's expansion, you too are on a path of transformation where hurt becomes not an endpoint but a threshold to greater wholeness.
I loved it today!! Needed it! Thank you!