Stories from the Womb

By Anna Edington

What if Eve wasn't Adam's first wife? What if Freyja's greatest gem wasn't a stone? What if a mermaid could give up her fins and find her soul?

Stories from the Womb by Anna Edington takes us on a journey to find what it means for women to tell their side of the story, and how an over-masculinized world has been giving

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885046480

Book preview

Stories from the Womb

Anna Edington

New Degree Press

Copyright © 2022 Anna Edington

All rights reserved.

Stories from the Womb

ISBN

979-8-88504-667-1 Paperback

979-8-88504-858-3 Kindle Ebook

979-8-88504-648-0 Ebook

Dedication

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There once was a beautiful little girl, and she was made of earth and sunshine. Her name was Colette.

Her skin was brown like the fertile soil farmers used to grow plants.

In the spring and summer, flowers bloomed in the mass of curls upon her head.

When she spoke, mermaids and unicorns were born.

Rainbows followed her around.

But the most beautiful thing about this little girl was her loving heart.

She cared for those around her, always radiating love and bringing smiles.

Especially to mama, who she lived with, in an apartment with a bathtub.

Nearby there was a park with fountains in the summer, and a giant‐sized doll house.

It seemed that nothing could be missing from her life…

But there was. Sometimes she felt an ache she couldn’t give a name to.

One day she went to her mother to ask what this feeling meant.

Her mother had skin the color of French pink clay and hair much tamer than Colette’s.

Mama. I feel kinda…not full.

Are you hungry? her mother asked.

No, it’s not my tummy. It’s here, she said and pointed to the middle of her chest, where you could hear it beating like a small drum. Something…is missing.

Her mother looked at her knowingly and sadly. I know, baby. It’s the same ache I feel sometimes.

What do you do to make it better? Colette asked.

I feel it. And then I hold my darling, mama said, sweeping Colette up into her long arms.

And I whisper, thank you Universe, for bringing me my soul mate.

Colette looked into mama’s eyes and held mama’s face in her hands.

I love you, she whispered.

And wrapped in each other’s arms, she and mama looked just like a wonderful morning dawn.

Contents

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Dedication

Author’s note

Part I

The Garden

Chapter 1

Lilith (An Introduction)

Chapter 2

In the Beginning

Chapter 3

Hunting and Gathering

Chapter 4

Heartsong

Chapter 5

A Burning Sun

Chapter 6

Betrayal

Chapter 7

Seeds

Chapter 8

Fire

Part II

The Jewelry Maker

Chapter 9

Freyja (An Introduction)

Chapter 10

Freyja Losing Mother

Chapter 11

Shopkeeper

Chapter 12

Blue Lapis

Chapter 13

Community

Chapter 14

Feathered

Chapter 15

Tar

Chapter 16

Cloak

Chapter 17

Turn Around

Chapter 18

Goodbyes

Chapter 19

Flight

Chapter 20

Cats

Chapter 21

Dear E

Part III

The Mermaid

Chapter 22

Quaylo (An Introduction)

Chapter 23

Storm

Chapter 24

Dream

Chapter 25

Mirror

Chapter 26

Gathering Stones

Chapter 27

Tourmaline

Chapter 28

The Goddess

Chapter 29

Legs

Chapter 30

New Skin

Chapter 31

Mama

Name Meaning Index

Afterward

Acknowledgments

Author’s note

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Women are the left‐handers of the world.

When you look at how many everyday tools are designed for right‐handed people, you may begin to grasp my meaning. In school, desks and scissors are made to fit right‐hand dominant people. For those who were born left‐hand dominant, this means adapting, rather than being allowed the tools to work with their strong side.

Women are like left‐handers in this world set up to fit a masculine way of life. If a woman acts in the masculine energy of doing and being productive, she may earn the respect she yearns for. Never mind she must go against her natural tendencies, cut off the effeminate side that is essentially her, because they are thought of as weak. Nowadays, women are forced to express (or not express) themselves in a language defined by a masculine influence, which is—at best—only a pretty close translation.

Because of this our stories have been taken from us, told in a language that analyzes away the magic and intuition, distorted into an externally focused view acceptable to the masculine.

It has taken me more than thirty years to discover the story living inside me, but I knew if I wrote a book in this life it would be something I would hand down to later generations.

On a Friday the 13th, in 2016, I found out I was pregnant.

I had been writing a different book then and, on that still cold Monday in May, had finally hit forty thousand words when I accidentally spilled a whole cup of tea onto my laptop. I lost thousands of words, along with my laptop. Tuesday I ran my car into a telephone pole while trying to park. Wednesday I got into a huge argument with my boss. Thursday there was a kind of reprieve; I thought my bad luck streak was over. Friday, however, I started to wonder why I hadn’t gotten my period.

The first thing I said to my best friend, after I told her I was pregnant, was, Thank God both my grandmothers are dead. One would freak out I’m not married, and the other would freak out it’s a black man’s child.

My grandmothers had such an impact on my life. Even though I grew up with them living on the other side of the country, the distance didn’t lessen their influence on me. As the mothers of my parents, they molded how I would be raised. All my emotional attachments and fear of abandonment, my fiery mouth and anger at being a victim, my full expression of love cut off by people‐pleasing tendencies, my confidence, and playful wit come from them. No one can escape the fact we were formed originally within the womb of our grandmother, before our mothers were even born.

I knew I was carrying a daughter the moment I found out I was pregnant. After that a question slowly took form in my mind, continuing to resonate over the months she grew into the wondrous baby that came into the world the day Trump was inaugurated as president. The first eight months of pregnancy served to really put this question into words.

What kind of world are we creating for our daughters?

Though my relationship to the world always included a feminist bent, I had so much trouble defining what that meant. I have had enough negative experiences with men to be called a man‐hater, including being in physically and emotionally abusive relationships and working with manipulative bosses, coworkers, and narcissistic coaches. I was even laid off when I was eight months pregnant by two men who disliked me for the integrity I had in my work and for not doing illegal things. If I want to call to mind examples, I could make a head spin with the length of the list of men who have let down, took advantage of, or abused me. But I also have some examples of men who took my hand and helped me up when I have fallen.

So I’ve always had hope, but my patterns were leading me to men who did not treat me well. That led me to seek therapy and healing from various resources. Through my therapist I first learned of the story of Lilith, Adam’s first wife before Eve. So many things became clear for me when I first heard Lilith’s story. Suddenly I knew why being a woman felt so uncomfortable and why I had a great desire to write a book that would ultimately speak to women.

Women spend every day fighting to be respected in a certain role, to be seen as successful in our realms, but we do so by trying to be manlier than men. Maybe the problem isn’t men don’t respect us but rather we don’t respect ourselves in our own femininity.

Divine Feminine is like magic. It’s intuitive and kind, replenishes and nurtures creativity, and it gives us the rest and resources to bring in inspiration. Isn’t it time we recognized the value in being a truly strong woman? Why do we, as women, feel most safe when we are using scissors not meant for us, working harder just to cut in straight lines?

It comes down to stories. We live by our stories. It’s how we identify ourselves and how we pursue our dreams. How do we define women?

One of the stories that plays a major role in our lives, whether a person is religious or not, is the story of Adam and Eve. A story outlining how a woman makes bad decisions and influences a man to do so too. It shows Eve could not be satisfied with all the good that God gave—she had to do the one thing God had forbidden. Therefore, as women, from the beginning of time we are taught to be satisfied with what is given to us, that our curiosity is bad, and that if we are not obedient, and wish to experience our greater desires, we will be kicked out of our home. Should the existence of women be distilled down to these stories, written and arranged by men claiming inspiration from God?

Somewhere out there is another story. It is the story of Lilith, the first woman even before Eve. Her name has been erased in the many versions of the creation story, but there is still a whisper of her from another realm. Men have cringed and called her the mother of demons or tried to stop her from becoming a part of his‐tory, but if she never existed there would be no reason to be afraid of her.

These are all stories of women in the most symbolic nature. Though I make many ties to the women