Undo the Final Root: The ‘Good Girl,’ Wealth & Erotic Shame

a long overdue full moon transmission:

The Priestesses of old were paid in land, livestock, gold, spices, power.
They were healers and treasurers.
Their rituals funded entire communities.

Somewhere between colonization, slavery, patriarchy, and capitalism, we were told that holiness meant poverty, and that money was dirty.
And so we inherited the ruthless fatigue of women who cleaned houses; and faint memories of carrying keys to empires.

But now?

There is a massive reclamation movement happening: for the self, the body, quality of life, the pleasure and the wealth.

And I? …find myself right in the center of reclaiming my sacred role as both healer and high priestess of pleasure.

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I just finished watching Babygirl — the Nicole Kidman film released December 2024 — and let me tell you: I did more than watch it multiple times-
I felt it.

Because beneath the plot, the sex, the tension, was something deeper.
A mirror.

This wasn’t just a story about a woman spiraling.
It was about the split self—the performance of control in public, and the unspoken cravings in private.
It was about the quiet violence of being the “good girl” for too long.
The internal collapse that comes from repressing desire until it turns to chaos.

And it exposed a culture I’ve been whispering about for years:

Babygirl Culture—
the subtle, everyday conditioning that teaches women to be soft, silent, self-sacrificing, while secretly craving freedom, dominance, pleasure, power.
The kind of culture that asks us to cover our thighs in public and beg to be ravished in private.

It is the same culture that gaslights women into undercharging for their brilliance, apologizing for taking up space, and feeling guilty for wanting more—of anything. And let me not get started on the audacity of us to ask for help.

Whether you’re silencing your sensuality
or shrinking your price tag...
this is the same root system:

Shame.

There comes a moment in every woman’s life where she feels it—
that quiet crack,
that inner quake,
the breaking open of a root system that no longer serves her.

And suddenly, she can’t pretend anymore.

Not about her price.
Not about her pleasure.
Not about her power.

She realizes:

“I’m not here to be a good girl.
I’m here to be whole.”

This is a sacred reclamation.
Of wealth.
Of desire.
Of brilliance.
Of breath.

The ancestral shame around abundance and erotic expression comes from the same poison:

You were taught that wanting makes you dangerous.
That asking makes you selfish.
That needing makes you weak.

But here’s the holy twist:

Lumka Mthembu

Desire is not just sexual.
It is the pulse of your creativity.
The current of your life-force.
The voice that says, “This is mine.”

And until you reclaim it,
your abundance will always feel like it’s just out of reach—
not because you’re broken,
but because you’re still performing worthiness
instead of knowing you are it.

I will no longer carry shame:

For wanting.
For earning.
For asking.
For opening.
For receiving.
For living in pleasure.
For not mirroring the mean-spirited women in my family—
women who were told to cover their legs,
speak softly at church,
and wear shame like a second skin.

I was not born to perform survival or recycle their bitterness.

I will not mimic women who bite each other because they never learned to hold themselves.

I will not weaponize my hunger or bury it in holy language.

I know what I want.
I know what I deserve.
I know that sometimes the one called “Baby girl” is also the one
who knows how to command a kingdom,
ride a wave,
lead a prayer,
and rise, dripping in clarity.

You want to be dominated because you’ve been powerless for too long.
You want softness because you’ve lived in your armor.
You want to be held because the world only knows how to pull from you.

I get it.
I feel it.
But not in this timeline.
Not in this year.
Not in this moon cycle.
Not for the second half of this holy, fertile, fire-breathing year.

I will no longer carry shame for:

Wanting.
Earning.
Asking.
Opening.
Receiving.

Not because I am good.
But because I am whole.

Not because I need to prove I’m ready.
But because I already am.

I am certain that I am already abundant.
I pray daily for the capacity to hold all of me:
My hunger.
My softness.
My rage.
My wealth.
My wildness.
My joy.
My design.

And I will build a life that lets me stay in that knowing
without being pulled back into fear—
mine, or anyone else's.

Say this with me:

This is my line in the sand.
This is my inheritance reclaimed.
This is my altar.

If you feel this transmission,
don’t just like it.
Live it. with me.

Let it price your offerings.
Let it guide your desires.
Let it free your voice.
Let it choose your next yes.

You are not here to behave.
You are here to remember.

As this conversation unfolds amidst the chaos, noise, and fire of the world:

Yes—there is madness.
Yes—there is war, division, delusion, and destruction.
But truth still exists inside the body.
And liberation still begins from within.

Multiple realities are true at once.
That is not contradiction—it is cosmic law.

You can grieve the world and awaken your desire.
You can hold rage in one palm and roses in the other.
You can reclaim your wealth and still pray for the hungry.
You can rest in pleasure while the systems tremble and fall.

Because this?
This is not apathy.
This is frequency leadership.

My people did not survive slavery, exile, and extinction
so I could shrink myself in someone else’s broken lens.
I was not encoded with sensual wisdom
so I could mute my voice to match collective fear.

Do not mirror the madness.
Do not wear their scarcity like it's sacred.
Do not dim your erotic light to make the world feel safe in its numbness.

You are not here to pick a side.
You are here to anchor a center.

The protest is holy.
The pleasure is holy.
The prayer is holy.
The wealth is holy.
The truth-teller who doesn't need permission anymore?

She is holy.

You are not fragmented.
You are full-spectrum.

Not to bypass pain, but to transmute it.

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