Doll-making as a healing practice

I come from a long line of storytellers and artists. From drawing to poetry to beadwork, we use our creativity to express who we are, where we come from, and what we’ve had to endure. Our creativity is an act of sacred rebellion - we sing, dance, perform spoken word poetry, write stories, and make jewelry to say, “we are still here.” We share our truth with the world through our photographs and songs. When we bring our creative flame forward and offer it to the world, we honor our ancestors who were forced to hide who they were in order to survive. In our creativity, we find the voice of our lineage once again.

Writing has always been my chosen medium for creative expression. For as long as I can remember, I have loved the art of weaving words together into poems and stories. I delight in following the words - disconnected at first - as they crisscross over and under one another. The story is the tapestry. The words are the threads - we weave them in a particular way, following our heart and intuition, even if we don’t understand how they work together or what they’re trying to say. These threads come together and push apart again and again, as if in a dance, until we hold the completed cloth in our hands and hearts.

Writing was a balm that so often soothed my spirit - until one day I found myself unable to find the words. As I grappled with old stories, childhood trauma recovery, and the profound impact of intergenerational trauma on my physical and emotional body, I grew quiet. My silence wasn’t intentional. I wanted to speak, to shout, to scream. The words simply wouldn’t come.

It’s no coincidence that at times of profound growth we experience immense contraction and fear. My true self was ready to break free of all the old stories but I was afraid. I feared being seen as I stepped fully into my truth — feared being judged and rejected. And so I began to shrink once again.

As a result, my creative flame dwindled and nearly went out.

It was during this time of creative silence that I discovered the craft of the spirit doll. Although my maternal grandmother was a doll-maker, I’d never had any interest in learning this craft. It’s fair to say that, in my younger years, I didn’t understand the magic of the doll. And yet something about the spirit doll called out to me. I’d been accustomed to weaving stories with words - a decidedly mental act. The act of weaving a spirit doll from fiber and herbs — of creating something sacred with my own hands — called to me with the voice of an ancient and wise elder. I chose to lean in and open to this call.

For a year, I journeyed with Julia Inglis (Sacred Familiar) and traveled the pilgrimage path of the apprentice dollmaker. As I walked the path alongside the doll grandmothers, my hands and heart picked up the healing thread that my mind had dropped. Working with my hands and listening to my intuition gave me a chance to bypass my brain/Ego so that I might stretch and grow more fully into myself. In this way, the craft of doll-making has become a profound healing practice.

The journey has been - continues to be, for the journey is lifelong - a shedding, a letting go of that which no longer serves. For me, this means releasing old stories about who I am and what I’m capable of. The path of the doll-maker challenges me to step forward and acknowledge my gifts. It’s so easy to hide. It takes courage to let ourselves be seen.

And now, as we near the threshold of Samhain and the veil begins to thin, I find myself feeling the pull to put pen to paper and fingers to keyboard. The wise grandmothers who walk with me in spirit are encouraging me to step forward once again. Just as the doll brought Vasalisa through the challenges in Baba Yaga’s hut, the spirit of the doll has brought me back home to myself.