My Experience of a Closing of the Bones Ceremony

There are some experiences that don’t really fit neatly into words.

A closing of the bones ceremony is one of those.

I went into it not fully knowing what to expect. I’d read about it, heard people describe it in different ways, but nothing really prepares you for what it feels like to experience it in your own body.

It’s a traditional postpartum healing practice, rooted in South American and Mexican lineage, created to honour the body after birth, grief, emotional transition, or any form of deep transformation.

But for me, it wasn’t about understanding it intellectually.

It was about experiencing it.

Before the ceremony

In the days leading up to it, I noticed myself becoming quieter internally.

Not anxious… just more aware.

Like my system knew something was about to shift, even if my mind couldn’t define what that meant.

There was a sense of preparation that felt almost instinctive like my body was already starting to soften before anything had even happened.

During the ceremony

The ceremony itself was held by the beautiful Jenna from Juccura World, and there was something about her presence that immediately felt grounding and safe.

The ceremony itself lasted around approx four hours, giving the experience a real sense of spaciousness, nothing felt rushed, everything was allowed to unfold slowly and naturally.

It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t clinical. It felt deeply intuitive and held.

I lay down on top of several blankets, each one carefully placed beneath each chakra point along my body.

There was something incredibly intentional about that setup like my body was being gently mapped and supported all at once.

From there, she began to slowly wrap my body in fabric, checking in with me at every stage to make sure I felt comfortable.

It wasn’t rushed or forceful in any way it felt like a soft collaboration between safety, consent, and care.

Bit by bit, I was cocooned. Gently held. Contained in a way that felt deeply nurturing, like my system could finally soften and let go of holding itself together.

The music throughout the ceremony felt carefully chosen and almost divine in its flow like it was guiding the energy of the space just as much as anything else.

At moments, she also played the shamanic drum, and there was something about that rhythm that felt ancient and grounding, like it was speaking directly to the body rather than the mind.

Jen also worked with crystals during the session, which added another layer of intention and energy to the space, subtle, but deeply felt.

Part of the ceremony also included a massage on my abdomen and upper torso. It felt very intentional and grounding, like attention being brought back to areas where we often hold emotional tension without even realising it.

At times it felt like my body was being gathered back together not because I was “broken,” but because something within me was ready to be brought back into alignment.

There were moments of emotion, moments of stillness, and moments where I felt like I wasn’t just in my body… I was with my body.

Not observing it. Not analysing it.

Just being in it.

As a healer myself, I know that no one session is ever the same. It’s always a deeply bespoke experience, shaped by the energy of the person and the moment they are in.

For me personally, I have always been drawn to shamanic practices. I had shamanic healing during my cancer journey in 2020, and again in 2023.

So it came as no surprise that Jenna felt intuitively pulled to bring a strong thread of shamanic energy into my session. It felt aligned, familiar in a way I can’t quite explain, and deeply resonant in my body.

After the ceremony

What surprised me most was not what happened in the moment but what’s been unfolding since.

It’s now a week on, and I feel uplifted… like someone has switched me back on after a fuse had blown.

But it’s more than that too.

I don’t feel like a completely new person.

And I don’t feel like the old version of me either.

I feel somewhere in between but more whole.

More myself.

The version of me who has spent the last year scraping through medical menopause, feeling a lot less like myself, feels like she’s no longer in the foreground.

Not erased. Not forgotten. Just… no longer leading.

In her place, there’s a steadier version of me emerging.

One that feels more confident, more open, more here.

I’m spending time being “me” again in ways I didn’t fully realise I had stepped away from.

I’m writing again and actually enjoying it.

I’m laughing more.

I’m softer with myself.

I feel more connected to life.

There’s a lightness returning, but also a grounding. A sense of coming back into my own skin.

What I’m noticing now

Since the ceremony, I’ve found myself reconnecting with things that bring me joy, especially writing.

It feels like my creative energy has started to flow again, not because I’m pushing it, but because it’s naturally returning.

There’s less resistance. Less noise. More ease.

And alongside that, I’m noticing a new found confidence beginning to settle in.

Not loud or forced, just steady like I’m remembering how to trust myself again in a deeper way.

I spent all last year feeling like I wanted to be hidden, like I’d lost pieces of myself somewhere along the way.

I guess surgical menopause may have been the instigator of that experience, but it felt like more than just that it felt like a fading of my own voice for a while.

And now… something feels different.

I feel ready to be seen and heard again.

Not in a performative way. Not in a pressured way.

Just in a way that feels like me.

And maybe that’s what healing really is sometimes not becoming someone new, but coming back into contact with yourself again.

Final reflection

I don’t think healing always looks dramatic.

Sometimes it’s quiet. Subtle.

Almost unnoticeable from the outside.

But internally, something has shifted.

And I’m still learning what that shift means.

For now, I’m just staying with it… and noticing what unfolds next.

But I do know this… I love it, and I’m here for it.