Women’s circles involve candles, crystals, and a touch of cultural insensitivity, but they promise connection too. Will this be a disaster? Or will it be nice?

On a scale of sceptic to woo-woo, I fall somewhere in the middle.

I was raised by a busy West Auckland GP and spent a decent portion of my childhood behind the reception desk in her medical practice, playing with stethoscopes and blood pressure cuffs. In my home, chiropractors were on par with snake-oil salesmen, and most homeopathic remedies dismissed as little more than placebo. 

Despite this, I have a growing collection of tarot decks and am intimately acquainted with my horoscope birth chart (huge Scorpio moon energy). I love yoga and meditation, even if I can’t hear my instructor’s references to auras and healing frequencies without also hearing my mother’s voice, pontificating about double-blind peer-reviewed studies.

So, it’s with mild trepidation that I find myself, on a drizzly winter morning, in a high-end “alternative wellness centre” in Ponsonby, sitting cross-legged in a circle with nine other women around a spread of “oracle” cards, white pillar candles, and a not-insignificant number of crystals. 

I’m attending a “New Moon Women’s Circle”, a two-hour event hosted by a chartered accountant turned “Breathwork and Meditation Practitioner” and “Master Reiki Healer”. I paid $55 to be here.

Over the past couple of years spent on somewhat of a self-care journey, I’ve seen a number of similar “women’s circles” advertised online. They’d piqued my curiosity, promising certain things of which I’m always hungry for more: vulnerability, connection, growth.

So, late one night, when another of these women’s circles came across my screen, promising a beautiful opportunity to connect with like-minded women, the release of any stagnant energy, and space for mental clarity and bliss – I clicked in. Stressed from work and life, and always up for a yap session, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

In the world of holistic wellness, women’s circles occupy an interesting space.

Pairing a secular foundation of talking and sharing with elements of meditation, breathwork or movement, they potentially have more in common with conventional therapy groups than more “out-there” spiritual practices of reiki and energy healing.

These aren’t therapy groups, however. Ranging from multi-day affairs in luxurious yoga retreats to intimate gatherings in local community centres, modern-day women’s circles are almost never led by mental health professionals, and most borrow at least one token from the smorgasbord of new-age spirituality: think tarot cards, essential oils, sound baths and ceremonial cacao.

The result is a unique mix of the worldly with the esoteric, perhaps serving as an accessible entry-point for those looking to dip their toe into the world of spirituality, or, inversely, the spiritually minded looking for a more grounded connection with others.

Of course, searching for deeper meaning and mutual care isn’t new, and women’s circles aren’t new, either. In fact, many claim modern-day circles are merely the latest iteration of an ancient practice found in different cultures all over the world, from Wiccan and Celtic Christian traditions to Native American moon lodges. Many of these traditions are said to have focused on offering support to women through menstruation and were often organised around the cycles of the moon.

In recent times, Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goopification of modern wellness and the proliferation of online health and wellness influencers have undoubtedly influenced the rise of a particular brand of women’s circle back into the mainstream.  

Now, as I sit with my eyes closed as the facilitator wafts a burning stick of sage around the room – a practice sacred to certain indigenous groups who have repeatedly condemned use by outsiders – I’m all too aware that the key issues that plague the modern wellness industry are in the room with us, too. 

We are a group of predominantly white women, sitting in a white room, in one of Auckland’s wealthiest, and whitest, city fringe suburbs. Taking from other cultures to serve our own rituals should be the most basic no-no: and yet I see it all the time, in too many yoga studios and meditation classes to count. It doesn’t need to be this way: there are many other ways we can achieve enlightenment, find inner stillness and connect with each other.

The commodification of connection also troubles me. In some ways, paying for two hours of sharing feels transactional, as easy as hitting up UberEATS for a burrito bowl. Money in, connection out. I’m not sure I buy it – and at the price point many of these women’s circles go for (anywhere from $40 up to over $100) I’m not sure many others would buy it, either. 

Yet, genuine connection seems increasingly rare in our world. Recently, I spent my entire bus ride to work looking down at my phone – completely missing an old university friend sitting one row ahead of me, doing the same thing. Could paying for a women’s circle be like paying for an exercise class, relearning how to flex an old muscle?

I’m forced to pause my constant stream of inner discourse, because the woman to my right has passed me a large rose quartz crystal: it’s my turn to speak. I mutter something about gratitude, wanting to stay in the present, needing to find time for myself. The nine pairs of eyes looking back at me are kind, attentive, open.

It’s time to pair off – we are encouraged to identify something we are feeling challenged by in life, and to share this with our chosen partner. I expected to feel more nervous, but instead find myself engaged in a conversation that skips the small stuff and goes straight for the jugular: work-stress and life milestones and social comparison and living up to family expectations and discomfort and regret and grief and all of the messiness it takes to make a life. 

After, I feel genuinely lighter. It felt good to share – and equally good to be trusted to listen to someone else. It seems we all feel the same, too: the stiff formality in the room has loosened, we lie on our stomachs or curled up in comfortable positions, eyes brighter and smiles easier. 

We now arrive at the breathwork section of the session. Our facilitator demonstrates – cheeks puff out like a fish on the exhale, air sucked through a straw on the inhale. I’m unsure what to think: I’ve done yoga breathing and meditation before, but this is different. It’s a half-hour of lying on our backs, breathing repeatedly and forcefully to a soundscape of tribal drumming and chanting. 

At first, my mind resists, but I am soon drawn into the sound of nine women breathing in unison. In, out, in out. It’s a powerful sound, and somewhere along the way, I forget myself. I don’t cry or feel the tingling in my fingers and toes I was warned about, but I do feel something: somewhere in the rhythm of the breath, my busy head-noise gets turned all the way down. 

When we return to our seated circle, it seems some women have been profoundly moved, even to tears. Coming to a close, the room of nervous strangers has been transformed. People hug, trade numbers, hug again. 

Back into the day, I’m sitting at the bus stop, yoga mat on my lap, reflecting on the past two hours.

The reservations I have about certain aspects of the alternative wellness industry are still very much real. 

I still don’t believe we need to plunder and commodify cultural traditions to achieve enlightenment. I think we should be cautious about the exclusionary nature of language around the “divine feminine”. And I still have questions about putting a price tag on connection, and what that says about the state of our world.

However, it would be too easy to use these reservations to write off the good stuff. And there was plenty of good stuff: the morning provided real moments of genuine vulnerability and care, and those moments were clearly impactful for the women in the room – me included. Wrapping our time in ritual and meditation felt integral to this, too.

I don’t know where I stand on women’s circles, at least not in their current format. But I do know that I feel tangibly lighter walking away: less stressed, and more mentally clear, which was exactly what was promised on the tin. 

And I do know that, when the bus pulls up, I greet the driver with a smile, and he smiles back, and I notice his eyes are a piercing shade of blue. 

As I settle into my seat, the toddler in the stroller across from me drops her toy – I hand it back to her mother and she smiles, too. I ask her about her day, and she answers, and asks about mine.

It feels good. I forget to look at my phone until I’m all the way home.