With Moon Menstrual Doula + Postpartum Doula, Glasgow (2026)

03/07/2025

Herbs for the Menstrual Phase 🌿🌕
A live workshop held in rhythm with inner & outer summer.
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This season we’re sitting with raspberry leaf, yarrow, and hibiscus—plants that soothe cramps, nourish blood, support release, and hold us in the intensity of the descent.
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This workshop is part of our Menstrual Medicine course, unfolding over the four seasons. Whether you’re bleeding now, preparing to, or guiding others through these rites—this class is for you.
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📅 Monday 7th July
📍 Online
🌀 3 hours of cyclical, embodied learning
🎟 £55
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You’ll leave with practical herbal knowledge, seasonal ritual, and a deeper intimacy with your wombspace.
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🌿 DM me or email redtentrosie@gmail.com if you’d like to join
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21/06/2025

🌞 solstice from the inside out
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This solstice didn’t look like dance circles or flower crowns.
It looked like candlelight and aching limbs.
Like my baby on my chest and petals in my hands.
Roses and elderflowers from the cemetery I’ve come to love—
the first green place I knew when I landed here
alone, full-bellied, with a toddler at my side.
The veil between worlds felt thin then—it still does.
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I stayed up late one evening, light still bright, against the hum of exhaustion, to make a remedy from what I foraged:
wild roses, elderflowers, young nettles, strawberries, honey, vinegar.
An oxymel of the turning season.
Medicine from a liminal space.
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This solstice has been about tending my own threshold. The tendency is to overextend now —the light is long, the days full, the harvests plentiful, and the children… never quite asleep.
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But I’ve been practicing retreat.
Saying no to the outward pull and instead choosing tea from my little garden planted so late in the season, moxa on my belly, cupping on my back, and deep care of this body—
postpartum, mothering alone, doing it all.
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So I can keep giving. Without burning out.
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This season points outward, yes.
But for me, this year, it also points inward.
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If your solstice pointed inward too, I’d love to hear what came through 🌻

08/06/2025

The other day I lifted my 3-year-old across the monkey bars
while nursing my 8-week-old in a sling.
It was drizzling. My hair was wild with wind.
And I knew it then —
that I’d be okay.
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Not because it’s easy.
Because it’s not.
But because I’ve learned to hold all of it:
the chaos, the ache, the ordinary magic of this season.
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This photo captures something of that —
the softness and the strength, the mess and the miracle,
the way we’re all floating together.
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I’m still deep in it. Still bleeding, still nursing, still finding my feet.
But I feel something stirring.
A rising.
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Soon, I’ll be offering nourishment from this place —
for mothers, for bleeders, for children.
From my kitchen, from my grief, from the plants that have carried me through.
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It’s not quite time.
But it’s coming.
🌿

31/05/2025

Today would have been our 11th wedding anniversary.
But we are no longer.
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This week, I was held in a Closing of the Bones ceremony.
Held on the very ground, in the very spot, where I birthed our child.
My body swaddled in shawls, my story pulsing through the drum—
the very drum I made in the cycle I conceived him.
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It was a ceremony for all the endings:
– The pregnancy that carried me through a storm
– The sacred 40 days of tending and tethering
– And the end of my husband’s presence in my body, forever
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As the rhythm of the drum moved through me, I felt him leave.
And I felt myself return.
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So much has unraveled since December.
A continent crossed.
A rupture faced.
A new home created, alone and pregnant.
A fire walked through.
A birth.
A burial.
A becoming.
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This is not a happy anniversary.
But it is a holy one.
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There is grief.
And there is grace.
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For anyone navigating their own season of endings:
You are not alone.
There is beauty in the burial.
There is alchemy in the closing.
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🌑 Photo and ceremony by the wonderful

25/05/2025

✨ Golden Cake for the Mother’s Table ✨
with spelt, saffron, yogurt, pomegranate & ghee
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In the quiet hours between breastfeeding and basketfuls of laundry, I return to the kitchen—my altar, my hearth. I stirred saffron threads into warm milk with a sleepy babe in my sling and a toddler mirroring my moves, folded ghee into ancient spelt, and drizzled a little orange into the mix—not zest, but juice, so it wouldn’t speak too loud.
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This cake rose slow and golden, studded with the ruby seeds of pomegranate brought to me by a friend, gently tangy with yogurt, and fragrant with cardamom and longing. It’s not fancy. It’s not fussy. But it’s sacred.
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This is kitchen herbalism:
✨ making nourishment from what’s on hand
✨ honoring the herbs we cook with, not just brew
✨ trusting that beauty heals—even the crumbs
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I drizzled it with a quick glaze: yogurt, honey, rose, a few saffron threads softened in the glow of the morning sun. A slice for me and my boy. A slice for the ancestors. A slice for the ones to come.
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🌾 Spelt grounds.
🧈 Ghee to rebuild.
🌝 Saffron uplifts.
💧 Yogurt soothes.
🍊 A splash of orange to brighten.
🌹 Rose to soften the heart.
♥️ And pomegranate, to feed the blood.
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🌿🌿 Swipe for the recipe
Or would you rather come by and break bread with me?

18/05/2025

Spending more time in the kitchen + under the trees lately. Still learning to pace myself and honor what my postpartum body needs. Life continues to bring its share of pain, but the sunshine has been good medicine… as is nourishment and cuddles from my boys. A few recent moments from this tender season 🌞 (the non-baby photo dump ones are tulsi + orange peel granola 🤌, my tinctured placenta, and my current matcha blend with tremella, fennel, rose and vanilla)

11/05/2025

Not everything that’s ‘high vibe’ is healing.
Not everything that sparkles is light.
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I’ve seen it in the wellness community—people getting gaslit for speaking truthfully about their pain. For naming the darkness they carry. For refusing to bypass their grief, rage, fear, shame.
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And I’ve been one of them.
Told to ‘raise my vibration.’
Told to ‘wake up and smile.’
Told to ‘be positive.’
Told that my wounds or blood made others uncomfortable.
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And while a smile certainly does help, it doesn’t erase the pain.
This is what I’ve learned:
The shadow is not your enemy. It’s your invitation.
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Transcendence is about inhabiting your humanity.
All of it.
The sacred rage.
The quiet sorrow.
The pain.
The deep grief.
The darkness that gestates rebirth.
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I’ve walked through the dark more times than I can count—not just in these past 6 months of heartbreak, but across a lifetime of silent battles with illness, pain and the depression that comes with what the world doesn’t see or acknowledge.
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But the darkness has been my greatest teacher, and I don’t shy away from this space. And neither should you. Anyone that asks you to dim your truth for their comfort is projecting their own unhealed shadow.
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This is what I teach. This is how I guide.
Not pretending to be healed, but toward becoming whole 🌌
Toward learning how to mother yourself.
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What’s been helping me to explore my shadow side lately:
🖤 ‘s Microdosing & Motherhood course
🖤 .the.spiritual.scientist ‘s Dark Signs
🖤 Existential Kink by Dr. Carolyn Elliott
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If your shadow has ever been shamed, you’re not alone. There’s gold in what you carry. There’s medicine in who you are becoming.

02/05/2025

For 6 weeks I’ve been in my new home—3 weeks before giving birth, and 3 weeks since.
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This time I’m doing my 40 days the way I want to. No pressure for going out for walks before I’m ready. No unnecessary appointments. No guilt. I haven’t left my home yet and that’s okay.
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It’s not the exact scenario I was hoping for—when I do finally emerge, I’ll have one extra child but no partner; very different than what my life looked like before this pregnancy, and I’m replenishing for what’s awaiting me on the other side.
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And so I’m leaning hard into the birthright that we all should be allowed to claim: resting up as much as I need to, allowing my organs to settle and my tear to heal. Making up the sleep lost at night and mending my heart and nervous system from what I’ve endured during this pregnancy: moving house twice (once during the pukey days of the first trimester, once at the very end), being dumped and having my heart broken by my love, travelling to America and back with my toddler without the fit-to-fly form that I was meant to carry, flat hunting and manifesting this new home, getting my life in order, and freebirthing my baby.
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But you shouldn’t have to endure anything other than the beautiful, transformative tapestry of pregnancy and birth to relish in the cozy days/daze of postpartum. This is essential for preserving our health and vitality; to be able to keep on giving to our families and communities from a full cup. Doing so is linked with an easeful menopause, the next rite of passage. And also, you just deserve the healing and rest, from the inside out.
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So this is where I am. Not frolicking around for Beltane but instead honouring the union of the divine feminine and masculine within. Cuddling with my little ones. Writing and dreaming and eating and reading witchy fiction.
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And when I do emerge from my cocoon, I can’t wait to serve some of the same to Glasgow’s postpartum folk 💗

With Moon Menstrual Doula + Postpartum Doula

03/07/2025

21/06/2025

08/06/2025

31/05/2025

25/05/2025

18/05/2025

11/05/2025

02/05/2025

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