Zapotec Post-Earthquake Reconstruction | Oaxaca MX

Life has gifted us the opportunity to come together as women and reflect on menstruation and menopause. We believe every stage of life deserves to be lived with dignity and without pain.

Cinthia guided a workshop that helped us reconnect with powerful ancestral knowledge, reminding us that our territory is medicine and within it, we can find everything our bodies need. To our delight, twice as many women showed up as had originally registered, a clear sign of how deeply this topic resonates and how necessary it is to bring it into collective conversation.

We spoke about shame and guilt, emotions that many of us have long associated with menstruation. We talked about pain. We listened to many stories: honest, brave, and deeply resonant.

As part of this gathering, we went on a walk through the village to identify and collect medicinal plants growing in the hills and along the roads. We found so much plants that had been forgotten, no longer used, but still remembered by local healers and grandmothers. Together, we confirmed the healing magic of these plants, passed down through generations.

Our compañera Mirna knew countless remedies; compañera Ángela brought flor de mayo (guiechachi – zapoteco) and guava leaves from her garden. We spoke about cordoncillo and lengua de vaca, used by traditional healers to ease headaches.

We then prepared the medicines. We started with floral waters, extracting essential oils with alcohol. These sweet-scented blends reminded us why flowers bloom so brightly in the Istmo de Tehuantepec With guiechachi, jasmine, and flor de Japón, we created a refreshing mist, traditionally used for heaviness and headaches.

We also made mother tinctures for challenges related to menstruation and menopause. Each of us brought different symptoms into the space: menstrual cramps, high cholesterol and triglycerides, hormonal imbalances, low libido, urinary infections, insomnia, depression, anxiety, and digestive issues.

Finally, we learned how to make herbal oils using ingredients like rosa de castilla, pericón, avocado oil, and haragán oil. The richness of this experience was overwhelming. We felt full: of knowledge, of healing, and of the joy of finding a remedy for each pain, a medicine for each sister.

We were also blessed by the presence of Luna, a Colombian singer-songwriter whose healing songs embraced and uplifted our collective experience.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for helping us breathe life into collective and local health. We are reclaiming our agency to heal with the plants of our land. There is still a long road ahead, but we know this land of women healers will soon awaken the medicine of the plants here in Mixtequilla.

Knowing that so many of us experience violence daily—in our homes, in our communities—led us to a profound realization: we need spaces where we can listen to each other, share our stories, and raise awareness. We refuse to let this way of life be considered normal. That is why we invited Zharelly, a woman we deeply admire, to guide a disruptive anti-violence campaign created by the women of the "Mapping Our Territory" program in Santa María Mixtequilla.

When the women arrived at the workshop, they didn’t know what to expect. But as soon as they realized we would be talking about the violence we experience, they eagerly joined in. They shared their stories, their pain, their struggles. One of them told us how she managed to leave a violent partner, even without the support of her own family. This made us reflect: why is it that so many of us lack the tools to break free from oppression?

As we spoke, those living with men recognized in their own lives the different forms of machista violence. We knew we couldn’t stop at conversation alone. We needed to make all that pain visible, to transform it into something tangible—something people could see, something those who harm us could no longer ignore.

That’s when the ideas began to flow. The younger women proposed taking our messages to the streets—filling the town with color and words that would spark reflection. We painted signs, created prints, and wrote powerful messages. And what came next were even bigger dreams. We wanted to bring these workshops into schools, so young people could recognize different forms of violence and transform their relationships.

But we also dreamed of reviving mutual support networks. "As a farmer, I wish I could call on my community like in the old days—to work together, to help each other. If they helped me with my crops, I would offer breakfast to everyone. That way, we support one another and we listen to each other," said Doña Ángela. Her words stayed with us: solidarity is also a form of resistance.

Every moment in the workshop was meaningful, but one exercise left a lasting impact: "The Marks of Violence." Each woman traced a silhouette and symbolized on it what her body experiences in the face of injustice and discrimination. One woman shared how, after enduring abuse, she lost the ability to feel pleasure. She felt chained—bound, both in body and mind. To cope, she had tried to numb her emotions, to stop feeling altogether.

Zharelly left us with a question that lingers: "After this campaign, I keep asking myself over and over—what are the marks of resilience? The certainties, the hopes, the motivations that women hold onto as they face this reality? There is such a deep need to be heard, such an urgency to create spaces of trust and safety where we can find ways to resist injustice."

To everyone who helped make this first anti-violence campaign possible in Santa María Mixtequilla—thank you. This is a giant step toward reclaiming our voices, our lives, and our territory.