Sheela-na-gig & Lichen Sclerosus
A healing story…
Sheila-na-gigs are carvings of female images depicted as posing in a manner which accentuates that most powerfully evocative symbol - the vulva. —Jack Roberts, The Sheela-na-gigs of Ireland
A Monkey Flower bloomed on the patio in a large terracotta pot. I admired it through the bathroom window, having never seen or grown one before or after. I did not, however, admire the fruiting body of large fungi that also “bloomed” inside the bathroom window simultaneously. Mushroom gills appeared seemingly overnight and protruded from the window frame’s edge beneath a leak in the ceiling. The landlord didn’t fix it. Black mold began to spread across the wall and ceiling. Breathing became affected, and my lungs rattled and filled with fluid. My sinuses swelled and burned in an allergic response. I turned deathly ill.
I had to leave and flee Asheville in January 2018, an exile from my house. I stayed with a friend who gave me a haven until my husband, and I found a better place to rent. The recent construction of an apartment building nearby had caught our eye. Well-built with high ceilings and good ventilation throughout, we signed a lease and became its first tenants. In the weeks following our move, I used an inhaler to help me breathe and slept upright in a recliner until my lungs began to recover.
During those same weeks, skin in one of my most sensitive and delicate areas erupted with a painful and itching lesion. Sick from the mold and overwhelmed by the move, I struggled to put it out of my mind. Initially, I used rose otto essential oil to calm the irritation with minor relief. I needed answers. When I finally went to the doctor, he called it a “disease.” I had lichen sclerosus on my vulva.
The personal nature of my itching condition and the surprising feeling of shame kept me from talking about it, even at first with my husband. I needed a better understanding. I needed to heal it.
The name “lichen sclerosus” originates from the Latin words “lichen,” meaning a type of fungus, and “sclerosus,” meaning hardened. But it has nothing to do with fungi other than in appearance. The name refers to skin lesions resembling lichen, a fungus found on rocks and trees. François Henri is the first person credited with using the term “lichen sclerosus” in the late 19th century, so it’s been around for a long time.
It may be coincidental that something named for a fungus erupted shortly after toxic mold exposure, but I knew instinctively that my “disease” had been triggered by mold sickness. Primarily diagnosed in postmenopausal women, lichen sclerosus (LS) is a chronic inflammatory autoimmune skin disease with a preference for the genitals in both men and women. In women, it appears on the vulva and is not contagious. According to Western Medicine, the cause of LS is unknown. It is supposedly incurable. But after seven years of itching, I finally healed it with the help of a good witch herbalist. So, I share this personal story with those who need hope to end their suffering and to provide an example of a holistic healing approach. If Sheela could expose her vulva – then I could write this story and expose mine, too!
The first doctor I saw wanted to give me a prescription for estrogen cream, but I refused. I knew better than to alter my hormones, no matter how strong of an argument he presented for “preserving the integrity of my tissues and preventing atrophy.” I don't believe low estrogen levels contribute to the development of LS, but Western Medicine considers all postmenopausal women to be estrogen deficient. That certainly wasn't true for me, but the doctor didn't believe that. Nor did he order any tests. He also prescribed lidocaine to numb the pain, which I used for about a week and then discontinued it. I don’t like being numb, and it didn’t stop the itching.
In the coming months, I focused on settling into our new apartment and tried different oils and creams to calm the fire between my legs. I tried MoonMaid Botanicals’ Vital Vulva, calendula oil, rose oil, chaparral salve, and a full-spectrum CBD salve. I tried dietary changes. I took vitamins and herbs to support my immune system. It all helped a little, but not enough. The itching flared up at night and made me wonder about the circadian rhythms of darkness and light, a rhythm the adrenals glands play an essential role in regulating by producing the hormone cortisol. Why the insane itching only at night? Then, I found Emu Aid, which finally gave me enough relief to allow me to sleep.
Later that same year, in September, I was invited to join the sold-out workshop group Ireland Stars and Stones, led by Daniel Giamario and Anyaa McAndrew. There had been a last-minute cancellation, and one of the participants who had already paid had passed away, so I was offered her spot with part of my expenses paid. I felt the ancestors and something beyond my control guided me toward Ireland.
Our tour group met with renowned author, researcher, and discoverer Jack Roberts in County Clare, Ireland. Jack is incredibly knowledgeable about the sacred sites in Ireland and a bit flirtatious with the women. Hired as our tour guide, he took us to visit the Shiela-na-gig prominently displayed above the entrance door to the old Killinaboy Church.
The image of Sheela-na-gig spread widely after the 12th century, reaching a zenith during the late medieval period. Sheila-na-gigs are stone carvings placed on many medieval churches above an entrance door or window. They are arcane figures carved in a tradition of symbolic rather than representational or realistic form, with earlier predecessors of the Sheelas carved in wood. The few surviving idols share the same archaic art form. The accentuated vulva appears to have been the central and most powerful symbol for virtually all older cultures since remote antiquity. It is a miracle that she survived. Considered heretical, she began to disappear after the puritanical takeover of the Celtic/Irish religious system.
Christianity formed a thin veil over pre-Christian thought in Ireland which was slow to change. Early Christianity absorbed the symbolism of earlier pagan religions, and the ancient pagan goddesses became the new Christian saints. The Sheila-na-gigs are images of pagan goddesses whose worship goes back far beyond the Christian era. In her hag form, which occurs frequently in mythology, the goddess is a grotesque, older woman seen as possessed with supernatural powers. Pilgrims who journey to certain Sheela-na-gig shrines still rub the vulva, a common practice thought to bring healing. The exposed vulva of the figures is considered to have great magical power and the ability to “turn the evil eye” and avert misfortune. In 1936, Edith Guest records a meeting with an Irish woman who understood Sheela-na-gig to mean an old woman of the type also known as “hag.”
I returned from Ireland determined to invoke the healing of Sheela-na-gig. Since LS is a skin disease, I decided to make an appointment with a dermatologist. He referred me to a vulvar specialist. Did you know there is an International Society for the Study of Vulvovaginal Disease (ISSVD)? I certainly didn’t until I met Dr. Windover, who seemed curious about my condition. In 2020, ISSVD declared LS the “disease of the year.”
Flat on my back on the exam table and with my feet up in stirrups, Windover asked if she could take pictures of my vulva with a special camera, to which I agreed. She said it would help her to monitor the progression of my “disease” and then asked if I had used a mirror to have a look at it myself. I said I had. And then she confirmed that I suffered from LS, not lichen planus, a different chronic inflammatory skin condition believed to be an autoimmune disorder, which I had already suspected.
I’m not particularly shy about female genitalia, having been a midwife. As a childbirth educator, I encouraged women to use a mirror and become familiar with their vaginal changes. However, the changes I saw in the mirror were not the normal healthy changes of a pregnancy. The mirror reflected pink, healthy tissue turning a greyish white. The lesions and itching started at the site of a perineal tear where I had scar tissue from giving birth to my daughter. Windover assured me that was typical. I thought of the tears more like abrasions that had healed quickly and well. If an autoimmune condition had resulted from systemic mold exposure, why the vulva? What was the connection? Western Medicine didn’t know. If scar tissue was more vulnerable or susceptible, why not other scar tissue? If I hadn’t been an older woman, would it have shown up as something else? Why did I feel shame about it? These questions eluded me.
Dr. Windover looked to be in her early forties. She was attractive with dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair worn loose around her shoulders, and had a relaxed bedside manner. I liked her. But like most doctors, she did her best to instill fear.
I got up off the exam table and sat down next to Windover.
“This could become cancerous if you don’t stop the lesions,” she warned and prescribed Clobetasol, a corticosteroid ointment. I was to use it twice daily, slowly tapering down to twice weekly over four weeks.
“So, will this cure it?” I asked, hopeful.
“No, there is no cure. And you will most likely need to continue with the steroid ointment a few times a week,” she said, nodding in a manner to secure my compliance.
“You mean, like, for the rest of my life?” I queried.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she replied.
That did not sit well with me, so I pressed further. “Have you ever had someone you’ve seen with this condition find a way to heal it?”
“No, not really,” she answered casually and somewhat guardedly.
I saw an opening. “No one? I mean not one person has ever healed it?”
“Well, there was this one woman…” she said rolling her eyes.
“Tell me about her,” I said.
“Well, she was different. She did kooky stuff like past life regressions and astrology readings. I think she went to an acupuncturist and used some herbs.” I needed to hear this story, but she didn’t want to be telling it. If one woman could her LS, then so could I.
I decided to fill the prescription and follow her directions, hoping for relief while searching for other answers. For a few months, it did give me relief. Toward the end of my treatment, however, I started having persistent watery diarrhea. I had never experienced anything like it. After a couple of weeks, if something didn't change, I would be headed for the hospital. So, I scheduled another doctor’s appointment thinking it might be parasites or a bug. The tests came back negative. The doctor had no answers, and that scared me. By that point, the diarrhea had been relentless for a solid month and I was getting weak and dehydrated, so I started praying.
Standing before my ancestor altar, I lit a candle and sage bundle, smudged the altar and myself, asked for help, and open myself to receive guidance. Then, a message came.
“Read the packet insert,” the voice said.
“What?” I asked in surprise. “The packet insert?!”
“Yes. Read the packet insert. Again,” the voice gently demanded.
Then it dawned on me. Clobetasol. I had kept the unused portion of the ointment and its insert. I always read the packet insert, but perhaps I missed something. And I had. I walked straight into the bathroom, retrieved the small, long white box it had come in, opened it, and pulled out a long, thin page covered in small black letters. Unfolding it, I put on my reading glasses, spread it on the table, and reread it. Under “Precautions,” it warned of manifestations of Cushing Syndrome along with a long list of symptoms, all of which I had, including diarrhea. I didn’t know anything about Cushing Syndrome the first time I read the precautionary list, so I had skipped over it. Clobetasol had crashed my adrenals and thrown me into Cushing Syndrome. I had found the cause of my diarrhea.
I was furious. Cushing Syndrome is a hormonal disorder caused by high levels of cortisol and, in my case, the use of a corticosteroid. The adrenal glands produce cortisol, and mine were exhausted from a strong prescription medication I had taken as a child for mold allergies. LS, for me, was in many ways an allergic response, i.e., an autoimmune reaction, that had gone to a deeper level. Windover hadn't considered this; she hadn't even asked or looked at this part of my medical history. Nor did the doctor who tested me for parasites consider Clobetasol as a possible cause of my diarrhea. My mind returned to the circadian rhythms of darkness and light, and the adrenal connection. The ancestors had perfectly guided me to the answer. I suspect they are the same ones that guided me to Ireland and Sheela-na-gig.
The medical system had failed me. I wasn’t surprised. But the diarrhea had to stop, so I went to my acupuncturist, who gave me a Chinese formula. The diarrhea that had persisted for over a month stopped within 24 hours.
The relief Clobetasol gave me was short-lived. For the next six years, I would suffer from periodic lesions and nightly itching with some relief from the Emu Aid. I tried many things, but nothing made a significant difference. Sugar and days when I didn’t take a shower seemed to make the itching more aggravated. I even tried moving to the desert and a dryer climate to avoid mold exposure. Over time, the lesions grew more frequent, but it wasn’t until I felt ready to dive into the question of “Why the shame?” that I began to make some progress.
The charged feelings of shame around my sexuality challenged me. I loved my husband deeply, and we have a loving, committed relationship. With the vaginal discomfort, I wasn’t able to receive him in the way that I wanted to. I worked on my feelings of not being good enough. He had a Catholic upbringing and married his high school sweetheart and the mother of his children. I had been a promiscuous teenager and married three times before. I had missed the mark. I thought I couldn’t give him the same purity that he offered me—a judgement on my part, not his. Accepting my guilt for my choices finally broke something loose in me. I had long rebelled against and denied feeling guilt. So, I asked myself, “Who am I that LS should happen to me?” I searched my heart for the answers. Loving myself and not seeking it from sexual partners or anyone else helped me to break through. It allowed me to honor all parts of myself as sacred. An incredible sweetness after 25 years of marriage, I became even more receptive to my husband’s love. And what happened next was astounding.
When my regular massage therapist couldn’t fit me into her schedule, she referred me to a new therapist in town, Maggie. When I walked into Maggie’s massage room, the herbs in her extensive apothecary were the first thing I noticed, aside from the calmness. It smelled like coming home. Having never wanted to talk to anyone about my condition to her, I opened up for the first time. To my surprise, she had heard of lichen sclerosis. I also told her about the shame it had brought up for me around my sexuality. Then she looked down and got really quiet. I waited.
“I’m getting that there are two plants that want to work with you,” she said, looking up. “They are Usnea and Monkey Flower.”
“Monkey Flower?” I said, shocked. Monkey Flower is used in herbal medicine as a flower essence. The only time I ever grew Monkey Flower was when I lived in a house with toxic mold. It was a clear sign that she was on to something.
“Have you ever worked with Monkey Flower before?” I asked her.
“Nope.”
“Have you ever seen or grown a Monkey Flower plant before?”
“Nope,” she repeated. Maggie is a woman of few words.
I told her about Monkey Flower’s timely blooming outside the window where the mold broke out and that I took it as a sign. She smiled.
“And what about Usnea?” I asked her. “That’s an herb with an affinity for the lungs. How does that connect to the vulva?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s just what showed up in your energy field.”
Molly is an incredibly intuitive woman. And I have always trusted that the plants show up when we are ready to receive them.
We are as close to our medicine as we are right now. —Thea Summer Deer, Wisdom of the Plant Devas: Herbal Medicine for a New Earth
I started to think out loud. “Usnea for the lungs — a lichen usually used for its antibiotic properties, it is also used to treat grief. In Chinese Medicine, the Metal Element's emotion is grief, and the corresponding yin organ is the lungs.” Then it clicked. I still needed to grieve. The thought made me cry, so I knew it was true. I needed to grieve the loss of an idealized sexuality. The one sold to us as girls. The virgin myth and its shame are such an old story whose guilt the image of Sheela-na-gig has banished. I had lived too long with that guilt deeply buried and compartmentalized. I guess that is why it took 25 years in a loving marriage and seven years of itching to embrace it finally. Healing takes as long as it takes.
I took the Usnea tincture as directed, and the itching stopped within days. It’s been a miracle. I could feel the herb working deep in my lungs, clearing out the grief and the mold that had made me sick. Mold Illness is also known as Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome (CIRS). CIRS is an acquired condition characterized by immune dysregulation following respiratory exposure to mold. Autoimmunity is a symptom. LS is an autoimmune “disease.” Based on a reductionist view, Medical science is not so good at connecting the dots. Energetic Medicine is a gestalt view where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. We need both views in a truly integrative model. I never forgot Dr. Windover’s patient, who healed her LS and showed me what else was possible. I didn’t lose heart. Our dis-ease holds the key to our healing and restoration. Fear not—our medicine is never any further than we are right now.
Dedicated to Jack Roberts, a name synonymous with some of the most important archaeoastronomical discoveries at Irish megalithic monuments in the modern era. Jack was born in 1948 and died peacefully ate age 74 on June, 19 2024. One of his granddaughters is named Thea.
This, my dear Thea, was one incredible journey. I am thankful to have read it, and even more grateful to consider you to be a true and dear friend.
Profound on so many levels. Thank you for reporting the journey, the wisdom, and the healers you've encountered.