October 2025 - Reclaiming Sovereignty After Control
This Aries Supermoon arrives like a warrior standing at the threshold, one who remembers their own agency, their power, their right to choice. This warrior reclaims the ground of their own body, the authourity of their own voice, and the sacred right to self-determination. It feels profoundly fitting that this moon rises in October, Domestic Violence Awareness Month, when we collectively pause to honour survivors and to acknowledge the shadows of control that so often silence or confine.
For survivors, the question of sovereignty isn’t abstract, it is personal, urgent, and often born from pain. To speak of control under this moon is to speak of survival, of what it costs to live in systems and relationships where control was weaponized.
I know these themes intimately, because I lived them. I was just 18 when I met my abuser. He was 27 — the same age I am now — and I can see so clearly how young I really was. At the time, I thought I was grown, independent, making my own choices. But what I couldn’t see was how easy it was for someone older, more experienced, and manipulative to control me. For nearly three years, I lost myself inside his orbit. What began as love-bombing and subtle manipulation eventually escalated into screaming, coercion, financial control, and physical violence. By the end, I was being choked, slapped, shoved into the floor and tables, pushed out of cars, and locked out of the house in the dead of winter with nothing but a towel. My world had become so small that I thought I had no way out.
In abuse, control is never about guidance or care, it is a tool of domination. It was sharpened, weaponized, and wielded against me. It dictated how I dressed, how I spoke, how I moved through the world. It convinced me that love was conditional, and that safety could only be borrowed from someone else. It convinced me that love is earned by obedience and that safety depends on keeping someone else satisfied. Over time, this control slipped into the nervous system, teaching me to monitor myself more harshly than anyone else ever could.
And so my perfectionism was amplified, as a strategy of survival. If I can be perfect enough, maybe I won’t be hurt. If I can anticipate every need, maybe I won’t be abandoned. If I can control myself completely, maybe I will be safe.
But perfectionism is not safety. Control is not care.
Both are illusions that keep us small.
Sovereignty is something different. Sovereignty is the slow, courageous reclamation of your life as your own. It is not about controlling another or even controlling yourself, it is about remembering that you are the one who chooses. It’s not the illusion of power that abuses and diminishes, but the truth of power that restores and creates. To reclaim sovereignty is to remember that your life belongs to you; your body, your voice, your presence.
It is saying no when your body tightens. It is saying yes when your heart stirs. It is recognizing that trust is not something someone else earns, but something you extend when you trust your own ability to discern, to risk, to recover if things go wrong.
When I finally escaped the control of my abuser, I didn’t just leave him, I had to begin the long, deliberate journey of reclaiming myself. Sovereignty, for me, was not about snapping my fingers and suddenly being “free.” It was about learning, slowly and painstakingly, that my body, my breath, my choices belonged to me again. It was about noticing the tension in my throat when I hesitated to speak up, feeling the tightness in my chest when I tried to work through a painful memory, and allowing myself to move through spaces I had once been afraid of taking up space in.
Reclamation meant practicing trust in myself when every instinct told me I was too broken, too fragile, too inexperienced to “get it right”. It was about discovering that safety was not something someone else could grant me, it had to be built from the inside out, brick by brick, choice by choice. It was risking connection on my own terms, deciding when to say yes and when to say no, learning that both could exist without fear of annihilation.
Reclaiming myself meant daring to feel the full spectrum of my emotions without shame; rage that had been muted, grief that had been buried, joy that had been denied, and desire that had been suppressed. It was giving my body permission to remember what it felt like to move freely, to occupy space without apology, to exhale fully and without fear. It was remembering that I could choose — for myself, by myself — and that each choice, no matter how small, was a sacred act of rebellion and healing.
And even now, years later, it is still a practice I return to. Sovereignty is not a destination; it is a muscle, a rhythm, a conversation with myself that I must continually engage in. Every breath, every step, every word spoken on my own terms is a reclamation. Every time I honour my body’s wisdom, every time I trust my instincts, every time I risk connection without losing myself, I reclaim a piece of the life that was stolen from me.
This Aries moon whispers: What choices are truly yours to reclaim? What choice can you make now that brings you closer to yourself?
Sovereignty is not a crown we wear, it is a practice we return to. It is saying no without apology. It is saying yes without fear. It is allowing yourself to risk connection again, even after betrayal, because you know that your trust is not a gamble but a choice rooted in self-trust.
Perfectionism and control are strategies of survival, but they are not the same as safety. True safety comes from presence, the moment you exhale and allow yourself to feel. Sovereignty lives in that exhale.
For survivors, sovereignty is not an instant arrival but a practice. It’s the trembling exhale when you decide you don’t have to hold it all together anymore. It’s feeling the rage, the grief, the exhaustion in your body and allowing them to move through rather than keeping them caged. It’s risking connection again because you know you can trust yourself to walk away if you need to.
Sovereignty is built in the small moments.
Somatic Reflections for Sovereignty
Notice the Grip: Tune into your body right now, close your eyes and scan. Where are you gripping, bracing, or holding? Can you soften, even by one degree?
Claim Your Body: Place a hand on your chest or belly and say quietly: This body is mine. This breath is mine. This choice is mine. Repeat as long as you need to feel even the smallest of shifts.
Move Your Body: Move in a way that only you choose to a song that evokes a feeling you want to practice embodying; a small sway, a stomp, a gesture, a stillness. Let your body feel what agency tastes like. No one gets to decide how your body expresses except you.
Practice Risk: Where can I risk a no today? Where can I risk a yes? What small act reminds me that my life is my own? Let small acts of choice remind you that your sovereignty is alive.
Release ritual: Write down the ways you’ve tried to control yourself to stay “safe.” Burn the paper. Watch the ash scatter. Feel your body open to the unknown.
Reclaiming sovereignty after control is not a single act but a lifelong remembering. This month, under the light of the Aries Supermoon, may you feel the warrior in you, standing fully in the sacred reclamation of choosing yourself.
This month, I want to invite you to consider what sovereignty means for you. Maybe you’ve lived through abuse too. Maybe control still echoes in your body. Or maybe perfectionism has kept you small even outside of relationships. Wherever you find yourself, sovereignty is about remembering that you have the right to choose, and that choosing yourself is not selfish, it’s healing, it’s liberation.
My story is one of millions, and every survivor’s path is unique. But if there’s one truth I hold close, it’s this: sovereignty is your birthright. No one can give it to you, and no one can take it away. The practice is remembering, again and again, that you are yours.
With love,
Zofia
