Firstly, because I believe that knowing and respecting plants as folk medicine is liberating, and it's a great gift to know how to use them in a gentle, reciprocal relationship. Hearing folklore is like listening to the voices of your ancestors. It's whispers from a time when everyone knew which plants to eat, which would cure illnesses or heal, and which to avoid.

Nowadays, most people in the UK suffer from what is known as “plant blindness”, a term used by botanists Elisabeth Schussler and James Wandersee. They describe it as “the inability to see or notice the plants in one’s own environment”. I wonder how many children today grow up knowing the shape of yarrow, meadowsweet, or hawthorn leaves. I bet it would be more likely they would recognise the team colours of football shirts or the emblem for Adidas. Many children grow up imagining dandelion and nettle only as weeds, without knowing them as medicine. Many of these plants grow abundantly all around us, even in towns and cities. They're accessible to all, but only if you know them.

Plantlore gives us a window into the past, too. It's impossible to know how ancient some pieces of folklore are or how many hundreds of years they've been passed on orally before they were ever written down. It gives us some of the plant's history, its story throughout time, and its relationship with humans.

Then there's the folklore that reminds us not to exploit these medicines. Like how we must remember to ask the Elder Mother for permission before snatching bag-fulls of Elderflowers to make fizzy pop - instead taking only a little so that there will be berries in Winter to make medicine to cure colds and flu. Or to never cut down the Hawthorn for firewood, for fear of bringing bad luck or faery wrath, which also means this highly medicinal, vital tree is protected from being felled.

My work weaves together Scottish Gaelic folklore, herbalism, and mythology. I love plants, and deepening my relationship to them is the most grounding practice I know. Folklore can be a powerful tool for helping us to reconnect to this beautiful Earth – and in doing so, we come home to ourselves.

I invite you to begin exploring this lore for yourself, perhaps starting first with the Gaelic names that hold magnificent stories. Perhaps by finding the folk names or common names that often preserve how the plant was used by people in the past. The relationship between plants and people is ancient.

And why stop with the plants? There are vivid, glorious stories to find in rivers and lochs, mountains and glens. Understanding the Gaelic meanings behind place names not only gives us a deeper connection to the landscape but also a glimpse into the animist beliefs of the people who named them. In Gaelic culture, the land was seen as alive, with mountains, rivers, and valleys often personified or imbued with spiritual significance. Place names often reflect this deep relationship, describing physical features but also hinting at the spirits or deities believed to inhabit them. They also lead us to more folklore!

There are more stories woven into these lands than you could ever discover in a lifetime, out there to be caught and held and enjoyed for a moment. But please, when you've found them and enjoyed them, throw them back. Then, someone else will stumble across them in the wild and wonderful places where they dwell.

Within even the smallest Chihuahua lies the fierce genetics of the wolf. Does the Chihuahua dream of the wolf? Throughout history, women have been socially conditioned to be docile, nurturing, and confined to domestic roles, much like how certain dog breeds have been selectively bred for smallness and companionship rather than hunting or survival. However, just as the Chihuahua still carries the genetic lineage of the wolf, women—regardless of societal expectations—retain the strength, autonomy, and primal instincts that patriarchal structures have often sought to tame.

In Nightbitch, Amy Adams notices her sense of smell becoming incredibly acute, something anyone who's been pregnant will recognise as one of the first signs something is changing in our physical bodies. Along with heightened senses, animalistic appetites and cravings, and sensitivities such as nipple tenderness, our bodies signal to us that a transformation is beginning. She craves meat, and she gets the urge to chase prey animals. She wants to run, to get dirty, to dig.

Modern motherhood, often idealised as nurturing and gentle, actually demands an immense amount of raw, survivalist energy. The roar that raises up inside my chest when I perceive any kind of threat to my son is terrifyingly intense. Nothing prepared me for the way my body reacted to MY newborn crying. Other babies sounded quiet, soft in comparison. My son's cries set off alarm bells in my whole body, and I was unable to hear anything else in the room. Nothing has ever felt more urgent to me.

The way my nervous system feels like it's on fire when I fear for his life (my son had multiple episodes of anaphylaxis in his first year on Earth) and the strength I pull from the depths of my very being to care for him even when I'm sick or injured - it all feels primal.

The insult "bitch" originates from the Old English word bicce, which simply meant "female dog." By the 14th century, it had begun to be used as a derogatory term for women, implying lewd or aggressive behavior. Over time, its meaning expanded to refer to someone (regardless of gender) as spiteful, submissive, or weak, especially in contexts of dominance and power dynamics. Words like bitch have long been used as tools of patriarchal control, functioning to police women’s behavior and keep them "small"—that is, compliant, quiet, and within the boundaries of traditional femininity.

So here we go. There are several mythological figures associated with dogs (specifically bitches) across different cultures. Here are a few notable examples:

Lupa (Roman Mythology) – While not a goddess, Lupa is the revered she-wolf who nursed Romulus and Remus, the legendary founders of Rome. She represents both motherhood and wild, primal instincts.

Skadi (Norse Mythology) – A goddess associated with winter, hunting, and wolves. While she doesn’t transform into a wolf, she is closely connected to them and wild nature.

Fenrir’s Mother (Norse Mythology) – Angrboda, a giantess and the mother of the wolf Fenrir, is sometimes associated with wolf-like traits, though she doesn’t explicitly transform into one.

Lycaon’s Myth (Greek Mythology) – While Lycaon himself is a man transformed into a wolf, some later versions of werewolf myths involve female deities or witches who take on wolf forms.

Hecate (Greek Mythology) – The goddess of witchcraft, crossroads, and transformation, Hecate is sometimes linked to dogs and wolves in her role as a shape-shifter and guide between worlds.

Let's dive a little deeper. In some traditions, Hecate is believed to have the ability to transform into a dog. She's frequently depicted with dogs, especially black dogs, which were considered sacred to her. In some stories, the howling of dogs was said to signal her approach.

In The Metamorphoses by Antoninus Liberalis, there is a myth in which the witch Hecuba (the queen of Troy) is transformed into a black dog after the fall of Troy and becomes an eternal servant of Hecate. Some later interpretations of Hecate still depict her as having the heads of animals, including dogs.

In Hesiod’s Theogony c. 700 BCE (lines 411–452) Hesiod describes Hecate as a powerful goddess with dominion over land, sea, and sky, granting favour to those she chooses. While no transformation is explicitly mentioned, this passage highlights her wide-ranging influence and connection to various realms, suggesting that she moves fluidly between forms or states of being.

Likewise in the Greek Magical Papyri 1st–4th century CE (PGM IV. 2785–2890) there's an invocation of Hecate as a goddess of magic and transformation. Some spells in the Greek Magical Papyri call on her to change forms or assist in shape-shifting rituals.

Finally in Pausanias’ Description of Greece, 2nd century CE (2.30.2) Pausanias mentions statues of Hecate with multiple heads, including that of a dog.

A woman's transformation into something wild and untamed could symbolise both empowerment and loss—an embrace of maternal instincts but also a rebellion against the constraints of domestic life. These stories are all testament to how motherhood is a radical, physical, and psychological metamorphosis, one that can be both terrifying and liberating.

The raw power I felt in my bones as I gave birth to my son was something otherworldly. In those moments, I felt supernaturally strong. Somehow, at my most physically exhausted, I tore open my own body to bring him into the world. The hours afterwards were euphoric, I was almost delirious, drunk on the feeling of power and awe at my own body, and drowning in oxytocin from studying the tiny human beging my body had created.

Somehow, a few weeks later, after little sleep, no showering, barely leaving the house or talking to adults, no time for even basic self care, nipples bleeding, milk leaking, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I couldn't fathom that this person was the same goddess who had so triumphantly birthed new life into the world. All of the messages from the world about my worth as a woman now I was a mother had fully sunken into my mind and dimmed my spirit.

But motherhood itself is not disempowering—what disempowers women is the way patriarchy has used it to limit our choices, agency, and influence. Without reliable support or affordable childcare, a stay at home parent often feels incredibly isolated and cut off from the things that formed their identity pre-parenthood. I no longer had time for my spiritual practices, to exercise, or see my friends. The fog of sleep deprivation meant reading books, writing, and even thinking about anything other than my baby felt almost impossible.

Three years on and I'm still putting the pieces of myself back together. I'm not the same. I have transformed, shape-shifted, and emerged an entirely new creature. And I like who she is, this mother creature. By resisting the idea that a "good mother" is a self-sacrificing, silent caretaker, maybe we can begin to challenge the structures designed to keep mothers small.

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Jumping right in…

If you've already been following Mama Moon Storytelling on Instagram for a while, you'll know that I don't have time for small talk. We'll be diving in at the deep end, into a pool of mythology connecting us to our true animal nature and the brutal, bloody transformation we undertake as we move through the birth portal. From Maiden to Mother.

I'm starting with the film Nightbitch, recently released starring Amy Adams, that'sour first doorway to this subject. We'll be looking at shape-shifting, werewolves, our true animal nature, and magical women in mythology.

I'm a storyteller based in Scotland, with a three year old son, and I'm still reeling from the intense metamorphosis that took place during my first pregnancy. Like the caterpillar that completely dissolves into cosmic gloop to emerge as a new fully formed creature, I'm still wondering why we don't talk about this more - how women and birthing people become completely undone at the seams, becoming a rich primordial soup to then pass through a bloody, brutal portal into this new found identity as a mother. I'm not the same as before I birthed my son. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. While the world screams ‘bounce back!’ my soul is brand new, shaking and wobbly-legged stepping into the light for the first time.

Buckle up because it's the first of many wild rides we'll experience together!

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Mama Moon 🌙

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