Pulling Off the Leeches: A Full Moon Reflection on Trauma and Letting Go

Leeches are gross. Let's just get that out of the way. Most of us would recoil at the idea of one attaching itself to our skin. And yet—these creatures still have a place in modern medicine. Why? Because they have a unique gift: they secrete an anticoagulant that keeps blood flowing, even after they're gone.

If you've ever had a trauma bond—an unhealthy emotional attachment forged through repeated cycles of harm—you may know something about this. Sometimes we hold on to people, patterns, or beliefs that have latched onto us in ways that feel familiar, even comforting in their pain. And when we finally gather the strength to pull them off? It hurts. We bleed. Not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually. The wound doesn’t just close up right away.

Just like with leech therapy, when you remove the source, the bleeding often continues. It can take time to scab over, to heal, to stop aching when you bump it against the rhythms of everyday life. And even when healing comes, you might still have a scar—a mark, a memory, a sensitivity that lingers.

But the leech is gone.
And that matters.
That is everything.

Have you ever noticed how your own thoughts can act like vampires—quietly draining your energy, feeding on your insecurities, sucking the light out of your day? Sometimes, it’s not about the people or the past anymore. Sometimes, it’s the patterns we’ve internalized—the ways we keep reattaching the leech ourselves. Our nervous systems, our thoughts, our conditioned responses—they all play a part.

This full moon is a powerful time for release. It illuminates what’s been hiding in the dark, what’s been draining us. It's a moment to say: I see you. I name you. I let you go. Even when it’s painful. Even when it feels like something vital is being torn away.

So today, I invite you into a ritual of release.
Name your leeches.
Name your vampires.
The thoughts, the stories, the inner critics.
Write them down. Burn the paper.
Scream into a pillow.
Cry.
Dance it out under the moonlight.
Do what your body needs to do to pull them off.

Yes, you might bleed.
Yes, it might ache for a while.
But you are making room for healing.
You are remembering that your energy, your light, your blood—belongs to you.

Let it flow. Let it clear. Let it close when it’s ready.
And know:
You are not your trauma.
You are not your thoughts.
You are the one who survived.
You are the healer now.