Her hair is knotty, a little wild, and smells like the incense that is always burning around her home, which is white, pure inside and out, the doors and windows always thrown open to welcome in the breeze, friends, family and strangers.

Her eyes look deep into your soul, reflecting the darkest parts right back at you in their cobalt blue. At the same time, she holds you and all of your wounds gently. Without saying a word, she reassures you that everything is going to be ok.

Somehow, without effort or knowing, she appears each morning on the front porch in an assortment of perfectly imperfect bohemian dresses, layers and textures of treasures. Her handmade coffee mug is held religiously, along with her books and journals.

Her voice is deep and commanding and light as air all at the same time, holding the attention of everyone within earshot. It’s as though she has some sort of magical power to slice gently into the air of a room by simply entering.

It was a smothering, humid day in summer when I first noticed that behind her piercing eyes were layers of emotions, stories and the occasional flickering of a deep wound. How can she possibly be hiding her own brokenness behind all of that grace, generosity and compassion, I wondered? We were on the front porch, preparing to welcome a new group of women to our circle. As quickly as I spotted the layers and darkness in her eyes, she repressed them with a smile that reached all of the way up into the fine creases of her eyes.

‘It’s so beautiful to share this deeply sacred experience with you.’ I hear her soft words as she gathers me into her embrace. I watch as she touches her face, gently sweeping long fingers over the softness of her pale skin and wisps of blonde hair.

I honestly don’t think I can recall a time that anyone wasn’t mesmerised by her presence, and I know with certainty that this next group of broken souls will be healed, uplifted and gathered into her magical presence before they even enter through the old Indian door that alludes to the sacredness there.

So many times, I have wanted to ask her about those fleeting moments where I can see into her darkness, but I worry that she has things too deeply buried, or that they are not things she will ever want to share.

Our circles have become somewhat of an underground legend now, since we opened them up to the women who seek refuge in the DV shelters, and those who have been released from the local prison. These women are frowned upon by our community, they are judged harshly and most people are simply scared of their wildness, their unconventionality.

She only sees them through eyes of pure compassion though, and I often wonder if there is a connection that she feels from her own experience, those parts of herself that seem to be buried so deep we may never see them in the light.

I remember the first circle we held for these women, the tears, anger and uncertainty, the gentle cracking open of so many hearts and souls. It was frightening and fulfilling at the same time. I knew then that I needed to be a permanent part of this world, where she cracked people open and began the healing process with them.

Joy was one of the women whose spirit has always stayed with me, since the circle she entered in those early days. She was 48 and the lines on her face were etched deeply, her hands were shaking and her eyes were as empty as her soul. Joy was quiet initially, so afraid of opening up the cracks she worked fiercely to keep closed tightly. Her voice had been beaten from her body by the man who she was now running from.

As I spent more time with Joy, and witnessed her voice slowly returning, I myself experienced a return of my own voice. Coming here to the house where broken things were mended was slowly healing the parts of my own past that had been long buried.

Joy reminded me of myself and so many others, those who had been silenced by monsters disguised as loved ones. The way that these women slowly unravelled in our presence, and just as slowly began to put themselves back together, was painful at times but also simply magical. It gave me so much hope and reminded me of the power in the sisterhood, the strength that we all carry that is even more powerful when shared generously.

We worked with purpose, love and the hope that someday others in our community would see these women too, not for the parts of them that were feared, but for the purity that existed all along, before they were changed by violence.