Sacral Chakra: Why Wanting Something for Yourself Feels Wrong

Can we talk about the Sacral chakra for a minute? Because it's got a reputation.

Every wellness influencer on Instagram will tell you to "unleash your creativity" and "step into your pleasure". And you're sitting there in your trackies, three days past washing your hair, thinking: mate, I just want to finish this cup of tea while it's still warm.

Here's the thing. They're not entirely wrong. They just make it sound like a personality trait, when it's a part of your body with a job to do.

I'm a holistic counsellor. I tell women all the time that they're allowed to want things.

And this year I nearly talked myself out of a workshop.

It was called the Fae Moon. I saw the ad, wanted to go, and felt guilty straight away. It was expensive, and single mums don't generally have a lot of money lying around. It meant a whole day away from my daughter, which meant asking my parents to look after her. So I scrolled past. Then I saw it again and scrolled past again.

I thought the guilt was telling me something true. That wanting it was selfish, and a good mum would put the money and the day somewhere more sensible.

I had it backwards.

Guilt isn't proof that wanting is wrong. Guilt is the lock on the door.

Your own dwelling place

The Sacral chakra sits just below your navel, in the soft bowl of your belly. Its element is water. It's where emotions move, where creativity bubbles up, where pleasure and wanting live. In Sanskrit it's called Svadhisthana, which roughly translates to "one's own dwelling place".

If the Root chakra asks am I safe here?, the Sacral asks something braver: is it safe to feel? Is it safe to want?

In the framework I work with, this chakra's window is six months to two years old. That's when you explore the world through your body, reaching and tasting and feeling everything for the first time. At that age you need the people around you to be okay with your feelings. Not to fix them. Just to stay.

When that doesn't happen, the water does what water does when it's afraid. It freezes. Your body builds a dam, and that dam keeps you safe and functional. It gets you through.

And on top of the dam sits guilt, saying: you should be grateful for what you have. Stop asking for more. Most of us learned it young, about the same time we learned that good girls don't make a fuss.

But dams aren't meant to be permanent.

Stuff it

One night the ad came up again, after I'd seen it a few times. And I thought, stuff it. I just bought it.

That was the whole act of courage. Two words and a payment screen.

Do this with me now

Place both hands on your lower belly, just below your navel. Let them rest there.

Feel the warmth of your own hands. You don't have to do anything else. Let the warmth land.

This is the one I use. I do it when I want to feel relaxed, when I want to connect with my femininity, and when I want to be in my mothering state. It feels like checking in with my own energy centre. And it feels good, which is the point.

Touched out today? Skip the hands. Wrap them around a warm mug and feel the heat in your palms. Or stand at the sink and listen to the tap run for five slow breaths. Sensation counts, and nobody has to touch you.

Tonight, pick one

• Warm your belly. Hands below your navel for one minute, in bed, once the house is quiet.

• Butterfly legs. Lie on your back with your knees bent and feet flat. Let your knees fall open to the sides, then bring them back together. Slow and easy. If your legs tremble, let them.

• Name one feeling, out loud. One word. "Tired." "Tender." "Fired up." Say it to a friend, the cat or the moon.

• Schedule one small pleasure. Put it in your diary. Eat the nice cheese. Lie in the grass. Do it for no reason other than it feels good.

• Let water help. A bath, a foot soak, or your feet in the river. Name one thing you're carrying that you'd like the water to take.

If guilt shows up while you're doing any of these, and it probably will, don't argue with it and don't obey it. Let it sit there like an uninvited guest at a party, who eventually gets bored and leaves.

What I notice about feelings

This part is my experience, not a study.

When I let myself feel something fully, it moves. Anger, grief, joy, all of it. It arrives, it stays a while, it passes, and I feel lighter on the other side. When I grip, or go numb, or tell myself I'm fine, it doesn't go anywhere. It turns up later as a tight jaw and a sore belly.

So these days I try to feel where a feeling sits in my body before I work out the story about why it's there.

What came back

Here's what happened with the workshop.

It turned out my kid was allowed to come. The day away from her that I'd felt so guilty about never happened. And the workshop itself was an incredible chance to meet other professionals. Many of the good working relationships I have now started that day.

Every single thing the guilt warned me about was wrong.

"I can't afford to want things"

You might be thinking: that's lovely for you, but I truly don't have the money or the day.

I hear you, and I'm not telling you to book something expensive. The wanting is the muscle, not the price tag. Start with something that costs nothing. Drink the tea while it's hot. Five minutes in the sun before you bring the washing in. Let your body register: this is mine.

When feeling is hard

If there have been times when your body wasn't yours to govern, this chakra can feel like the most dangerous room in the house. I'm not going to tell you to push through.

Start with sensation, not emotion. The warmth of a cup. The texture of a blanket. Rain on the roof. That's the shallow end of the pool, and you can stand there as long as you like.

You don't have to feel everything today. You just have to let one thing thaw.

If 5pm is your hardest hour, I've made a free guide for exactly that time of day. Sanity at Sundown: 7 Ways to Stop the Sundown Meltdown is seven small practices you can do with your kids right there. Get it here.

Next in this series: the Solar Plexus chakra, and how I took the wheel back.

Anna writes from Yabberup, in the South West of Western Australia, where she lives with her daughter, the horses and the rest of the animals.

If today is more than a hard day, Lifeline is on 13 11 14, any time.