Greetings QueenBDivine.com

Meet QueenB.Divine who is passionate about Mental Health & Astrology, because of her roots which are Jamaican /Canadian, grandfather who was from India and she now lives on the island of Vancouver . Mental Health and astrology it is in her DNA , because of her own personal journey ancestry.

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I can still see it—me as a kid, or maybe my brother, walking out of the bathroom, and my mother passing by. She’d take one sniff, wrinkle her nose, and say, “Hmm, it’s time for a washout.” I never understood how she knew. I mean, isn’t stuff supposed to stink? Apparently not.

See, my mom had a system. Every year, before school started and again sometime in the middle of the year, she would prepare a massive pot of Jamaican roots, bush, and herbs—some of which I couldn’t even name if I tried. She’d let it boil for hours, sometimes a whole day. And then? We drank it. And let me tell you, we RAN to the bathroom like it was an Olympic event. One by one, my siblings and I would purge whatever toxins were lurking inside. It was a ritual, a cleansing, a necessary reset that, at the time, felt like torture but, in hindsight, was a lifeline.

I didn’t realize the power of those washouts until I left home. I ran away at 11, ended up on the streets of Toronto, bouncing between places, eventually landing in group homes. Suddenly, my diet changed—meatloaf, Chef Boyardee, beef stroganoff. I remember staring at that meatloaf like, “Why would anyone make a loaf out of meat?” It was foreign, unnatural. My body knew it before I did. And without those washouts, without that reset, my body started holding onto things. And not in a good way.

At 19, life threw me another curveball. I had an abortion, and something was left inside me. But I wouldn’t know that for over a decade. Instead, I suffered—internal bleeding, chronic pain, inexplicable sickness. Doctor after doctor, test after test, no answers. I was in pain, constantly fatigued, and my body was screaming for help.

Then one day, years later, something came out of me. I was vomiting and suddenly—there it was. Something foreign, something that had been in my body for over ten years. My friend, a white woman who was a nurse, took one look and said, “Oh my God, do you know what that is? It’s an umbrella. They use it during abortions.”

I sat there, staring at it, in shock. I had been carrying this inside me all those years, while doctors shrugged, while my body fought to expel it, while I learned to live with pain that should have never been mine. And in that moment, I realized—I should have been dead. But I wasn’t. Because somehow, my body held on.

And that’s when I started to listen to my body, the way my mother did when she knew it was time for a washout. I circled back to my roots. Herbs, teas, movement—real healing. Not just covering symptoms but understanding them. Our bodies speak to us. Your skin, your nails, your headaches, your digestion—every part of you is trying to tell you something. And we, as a society, have gotten lazy. We chalk everything up to genetics instead of questioning why.

Healing isn’t for the weak. It requires patience, commitment, and the courage to listen to yourself. If you start today, start small. Commit to one thing for three weeks—whether it’s drinking more water, cutting out sugar, walking daily. Just start. And stick with it.

Walking saved me. I didn’t have a car, still don’t have a license, and I walked everywhere. I didn’t realize it then, but walking was moving my lymphatic system, helping my body process toxins, keeping me alive. People underestimate walking. Get outside. Let your body know you’re working with it, not against it.

And stop expecting instant results. One ginger tea isn’t going to cure years of poor eating. Healing takes time, just like any real relationship. You have to show up, consistently.

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Looking back, I owe my mother so much. Those washouts? They weren’t just a tradition. They were wisdom passed down, a reminder that our bodies need care beyond just what we feed them. And now, decades later, I’ve made it my mission to reconnect with that wisdom.

So here’s what I leave you with: Listen to your body. Trust its signals. Start small, but start. You weren’t built to be broken—you were built to be divine. It’s time to remember that.

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