Women’s History is Being Deleted—And It’s Not About Merit

Women’s History is Being Deleted—And It’s Not About Merit

History Doesn’t Vanish—It’s Erased

 

When the people erasing history are the least qualified to lead, we have to ask: What are they so afraid of?

Something is happening.

Quietly.

Systematically.

And most people don’t even know it’s underway.

You won’t hear about it on the nightly news. There won’t be a siren. No front-page headlines.

Just a quiet, digital deletion—
Of thousands of names.
Thousands of stories.
Entire legacies of service, risk, and sacrifice… gone.

As I watched Greta Gerwig’s Little Women with my mom and sister at Field Hall’s Women’s History Month celebration the other night, I was reminded that Jo March’s battle to have her voice heard is far from over—because even now, women’s stories are being erased. 

The struggle to be seen, to be heard, to have one’s work recognized as valuable—it’s not just a personal battle. 

It’s political. 

It’s historical.

 It almost happened to me in high school. 

And it’s happening right now.

The Power of a Community That Says No

I grew up in a small town. A town where fairness was valued.

A town where when the girls’ basketball team was the one dominating the playoffs, we were the ones who played in the prime 7 PM slot—because that’s when the community could show up for us.

We packed the stands.

We traded practice times with the boys’ team every other week.

Our coach even pulled some of the varsity boys into practice against us to push us to improve. (And we beat them sometimes.)

We were respected. Our skills and our success were recognized.

Crescent High School girls’ basketball team dressed in tuxedo-style uniforms for a themed event in 1983. The team, known for its success, fought for equal recognition in game schedules and practice times.

And then we got a new superintendent.

He came in with an agenda.

First? Move the girls’ team out of the gym entirely –to the cafetorium, which wasn’t even a full-sized basketball court. He also suggested we could practice before school –so the boys team would have full access to the gym in the afternoon and evening. 

The second thing he tried? Taking away our prime-time games and moving us to the 4:15 PM game slot.

His reasoning?

Well, he might not have said it outright.

But it was clear: He didn’t believe girls’ basketball deserved the spotlight.

But here’s the thing: The community pushed back.

And we won.

The girls’ team stayed in the gym. We continued trading gym times with the boys. We kept our 7 PM games. The superintendent had to back down.

Kristin Halberg, Crescent High School basketball player, takes a shot during a playoff game in 1984. The newspaper article highlights her 30-point performance that helped advance the team in the tri- district tournament.

This was not a fight about politics.

This was a fight about fairness. About values. About doing what’s right.

People in my town—regardless of party, background, or beliefs—stood up for the truth.

They saw what was happening and said, “No. That’s not how we do things here.”

And that’s what we need now … in our country.

This Isn’t Just My Story—It’s a Pattern

The latest example of the attempted erasure of women?

Women who served in the military.

The Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) were among the first women to fly military aircraft in WWII. Over 25,000 applied for this dangerous work. Only 1,074 were accepted. They ferried new planes, tested overhauled ones, and even flew as live target practice for training gunners.

Thirty-eight of them died serving a country that refused to drape a flag over their coffins.

Now, their photographs and records—along with tens of thousands of others documenting women and minorities in the military—are being deleted from government archives as part of Trump’s latest executive order under Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth.

The justification? A return to “merit.”

Which begs the question: Whose merit?

Hegseth himself, a Fox News loyalist with no experience managing anything close to the scale of the Defense Department, is hardly a beacon of qualification.

The very people who scream “merit” are the same ones whose own credentials wouldn’t survive scrutiny. And yet, they’re in power, wielding the delete key as if history itself is an inconvenience.

Women Shouldn’t Be Footnotes in History—Without Us There Wouldn’t BE History

We need to push back against the erasure of women’s history not because it’s a political issue, but because it’s the truth.

Because truth matters. Because fairness matters. Because recognizing real achievement matters.

When women’s history is deleted from military archives, it’s not just about the past.

It’s about the future.

It’s about what young girls see when they look back and look ahead.

Will they see a legacy of courage and contribution? Or will they see blank spaces where their stories should have been?

The most dangerous thing women can do is refuse to disappear.

So let’s do exactly that.

Let’s tell these stories. Let’s demand they be preserved.

Let’s remind those in power that women are not footnotes in history—we are the creators of it. The ones who birth every leader, every soldier, every man who’s ever tried to erase us.

Celebrating … the Birth of Practical-Magick

Celebrating … the Birth of Practical-Magick

The Birth of Practical-Magick: A Journey from Chaos to Clarity

I’m going to come straight out and say it: my life has been intense over the past several years. But then, transformation often is.

Between December 2016 and January 2019, my partner and I lost six loved ones. In the midst of that, we were forced to change homes and chose to move into his family’s ancestral Finnish-style log home. It’s lovely—but also old and in constant need of care and repair.

a morning coffee ritual can be part of practical-magick

We’re both self-employed, and when you’re navigating profound loss and upheaval, it’s hard to find the energy to bring in clients. Financial stress followed. And this was all BEFORE 2020 turned the world upside down.

Transforming Comparison Judgment

Like so many women, I often fall into “comparison worthiness,” telling myself I shouldn’t complain because others have it worse. And sure, that’s true. But as a wise friend once posted:

“We can be grateful for what we have AND feel depressed. We can hold compassion for someone in a darker space AND feel anguish in our own space. We can recognize our luck AND cry for five hours at our misfortune. We can feel all the feelings AND be a better human for it.”

—Becca

But instead of offering myself that grace, I tortured myself with “comparison judgment.” I watched other practitioners “making it” by following the latest guru-approved marketing trend—“Fill Your Retreats,” “Pack the Room,” “Sell Your Beta Course.” I tried them all (well, most). And none of them worked for me. My business barely grew, leaving me feeling like a failure at entrepreneurship.

And it wasn’t just my business. I wasn’t following through on promises to myself. I let go of daily creative practices. I spent less time in the lake, with family, reading, moving my body. It all started slipping away.

The Gift of an Injured Shoulder

Then came the unexpected gift—an injured shoulder, pandemic unemployment, and a financial cushion that gave me permission to pause. To heal. Physically, yes. But also emotionally. Spiritually.

Who knew that a car accident leading to surgery and a long recovery would be the catharsis I needed?

ca·thar·sis /kəˈTHärsəs/
noun
“the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.”

I didn’t. Not at first. I was frustrated. I wasn’t healing as fast as expected. I had to take more time off work than I “should.” My business languished.

And yet… I continued physical therapy. Somatic therapy. Created beautiful spaces in my garden. Swam. Laughed. Cried. Restored my family’s rental cabin. Spent time with my partner. My friends. Myself.

And I hired a marketing coach who let me move at my own, slow pace.

Rooting In and Growing

My goal became simple: root into my business. Really understand what I do. So, I wrote about it. Every single morning. Journaling through frustration, through repetition, through slow, unfolding clarity.

Who is my client? What do I DO? What is my thought leadership? My philosophy? What makes me different? Unique?

What I came to realize was that over those long, stressful years, I had grown.

I’m no longer afraid of the shadows. I can stand with my clients in their darkest moments without feeling the need to rush them back into the light. I can hold duality better. I no longer feel like I have to be perfect, or that my whole life needs to look like an Instagram highlight reel.

I realized that my greatest gift is… me.

My history. My eclectic experiences. My energy. My humor. My way of weaving science and story, physiology and myth, structured tools and sacred mystery. Anyone can teach these things, but no one else can do it quite like I do.

Learning from the Trees

Over time, as the seasons turned and the leaves fell, my business evolved too:

What I DO is hold sacred space for women to fully live their messy, beautifully sacred lives. To be imperfect AND radiant at the same time. To slow down. To ponder. To love. To root into themselves. To make room for mystery. To stop rushing toward an endless finish line.

I offer them a sanctuary where they can be seen, heard, and loved—exactly as they are.

The Birth of Practical-Magick

And who I AM is an Intuitive Soul Guide. A Sacred Depths Practitioner. A Transformational Coach.

I study human physiology, the neurobiology of emotions, the psychobiology of women. But I also immerse myself in myths, archetypes, and mystery. Mother Earth is my second mother. Creative practices—art, writing, movement—are my medicine.

THIS. This is what I do. And what makes it Magick… is me.

I’ve always called what I do “Practical-Magick.”

And so, this new/old business is birthed in darkness, ready to walk with others through both shadow and light.

Welcome.

To Practical-Magick.

Come inside. Explore. Stay awhile.

Much love,

💖 Kristin