The work of a woman with a family must not be underestimated. She is the captain of the home ship, the container that holds the emotional needs of all those who live under her roof, all those she loves. When nourished, she makes the house a safe space for her loved ones to come home to themselves, to throw off their outside selves and melt into who they really are at their core.
A woman must hone her senses to intuit who needs more of this and less of that. Who needs rest and chicken soup, who needs art and stimulation. She can sense who needs to speak and who desperately yearns to be heard. She knows who should be warmly embraced and who would be best left alone.
Her work is to clean out, sift through, sort, organise, refresh, change, ground, make new, simplify and strip bare. She is the family’s inner compass – a role that requires grounding and quiet. To do a job, a woman must be rested and healthy.
Things fall apart when her vital role is forgotten by both herself and those she loves. Little by little, she goes out into the world seeking success, while inside, something dries out. A light goes out. Her family is adrift without knowing why. Something is wrong, but no one can say what it is. When she begins to say yes to every mouth that cries out to be fed, every hand that begs to be held, her wild soul languishes in the dark – its whisper unheard. When a woman measures herself against every yard stick, running to keep up with the latest voice telling her who to be and what to think, her children starve for the wild soul of their mother.
I know what it is like to be robbed, or worse, to give away my vast power in tiny increments until I am spent and unable to wisely hold emotional space for my family. It is quiet, unseen work to keep the energetic balance of a family unit. But it is such vital work.