Here in the Next Room:

Healing Our Relationship to the Feminine

Forcing someone to fit into our definition of perfection is a horrendous type of violence. Such violence compounds even more so when we squeeze or contort something as actionable and vast as love into a unimaginative, ego-driven, profit-conscious system.

For years women have been marginalized, silenced, brutalized and while those days are swiftly ending by my watch and on my honor, I also know that women who hail from colorful, spiritually nutritious, women-led communities are the ones who continue to experience heightened and shameful levels, degrees and styles of violence (e.g. Black, Indigenous, Brown women). While experiencing vile trauma steeped in racism and classism, we have the nerve to continue to shoulder these women with mounds of responsibility and exact timelines. I find it frightening, really.

What do you think happens to the soul of a mortal being expected to be cartoonishly responsible, exactly exact, always gentle, always on time, never loud, simply flawless for their entire lives? What do you think happens when the women of any species become emotionally over-processed, over-practical, over-responsible? What will happen when she is completely severed from her wild nature?

Before you thank your mother for her labor, service, sacrifice, Ask— do you really know Her? Do you know your own mother? Woman, do you really know all the womxn you have been, can you recall them by name?

Because this is what we do. Without even endeavoring to understand a woman’s story, who she was before mothering, who she is under pressure, which losses almost mute her for life, which fears still keep her up at night, how she behaves when fully nurtured, if she ever has been truly seen, what she’s like when she’s safe in nature, what she’s like without a timeline, how many times she’s had to stand up or start over again, who has stood with her during her wars, why does she have her own creative riffs and wild cycles— without knowing the fullness of her story, she is judged based on the ultimate performance: motherhood.

We (the children, men, anyone on the outside judging her) violently expect perfection even when we do not say it out loud. Without even really understanding her, let alone seeing her beyond the roles, the service, the sacrifice. This model is unsustainable, unloving and unnatural (particularly for Black women).

I submit to you: should we restore the village, we (the community) must release the spoken or implied expectation of perfection from the feminine and do the work to understand Her (all of Her) and create the circumstances for her to thrive in all hoods— yo hood, my hood, motherhood, womanhood, beyond. Women, let’s begin with ourselves then extend to others in our chosen tribes. Get curious. Allow her playfulness, her contradiction, her artfulness, her nebula, her wild. Commit to not erasing or shackling any part of her experience or story. When you’re with her, unclench your jaw, leave rigidity and judgement at the door.

There’s only space for soulful listening and grace as we heal the feminine. Join us over here in the next room. #LoveEvolution

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