Coming home is never easy.
It takes time to land fully into that calm,
that peace of life that is being at home
in your own skin.
There is no prestige in being at home.
Warning! It is not for you
who craves the full attention
of the world.
Gentlewomen,
we do not win awards
for making home and hearth the nucleus of life.
It is taken for granted that we will raise our children,
care for our households
and fully support our husbands
even in the face of a full-time job.
Or two.
Society tells us that the glory of being a valued member of society
is reserved only for those who make their careers in public;
for those who focus all their attention
on becoming that elusive Something,
a prestigious Someone.
But, sisters, we know better.
We know that the work of bringing life,
of nurturing the future,
is not prim and polished.
Messy, bloody, painful, infuriating, exhausting,
joyful, euphoric and tear-stained
is the backstage of life.
And so are its stagehands.
But without us, the show cannot go on.
For who else will acquiesce to standing in the shadows,
while others bask in the spotlight,
and whisper words to forgetful actors?
We are the technicians of everyday life,
who make it run like a well-oiled machine,
a purring engine.
We are the silent heroines in the shadows,
who have the ability to carry life within us
and carry galaxies in our very eyes.
Woman is no creation,
she is a creator.
