Behold Her Holding
Seeing and celebrating her. A poem.
She is a sacred chamber, holding space for those around her to express their authentic selves. Holding the unpredictability of others’ emotions and dysregulation in households filled with ongoing need.
She is a rich library. Shelf upon shelf of stories shared and stories held back. Holding a history of when her body hasn’t felt safe. Her body holing the score. And generations of women before her.
She is a sophisticated digital universe. Holding and systemising the screaming yet silent mental load that echoes through her magnificent mind.
She is communal fireside parable and song. Holding the shape of circles of support, not pyramids of power. Thread that stitches community in wisdom and story. Holding holes and pulls in fabric up to the light. Mending and tending. Bearing witness.
She is steady, stable ground, holding the weight of a bone deep weariness carried into each new day. A morning fog that never clears, except for in nuggets of conversation that deconstruct and disrupt expected norms.
She is an advanced radar, holding the tension of constant hyper-vigilance and emotional buffering. Anticipatory need response-planning. And extra planning for the planning before any “off” time.
She is the deep roots of an oak tree. Holding fast in the face of the storm of patriarchal judgement, that perceives her holding as invisible, static non-progress.
She is a mountain, her solid base supporting her exposure to extremes of weather and to frequent trampling. Harnessing any lingering light, she holds onto joy. She is the joy.
She is the silver-spun strands of an intricate web, woven across communities, holding other women in the deep knowing of their shared holding.
Thank you so much for reading/listening.
Sending love for the week ahead in all you are holding.
Love Ange x x x
This right here is what women are made of
This is gorgeous. Thank you so much for sharing it.