Sacred Motherhood
We live in a world where the feminine is supposedly king - where women can rule the world and no man can stand in our way. Where we respect everyone's pronouns and do and say what we please. We can fuck who we want, wherever we want, and market it if we so please. We accept everyone and everything - in this beautiful postmodern world.
Women are meant to be the freest they've ever been… yet it seems the true eternal feminine is quietly under threat from the new and improved feminist. The essence of our souls is gradually being degraded, attacked, dismantled, and we’re told we should celebrate it. We should thank our foresisters for their honourable fight against the patriarch and for setting the stage for the era of the female.
My lover sent me a reel about a mother duck who stayed with her eggs in an inferno, burning alive with her unhatched babies. Despite having the wings - and the freedom - to flee, she stayed and died protecting them. She performed the ultimate feminine sacrifice, choosing love over survival.
Wow.
We live in a era where weak motherhood is normalised, where part time motherhood is expected, and where the selfish feminine reins supreme.
Contrast the motherduck, with the popular reel of American mothers saying they wouldn’t kill to save their children, where these women frame such instinct as extreme and unsavoury.
Then look at the world we’ve built, where the economy demands women pick up the metaphorical sword and work fulltime to earn the daily bread. Where our most innocent and vulnerable are placed in institutions too often shadowed with neglect, abuse and paedophilia - because our economic chains demand it.
I wonder how many mothers truly want to work full-time. If money wasn’t shrinking, the cost of living rising, savings dissolving… if families could genuinely afford to choose — how many of us would?
I think some would still work — part-time, casually, self-employed in passion projects — but with freedom. With spaciousness. Because they love it, not because they must. I can only imagine the collective breath we would take if motherhood wasn’t rushed. If we had time to bake the bread, brew the tea, pick the herbs…
In our busy world where corporations reign and the boss bitch is placed on a pedestal, designer clothes and handbags, expensive jewellery and cars are paraded as proof of a successful life. But I would argue it is the ancient and everlasting role of motherhood — sacred by its very nature — that is the truest symbol of success.
For what is more beautiful than holding your newborn, being their safe place, their home, their everything? What is more honourable than the quiet, invisible work of feeding small souls, hugging them when they cry, putting them to bed, keeping them clean and clothed, labouring day and night to shape and strengthen them so they can step powerfully into the future? What is more confronting — more refining — than navigating meltdowns and tantrums, both theirs and your own?
Motherhood is sacred. It is divine. It is the ultimate feminine power — and the ultimate feminine sacrifice. For once you have children, you are called to give your all. To love without condition. To hold in the depths of sickness… to pray.
I would die for my children. I would die with my children. I will live for them, strive for them — and, if it came to it, fight for them without hesitation.
I think all women could learn from that mother duck — from her bravery, her instinct, her devotion.
For I believe that deep within us lives the same force that lived in her: the eternal, loving presence that has pulsed through creation since the beginning of time…
