The winter winds have come once again whipping through the canyon, howling and moaning,  my tinkling chimes bludgeoned into terrified alarms. I have not yet learned all of the creaks and moans of this new house, stalwart as she seems, her cries of resistance are a tad troubling. But so far so good. She’s holding on and standing strong.

As the battle rages on, I burrow deeper into the old sofa  in my room. One of the many joys of this new house is having  my own room again. Oh Bliss. A woman must always have a room of  her own.  Whether it be a kitchen corner, a closet, a laundry nook, or just a favorite chair  poised where she can look out –  and look in.  A secret place where she always places a flower or a piece of her mother’s embroidery, the needle still stuck into the stitch. A place for tea and tears and  sweet rememberings.

A woman must also claim this room within. A chamber deep inside herself where none but she may enter. The secret dwelling place of her essential self  far away from critical eyes and reaching hands. Here she is free of the ties love and duty and wants, and needs. We are not built like men, we do not process the world like men and because our bodies speak a far more complicated language we must return to our native soil.

Tonight I am aware of how much I have given of myself, given away myself, this day. So much doing and so little being –  and almost none of it to me.  The underlying hum of  resentful exhaustion on the verge of tears, craving chocolate or sex or a scream or who knows what,  tells me I have the wall. So, retreating to my room, I take stock in this day, hoping the quiet of my house will quiet my heart,  ease my breath and reverse the tide of my giving.

Being a woman is a terrifying, marvelous, fathomless thing. To dwell in the feminine, in this body, to welcome her mystery,  open to her, luxuriate in her, to really feel her, trust her, nourish her, release yet contain the innate power of her…. this is no small feat. So at the end of my days of loving and giving, of sacrificing and serving, of listening, absorbing, binding and healing,  this weary warrior woman, quietly and unapologetically….  returns to her room.

And here….I Am.

Deep breath… and Again…..and Again