Sara Avant Stover, author of The Way of the Happy Woman, talks of every woman needing a sacred space just for herself. A necessary requirement for whole womanhood and not a fickle luxury. I have read her words time and again and nodded at their sentiments; a space all to oneself to ponder, create and evolve. But the realities of a small post war cottage meant carving out such a space was quite simply impossible. Or had I fallen too deeply into the selflessness well that I not only couldn't find a way but sadly, couldn't see its worth.
But lately I've found my constant giving, more often than not at the expense of myself has started to plant a seed of resentment. I'm frightened that with proper care this emotion will continue to grow. Left unpruned it will likely wrap it's greedy tendrils around the strong beliefs I have in my role as a stay at home Mumma; my martyrdom may very well cripple all that I hold dear. So with a change of perspective I reevaluated our home. Clothes were sorted, cupboards were purged and this and that was juggled about in order to find a small space just for me. And against a wall of our bedroom I found it. Rich hued timber, simple and beautiful embellishments, though just a few. A candle and a clear work surface.
Here I sit and sip peppermint tea and stare out the window while Remy sleeps. Sometimes I'm compelled to pick up my favourite 2B pencil and scribe my thoughts. Others, I just curl my fingers around my steaming cup and watch the afternoon shadows creep in. I'm beginning a mediation practise here in the early morning, I've set loose goals and sketched, I've even painted my fingernails.There are no rules here.
And when Bijou asked if she could sit and colour in I paused briefly before answering , "No." with tenderness and without guilt. My world is their world and I give them love and time unconditionally. But this space is my own. A tiny piece of this earth that is just for me and everyone deserves a little somewhere all of their own.