29/10/2025
Cette publication fait écho avec le partage que j'ai eu avec des mamans ce matin.🙏💞
"Il faut tout un village pour élever un enfant"
-Proverbe africain-
https://www.facebook.com/share/17YBHf4PQT/
The Call from the Heart of a Western Mother
🔥 Where are the women who once gathered around the fire?
🔥 Where are the songs that rose as we ground the grain and rocked the babies?
🔥 Where are the hands that would reach for mine, wordlessly knowing what was needed?
🔥 Where are the arms that would hold my child when mine grew tired?
🔥 Where is the sacred circle — the hum of togetherness — that our bones still remember?
Where is my village? 🛖
Instead, here I am — still in pyjamas at midday, hair unbrushed, a baby who won’t let me put her down, and a mountain of washing staring me down. Somehow, babies are always more peaceful when the room is full of people — a soft reminder from their wise little spirits that we were never meant to mother alone.
I feel the ache, the rage, the grief at what has been lost. Beyond words. Mothering in this Western world, in our little boxes and tidy houses, is so painfully unnatural. We were made for circles, not corners. For connection, not isolation.
And yet, here we are — putting on the “I’m fine” face while running on months and years of broken sleep, unable to string a proper sentence together, and trying to remember who we even were before this wild, beautiful unraveling called motherhood.
✨ And still… somehow, between tears over unfolded laundry and the one-handed cooking experiments, there is joy. The ridiculous, tender, chaotic joy of being with my baby — the honour of mothering her, even when it is exhausting, messy, and relentless. The deepest honour of my life. The kind of love that blossoms my heart again and again — raw, wild, humbling.
This is real mothering.
This is Western motherhood in a world that forgot its villages.
This is grief.
This is longing.
This is remembering.
This is love.
⭕️ And somewhere in the mess, the ancient ones are smiling — whispering, You are not alone, daughter. You are part of us.
📷 Here we are: “assisting” my husband as he chops the winter store of wood — my son helping with his tiny axe, and me and my baby daughter watching — all of us part of our little patch of village life, even in this modern world.
